From endless dreams, I awoke. A vague sensation of being buried deep within a cage surrounded by darkness greeted me as consciousness returned.

My memories seemed strangely fragmented as if someone had taken pieces of them and hidden them far away from me.

Strange whispers jarred in my ears, the words were completely unintelligible to my mind. They were voices, multiple ones that sounded like they came from all around me at once; they were fast, layered one atop another, interrupting each other, crossing paths, and fading into something incomprehensible that made my head spin with confusion.

one of them said in a weak and dreading tone, I scarcely managed to capture the words out of my head and it swam back into the clutter of sound again before I could understand what was going on.

another said, its tone cold and unfeeling. The second voice sounded angrier and more forceful than the first but still not much was distinguishable about the strange voices other than their two separate tones.

I closed my eyes and agitated my head trying desperately to clear the fog that dulled my senses. And soon enough the voices ceased abruptly.

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking several times until my vision cleared enough for me to make out shapes. It was cold here, colder than anywhere I'd ever been. At first glance nothing appeared familiar to me, there didn't seem to be anything except dusty crates piled high upon each other and armor hanging on hooks along the wall.

I examined myself closely, my body felt heavy, I ran my hand over the ornate piece of armor covering my body, there was an emblem of three intertwined locks forming a symbol of trinity in the middle of my chest piece, emblazoned in a field of red and gold. On my waist I found a belt with three leather pouches attached to it on the right and a sword sheathed across my left hip. A black cape hung down from my shoulders, falling loosely off my shoulder blades onto the ground behind me.

I could hear a commotion growing louder outside the place where I lay, footsteps echoed hurriedly in unison through the hallway beyond the door. There must have been a lot of people rushing past because even when I tried to focus my hearing I couldn't pick up any specific conversations.

"Get those crates moving already! Go! Go!" A gruff voice ordered harshly to someone from somewhere behind me. "We've got work to do! If you can't keep up, dismiss yourself now and spare us your uselessness!"

I turned towards the voice and saw a group of men dressed in thick, black, steel armor, carrying swords and shields, rushing around. They seemed to be in a hurry, quickly grabbing weapons and food supplies from the crates and carrying them to the doors leading deeper inside the narrow tent.

I moved aside from their path hastily to avoid getting trampled by the stampede, stumbling over myself as I made my way past the line of troops into the tent beyond. The soldiers glanced at me with a mix of deference, respect and fear in their eyes, but I couldn't quite understand why.

I quickly rummaged through the pouches on my waist trying desperately to find something that could tell me where I was, and who I was when my finger brushed against something sharp and jagged.

A drop of blood welled up from the cut and ran down my fingertip, falling to the dirt below, evaporating upon making contact with the scarce traces of snow that covered the narrow ground inside the tent i was in.

I gingerly reached for the object lying beneath the jumble of items and pulled it free. It was an ancient-looking weapon, with a sharp blade and a handle made of some kind of dark, rare rock, it looked like a decorative piece more than a weapon forged for killing. A growl filled the air as soon as I touched it; a sound so loud that I thought my eardrums might burst. The blade began to glow brightly red, sending a wave of heat through my hand.

I fell to the ground and my mind began clearing, as though everything was finally starting to make sense. Everything that had happened since the moment I woke up started coming together and forming into a single coherent picture.

A horrific scene played out in my memory, a dark room lit dimly, shattered glass crunched underfoot, the body of a man with a blade buried deep below his jaw, and Naia...it was the scene of my death, I realized.

The image was terrifying.

A sensation of overwhelming pain engulfed me, it felt as if a large hole was being yanked in my chest, tearing my insides apart and spilling out my lifeblood.

I gaped in horror at the floor as I fell on my knees and writhed in agony, unable to move or breathe, while my flesh burned away and bones crumbled. The voices came back, they became screams and shouts, a chorus of despair and anguish, echoing loudly throughout my skull.

I dropped the blade and collapsed backward, panting in relief as my heart slowed to a normal pace and the pain subsided. I looked around me and realized I was in a small, cramped tent.

'This must be...I must have...' I let my thoughts drift aimlessly for a few moments longer, trying to digest all the information that flooded my brain, My hands shook uncontrollably, my whole body shivered as I sat motionless on the ground. 'I should be dead...this isn't --' I thought to myself as I stared blankly at the ceiling above me.

From the mist of my mind, a single voice broke through, a raspy and steady tone that seemed oddly soothing after what I just went through.

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it said It finished, slowly remarking on every word like it took great effort to speak them.

I understood then, this was the curse of the Ek'dikónti Dagger I held in my trembling grip. Its curse would bring the victim back to life, so they may feed the lustful hunger of the weapon and satisfy its thirst. Only the death of another could appease the cursed dagger's desires, and if they failed to kill anyone within three days of the last, the dagger would consume its wielder in rage, forcing them to be born once again until such time as they were able to fulfill the demands of Ek'dikónti.

It wasn't clear how long ago I had died. But I recognized this place, there was no doubt about it. I moved cautiously towards the door and grabbed a note that lay atop a pile of wooden boxes near the entrance.

"Lunar Cycle, 17th of the III. Inspect the crates and report any discrepancies immediately."

'The 17th...' I thought 'That means ten days before the Army of the Insurgents shows up!'

My heart raced, pounding against my chest like a war drum, echoing the urgency of the situation. The surreal realization washed over me, tingling my skin and sending shivers down my spine.

