Ch 4: The Slow Awakening
It began not with a sound, but a pulse.
A single, subtle beat that echoed through the emptiness like a drop of rain on stone. Then another. Slow, deliberate. The rhythm of life clawing its way back from the brink of nothing.
Somewhere deep within the void, Caspian stirred.
He was submerged in darkness so dense it felt like drowning in tar, a still and airless sea where time did not exist. He floated weightless, formless, tethered only by the stubborn flicker of a heartbeat.
A sliver of something real. A pinprick of light behind closed lids.
With excruciating slowness, sensation returned. First came pain, dull and distant, then sharper as if his nerves had remembered their purpose. His body was a battlefield—limbs stiff, ribs bruised, lungs tight.
It was not grace.
It was not power.
But it was a beginning.
Then—voices. Muffled. Far away, like shouting underwater. They blurred together into a low hum, fractured by static.
Medic
“He’s stirring again. Gods above, he’s actually waking.”
Physician
“No fever. Pulse holding. We need to keep his temperature stable—he’s coming out of it faster than expected.”
The world—dim and fractured—began to bleed back into focus. Blurred figures hovered above him, white-robed specters outlined by pale torchlight. His eyes fluttered open, lashes crusted, vision swimming with pale yellows and gray.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. Not the crumbling stone of the castle halls, but a vaulted chamber of polished limestone, lit softly by enchanted orbs and flickering lanterns. The scent of lavender and sterile herbs lingered in the air.
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
Internal (Nevian)
Where…?
This isn’t death.
Am I… still him?
Still here?
He tried to move. His muscles screamed. A fire licked up his spine, and he gasped—a raw, cracked sound more breath than voice.
Medic
(softly, gently)“Easy, my prince. Don’t rush it.”
The word clawed at his skull like a shard of ice.
He was a shadow. A blade. A corpse that never got to rot.
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
Internal (Nevian)
No. You’re not Caspian. You’re Nevian Rune. Or… you were.
But they killed you. And now—
His body had become foreign. Fragile. A cage of bones held together with pain and silence. A puppet of flesh he couldn’t yet command.
He turned his head, barely. A nurse with tired eyes met his gaze and offered a flicker of a smile.
Nurse
“Welcome back, Highness.”
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
Internal (Nevian)
Highness? No. Not that word. Not ever.
He tried to speak—tried to tell them to stop, to shut up, to get away—but his voice cracked into nothing.
The healer dipped a cloth into cool water and pressed it to his forehead.
Medic
“Your body is healing. Slowly. You’ve been unconscious for nearly two weeks. You were—”(he hesitated, lowering her voice.) “—nearly gone.”
His words hung in the air like a sentence passed.
Two weeks of silence. Of drifting. Of waiting to be reborn into someone he did not understand.
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
Internal (Nevian)
This isn’t life. Not yet. This is… purgatory.
I should be dead.
But now I’m this boy. This broken, bruised shell in a prince’s skin.
He tried again. This time, his lips parted and formed a sound—a whisper, raspy and weak.
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
“…water.”
The nurse rushed to oblige, tilting a cup gently to his lips. The water was lukewarm, but it felt like life itself—clearing the dust from his throat, coating the rawness of rebirth.
Every motion was a labor. His breath came in shallow gasps. Sweat beaded on his brow. But the haze began to lift.
Memories struck like lightning across the fog.
The hand that pushed him.
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
Internal (Nevian)
He tried to kill me.
And now… now I’m him. The boy who died in my place.
A tray was brought in. Broth. Water. A basin of herbs. A salve that smelled of mint and wormwood. The routine of recovery had begun.
The healers fussed. The aides whispered.
Physician
“We’ll begin physiotherapy in two days. Perhaps light stimulation tomorrow. He may regain partial mobility within the month, if—”
Medic
“Shhh. He hears you.”
Yes. He heard everything.
And though he couldn’t yet speak it, couldn’t scream or stand or strike, a fire was building inside him.
Caspian Lucas Alistair(ml)
Internal (Nevian)
You failed to bury me, Avernos.
Now watch what crawls back from the grave.
He was still weak. Still broken.
But his eyes no longer belonged to a child.
They belonged to a ghost.
And in those depths, something darker stirred.
The assassin wasn’t dead.
Cherrie
Hey there, if you’re still reading—thank you for following this slow, haunting journey. Writing this chapter felt like pulling someone out of a grave one heartbeat at a time. If you’ve ever fought to come back from something hard—physically or emotionally—I hope this resonated with you. Remember, even a whisper of resolve can be louder than the silence of defeat. See you in the next chapter. 💀🖤
Comments
Ashleydew
thank you for the update, author 😊
2025-05-15
1