He was weightless, suspended in an endless darkness that pressed in from all sides. 

There was no sound, no sensation—only a heavy, disorienting void. His mind, sluggish and fragmented, barely clung to a thought.

"Where am I? Oh... that's right... I died."

The realization echoed in the silence, growing louder, sharper, until it sliced through his confusion. A dull throb began to pulse behind his eyes, swelling into a hammering pain, as though someone was relentlessly striking metal against an anvil beside his skull. He winced, though there was nothing to see, nothing to touch. Just the oppressive, unending dark.

"Why did I die?"

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His memory was a haze. Each time he reached for it, the details slipped away like water through his fingers. Then, faintly, a sound—distant but unmistakable. The low rumble of explosions, growing louder, creeping closer.

"What is that?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

The darkness shattered.

His eyes flew open, his chest heaving as though he had just broken the surface of water after drowning. For a moment, everything was blurred, and the pain in his head spiked viciously. But as his vision cleared, he saw where he was.

A tent. Ragged, worn, with slashes in the fabric that let streaks of weak sunlight filter through. The air was stale, heavy with the smell of sweat and blood. He lay on a crude bed made of bundled straw that pricked at his skin through thin, dirty sheets. His entire body ached, as though he had been thrown around like a ragdoll. Slowly, he sat up, the pounding in his head easing just enough for him to focus.

Across the tent, a small wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed, scratched and battered with age. Next to it stood a tall mirror—cracked from top to bottom. His gaze fell on the reflection, and his breath caught in his throat.

The face staring back at him was not his own.

Sunken cheeks, pale skin stretched over sharp bones, and deep, dark circles under hollow eyes. His body was thin—unnaturally so—with ribs pressing against his skin, wrapped in tight, bloodstained bandages. His hands trembled as he raised them to his face, touching the unfamiliar contours.

"Who... who is this?"