[VOLUME 12: THE ORIGIN][ERA: THE PRIMEVAL AGE][LOCATION: THE OBSIDIAN CASTLE, NIGHT REALM]
The coffin was a masterpiece of gothic architecture. Carved from a single block of black obsidian, inlaid with silver runes of eternal darkness, and lined with crimson velvet spun by blind spiders.
It was also a chiropractic nightmare.
Aldren Vance opened his eyes.
Red light flooded the darkness—not from a lamp, but from his own irises. He stared at the lid of the coffin, inches from his nose.
"Zero stars," Aldren whispered, his voice rusty from a century of sleep. "No lumbar support. No ventilation. And it smells like... old potpourri."
He pushed the heavy stone lid. It flew off, crashing into the far wall of the crypt.
SMASH.
Aldren sat up.
He was not wearing his Tom Ford suit. He was not wearing his tactical turtleneck.
