Chapter 7: Awakening
Zephyr's consciousness clawed its way back to the surface like a dying man dragging himself from a battlefield.
His breath hitched—sharp, shallow, desperate.
Agony. That was his first sensation. His body felt like a thousand razors had been stitched beneath his skin. Every muscle trembled. Every bone groaned beneath the weight of something far heavier than his flesh.
Then the real horror set in.
He couldn't breathe.
His throat—dry, constricted—felt like rusted iron had been poured down his windpipe, seizing everything from the inside. He gagged, trying to swallow, trying to gasp, but it was like invisible chains had wrapped around his lungs. Every inhale was a jagged failure.
"What's... happening...?"
His thoughts were broken, scrambled, like torn pages in a storm.
And then—something touched his hand.
Cold. Smooth. Metallic.
He didn't question it.