Leonis Virelain was dying beautifully.The chains on his wrists clinked like soft silver bells with every step. He moved not by will but by force—dragged by the shoulders through the Temple of Aurelion, past white-robed priests who dared not meet his eyes. They lined the polished corridor like statues, breathing shallowly as the Prince of Solmereth was brought low in public shame.The walls of the temple shimmered with golden inlay, depicting scenes of divine judgment. Serpents turned into angels. Cities burned, then bloomed. In the center of it all: the great sun-god Aurelion, arms outstretched, basking in justice.The irony stung.Aurelion's light had once kissed Leonis's brow during coronation rites. Now, it would be the last thing he saw before death."Move, traitor," hissed a guard, slamming a gauntlet into his back.Leonis stumbled forward, his bare feet scraping across sun-warmed marble. His white execution robe dragged like fog. From the galleries above, nobles in embroidered finery whispered behind fans. He caught a glimpse of his uncle's smug grin. His father's expressionless eyes. His sister's tight, prayer-folded hands.Celianne.He locked eyes with her as he was forced to his knees on the Altar of Judgment. Her gaze held no tears—only serenity. That alone told him the truth.She knew.She had known for weeks, perhaps longer. She had seen the trap unfold and let it. Or worse—engineered it.Leonis said nothing.The high priest approached. His robes were layers of white and gold, his voice silk-wrapped steel. "Leonis Virelain. Former Crown Prince of Solmereth. By decree of the Sanctus Court, and under the unblinking gaze of Lord Aurelion, you are sentenced to death for high treason, conspiracy, and heresy."A murmur spread.He should have screamed. Denied it. Pled for mercy.He didn't.The wind shifted through the temple, rustling banners that hung from the dome's pillars. The sun caught the edge of the Executioner's Blade—a long, curved thing of silverlight metal. It shimmered with divine runes, each one carved by the hand of a saint.Leonis turned his head upward. One last defiance.He spoke, and his voice rang across the temple like iron on stone."May your gods choke on my blood."The blade fell.And then—There was no pain.
Only silence.
Then a voice."Soul registered. Host confirmed."
"Activating: Revenant System."
"Initializing Resurrection Protocol: 00:00:01…"
"Warning: soul state unstable. Subject classified: Revenant."
"Rebooting life cycle… Death count: 1."And just before the world vanished:"You have died. Congratulations."Darkness swallowed everything.Then came fire.Not heat. Not burning. Not metaphor.
Fire inside his soul.It clawed through him like knives dipped in acid and memory. Visions slammed through his skull in broken shards:His first duel with a tutor.
Celianne crying over their mother's corpse.
A royal decree written in blood.
A hooded figure handing her a dagger.
Then: light.But it wasn't sunlight.It was the dim orange glow of a corpse lantern, hanging over a stone chamber slick with decay.Leonis gasped—air filled rotted lungs—and he screamed as life returned in the pit of the dead.He thrashed, coughing black bile, as maggots crawled across his skin and rats fled his waking body. Bones cracked into place. Eyes reformed in sockets. His own blood welcomed him back like a cruel tide.And above him, unseen but close, the system voice returned—dry, amused, nearly human:"Welcome back, Revenant."