The darkness wasn't cold.
That was the first thing I noticed when consciousness returned—this blackness wrapped around me like a sun-warmed cloak, thick enough to swallow sound but humming with strange energy. My fingers passed through it like mist, leaving silver trails where they moved.
Then the voice came.
*"So you are the one who has been chosen."*
It rolled through the darkness like boulders down a mountain—deep, grinding, *physical* in a way no human throat could produce.
I sat up slowly. "Who's there?"
No answer. Just the whisper of something vast shifting in the dark.
Since I'd read enough trashy novels, I took a guess: "Let me guess—either the thing that dragged me here, or the last poor bastard who had my class. But why show up now?"
A chuckle vibrated through my bones. *"My name is unimportant, child. What matters is this—you were never meant to inherit the power you possess."*
The words landed like a gut punch. "And what does *that* mean?"
*"It means your destiny was rewritten."* The darkness pulsed. *"Not by your hand, nor any player on your stage. A most... curious anomaly."*
Something wet dripped onto my shoulder. I didn't dare look up.
*"Since you were never meant to hold this power,"* the voice continued, *"I shall reclaim it."*
"WAIT—"
The darkness stilled. Then, impossibly, I felt *amusement* radiating from it.
*"Oh? Your desperation amuses me, child. Very well—convince me. Why should I let you keep what you stole, little Chicken Knight?"*
My eye twitched at the nickname.
"How do you want me to convince you?" I spat. "Promise to be a hero? Swear I'll be a great villain?"
The darkness rippled. *"Who knows?"*
I took a breath. "Alright, since I don't know who you are—how about giving me a quest?"
Silence.
"Yeah, you're some all-powerful, mysterious entity. Inspire a young knight with a grand mission or whatever."
The laughter that followed nearly shattered my skull.
*"HAHHAHHAHAH! A *knight*? In my day, to earn that title required the heart of a lion, the soul of a hero! You needed strength to slay dragons and purity to banish demons! And you—*you* dare claim that mantle?"* The voice dripped with contempt. *"Your arrogance has no bounds."*
I clenched my fists.
*"And yet... your gall amuses me."* The darkness coiled tighter. *"I will give you a trial. But for insulting knighthood itself, your penalty for failure won't be losing your stolen power."*
The temperature dropped. Suddenly I *felt* it—something massive crouching just beyond sight, its breath hot and rancid on my neck.
*"It will be death."*
I swallowed hard. "I accept. What's the task?"
The voice spoke four sentences, each one carving itself into my mind like brands:
1. *"Find the valley where mortal earth kisses the underworld—this will test your wisdom."*
2. *"Walk the spirit roads when the veil thins—this will test your courage."*
3. *"Slay the guardian of the threshold—this will test your strength."*
4. *"Free an innocent soul from the halls of the damned—this will test your heart."*
A weight settled on my shoulders. *"You have until the next Azure Moon. Succeed, and you may *begin* to call yourself a knight."*
I opened my mouth to ask—
---
**CRACK.**
Here's your refined passage with improved flow, emotional impact, and consistency with your worldbuilding:
---
Sunlight stabbed my eyes as I jolted upright in the ditch. Gerald stood over me, his silhouette blocking the worst of the glare.
*"Good nap, kid?"*
I scrambled up, taking in our surroundings—the same shattered street where Gerald had faced the assassins. The cobblestones still bore the scars of his silver aura, but the bodies were gone. My hand went to my throat, remembering the shadow's grip.
*"You look like you've seen a ghost,"* Gerald grunted. He tried to hide it, but I saw the new lines around his eyes. That fight had cost him.
*"Something took me. Gave me a... quest."*
I spilled everything—the voice in the darkness, the four trials, the threat of death. Gerald's brows knitted together when I mentioned the Azure Moon deadline.
*"Interesting,"* he murmured. *"You just described a sphinx."*
*"A what?"* I knew the word, but not what he meant by it.
*"Ancient creatures from the First Age,"* he said, wiping his sword with a cloth. * " said to rival true dragons not those overgrown fire lizards. Those so called 'dragon slayers' seem to pride them selves on slaying."*
*"How do you know it was a sphinx?"*
*"The way it spoke of knighthood."* Gerald sheathed his blade with a click. *"Legend says the first sphinxes were companions to the original Round Table—eight knights that embodied all that it is to be called a knight. The first to push back the darkness so humanity may find a place in this cruel world, those that carved dragon and demon alike to form the first sword techniques those that protected every man, woman and child with no prejudice. Each went on to be the foundation of 8 kingdoms. One of them..."* He tapped his boot on the cobblestone. *"...built the very land you were born in."*
The weight of his words settled over me. Without thinking, I dropped to one knee.
*"Gerald Vessarion. Slayer of the Purple Lightning Wyrm. Former Grand Marshal of the Eclipse Order."* My voice didn't shake. *"Will you do me the honor to let me squire for you on my quest to find knighthood? Not just for power... but to become worthy of knighthood?"*
For a heartbeat, silence. Then—
***Shing.***
Gerald drew his sword again—but not the battered blade I knew. Silver aura ignited along its length, reshaping the metal before my eyes. The crossguard bloomed into ornate wings, the blade thinning to a razor's edge that shimmered violet in the sunlight.
Somewhere in the world, 199 pairs of eyes turned toward Britannia's capital.
*"Alexander."* Gerald's voice changed, becoming solemn. *"Child of no one. Loved by no blood. Apprentice of a butcher."* The glowing sword tip touched my left shoulder. *"Do you believe yourself worthy to bear the mantle of knight?"*
I thought of both my lives—the meaningless death no an existence in one world, the desperate struggle in this one.
*"No,"* I said honestly. *"But I want to be."* My fingers dug into my thighs. *"I want to be a sword the weak can rely on. A shield for the innocent. The backbone that holds up everyone who needs it."*
Gerald's eyes crinkled. *"Good answer."*
The sword moved—right shoulder, then the crown of my head.
*"Rise, Alexander. The butcher's apprentice is dead."* His blade flashed as he sheathed it. *"Now stand as my squire."*
I did—only then noticing the tears cutting tracks through the dirt on my face.