He plummeted into darkness, yet consciousness persisted. Not the death he'd imagined. The despised realm expelled him violently into another—a world where crimson skies hang overhead, where shattered gods litter the landscape, and where spoken names carry more weight than mortal existence. He exists as a stranger here. A cursed vessel. An erased memory. But within fractured recollections and phantom laughter that was never his own, a sinister revelation unfolds: death brings no finale, only a far more merciless genesis. An unwritten tome. A kinship devoid of warmth. A borrowed form that rejects him, and a voice echoing through shadow, murmuring of endless time.