My eyes shot wide open. This meant I was here, now, days before a most critical event that turned the tide of this war. Fate had sent me back ten days, far from the Academy of Prylock, into the northern frontlines of Bastalos, where war raged between our forces and those of the Insurgents of the North, who had defeated us in an onslaught on the 27th of the III, meaning 10 days from today.My mind buzzed with a mix of disbelief and determination. I knew the magnitude of the tragedy that loomed, the lives that would be lost if I failed to act. Every second counted, and I had to seize this opportunity to alter the course of history.

As if on cue, a young recruit aproached rapidly at me, stumbling on his clumsy feet. He was short and thin, barely reaching my shoulders but he carried himself with confidence nonetheless. His face was pale and sweaty, his hair disarrayed as he walked by.

"Captain Lai" he called out panting "Your presence is requested at the high command tent!"

"I'll be right there" I replied calmly, making haste for the exit.

The surreal feeling of being thrust into this momentous juncture remained with me.

The northern wind blew heavy and violent gusts outside and the camp was buzzing with activity as I stepped outside. Soldiers rushed past me carrying supplies and equipment, while others shouted orders to each other as they tried their best to keep things under control.

A trail of smoke rose into the sky, thickening the already grey atmosphere as it drifted over our heads. A testament to the constant struggle between us and the army of the Insurgents.

The long line of wagons and carts stretched far beyond like a well-organized ant trail, each one loaded with supplies, moving purposefully towards the plains away from the Keep of Bastalos. It stood tall, threatening to pierce the dark canopy up above.

The soldiers of the Army of the Insurgents had been relentless these last two weeks, pushing ever closer to our borders, attacking simulaneously from multiple fronts. Their numbers grew exponentially every day, forcing us to call upon more and more reinforcements from across the kingdom.

They were desperate to capture the Capital of Bastala, which housed the royal family of the Almas. King Donori Almas, the current ruler of the country, had called upon the aid of the allied kingdoms in order to stop the invasion. The Capital of Bastala is situated in a strategic position, being the only road connecting the north to the southern regions of the continent. And without it, the armies of the North would quickly suffocate without their allies' support from the South. The Insurgent's knew this, and they struck like a hammer on anvil on our frontlines.

In light of those facts, we made preparations for defense. Our forces numbered nearly fifteen thousand men and women from three different kingdoms of the alliance of the fourteen: The Kingdom of Tenesh, the Kingdom of Bastalos, the City-State of Duelmore and the Three Keys Republic. Combined with the defenses of the fortress itself, we felt confident enough to withstand a large number of attacks for weeks on end.

But despite the preparation, nothing could truly prepare us for the onslaught that came next.

I darted past rows of identical tents as I hustled deeper through the camp, barely sparing a glance at the soldiers milling about. My mind was focused on one thing now: reaching the commander's tent as quickly as possible.

My boots thudded against the packed earth as I strode through the rows of tents, my eyes scanning the area for the one that mattered. It was hard to tell them apart - each one looked the same, a drab and utilitarian rectangle flapping in the wind.

Finally, I spotted it, a large tent that stood out from the rest by virtue of being much larger than the others. I could see shadowy silouettes moving inside, outlined against the bright fire of the torches burning deep within, revealing their forms only so slightly in the dark cold night of the Northerlands.

There were two guards standing guard outside, spear in hand, clad in the delicately forged and sturdy armor of the Kingdom of Tenesh. In their chests they bore the insignia of their nation; a stylized symbol that resembles a snake coiled around a dagger, both being central motifs of the Teneshian culture. Their faces betrayed nothing but stoic indifference as I approached them, though one glanced briefly down at me, his eyes lingering momentarily on my face before he spoke.

"It seems you left your helm around last evening, Captain" He remarked dryly before handing it out to me.

I took the helm with a nod, relieved to have it back. "Thank you" I replied.

The helm was a well-crafted and finely polished piece of steel and ceramic, a far cry from the rough leather masks worn by common foot soldiers. It was decorated with an intricacy of golden designs and engravings that depicted the rank of captain, along with the emblematic ornate-looking crest of the Three Keys Republic. At the top of the helmet, two pointed ears protrude upwards, each one lined with soft fabric in a rich golden-brown hue. The ears are positioned to accommodate mine own, so I can hear through them.

As a Vix'tar, my appearance is similar to that of a human, save for my distinct ears and tail. These were the only defining characteristics that set my race apart from humans, and they were often concealed by most Vix'tars who wished to blend seamlessly into human societies lest they be treated as animals rather than beings worthy of respect.

But for me, hiding my true self wasn't really an option. As a Captain of the Three Keys Republic, my public appearance had to be impeccably maintained, especially after being promoted to such a prestigious position.

A 'lesser race' being appointed Captain of the IX Legion created much unrest and abhor a year ago amongst our nation's people. But I swallowed my pride and shame from the start and never once tried to hide the reality. I was devoted to serving The Three Keys Republic and her cause, and nothing else mattered. Some people began to accept a Vix'tar more readily once I proved myself capable of leading men and women of all races. And to most of my comrades-in-arms, I was just another soldier fighting under the flag of the republic, and that was enough for me.

I held the helm to my side and stiffened my posture before entering the tent. Inside, members of the high command sat around a circular table, discussing tactics and matters of great importance. They all turned towards me upon hearing my approach, the tension rising as they stared intently at me. My palms sweating as I saluted.

My choices weighed heavily on me. I could stop the terrible mistakes about to be laid bare on this decisive moment, or I could let them unfold without interference. Thousands of lives would hang in the balance if I chose wrong.