Darkness. Cold, endless darkness.


    Then—a breath. A slow, deliberate inhale that filled his lungs with crisp air.


    Elric Voss opened his eyes.


    The first thing he noticed was the night sky—vast, endless, and filled with stars unlike any he had ever seen before. Moons—three of them—hung in the heavens, casting a silver glow over an unfamiliar landscape. He lay on a bed of grass, the scent of earth and wildflowers filling his senses.


    He sat up, his body moving effortlessly. Too effortlessly. The weakness, the frailty of age—it was gone. His hands, once wrinkled and thin, were now smooth and strong. He lifted them to his face, brushing against his skin. No sagging flesh, no shaking fingers. He was young again.


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    Then he felt it.


    A hunger, deep and insatiable.


    A nearby stream reflected his image. His once gray hair was now jet black, his once hazel eyes now a deep crimson. His skin was pale, almost unnaturally so. He opened his mouth, and his breath caught at the sight of his own fangs—sharp, glistening in the moonlight.


    He wasn’t just young.


    He wasn’t even human.


    “I’ve... been reborn?” His voice was smooth, powerful. No longer the rasp of a dying man.


    Memories of his past life surged within him—his empire, his technology, his dying wish. He had longed for more time, for immortality, and the universe had answered.


    Now, in this strange world, he had been granted exactly that.


    He stood, gazing at the unspoiled wilderness before him. No cities, no machines, no civilization. If this world had no technology, he would create it. If it had no empire, he would build it.


    He clenched his fists, determination flaring in his crimson eyes.


    "If this world gives me eternity, then I will shape it with my own hands."


    The age of Elric Voss had begun anew.