Kyrian slowly opened his eyes.
First came the sensation of his body, heavy, motionless, yet different.
Very different.
Then came the sound.
The constant roar of the magma, which had once filled the entire dome with its deafening voice, now seemed distant.
Muffled.
As though he were hearing the volcano through a thick wall.
The oppressive heat that had once filled every inch of the chamber, making his skin burn and his lungs ache, no longer felt suffocating.
On the contrary.
It was pleasant.
Familiar.
Like returning home after many years away.
Like rediscovering a warmth long forgotten, yet one that had always been a part of who he was.
Kyrian blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the dome's crimson light.
Then he noticed something strange.
His vision had changed.
Instinctively, he raised a hand before his face.
The reflection produced by the altar's gleaming surface, polished by centuries of heat and energy, allowed him to see his own eyes.
