Perspective: Alessio Leone
Alessio was dead.
He was certain of it.
That sensation — the last thread of consciousness dissolving into white silence — he knew it far too well.
Dying inside the Black Tower was nothing new.
He had been through it dozens of times before: his body dissolving into light, pain turning cold, and the void swallowing everything.
But this time… something was different.
When his eyes opened, there was no familiar heaviness in his soul, no weakness from losing an attribute level.
Quite the opposite.
There was strength.
A vibrant force pulsed through his muscles, as if his very blood had been replaced by living energy.
He drew in a deep breath, the air filling his lungs with an almost painful clarity.
Everything seemed sharper.
The light.
The sound.
Even the simple beating of his heart.
The silence around him carried its own weight, humming with life.
For a moment, he didn't move — his body heavy with surprise.
Then, slowly, he raised a hand to his face.
That's when he noticed it.
Hands.
Human hands.
Fingers.
Skin.
Nails.
Not claws.
He turned them before his eyes, as if staring at a long-lost ghost.
The tendons shifted beneath the skin, the warmth of life radiating from his own touch.
Old scars — the same ones he'd earned as a reckless child — were still there.
Small marks, yet unmistakable.
He laughed softly.
A short, hoarse sound, almost trembling.
He never imagined he could miss something so simple.
But lying on that cold floor, for the first time in a long while, he was himself again.
The man behind the lion.
He took a steadying breath, trying to gather his thoughts.
The place looked… familiar.
Ancient columns, stone walls covered in moss, twisted trunks rising toward the ceiling like petrified roots.
Everything was just as it had been before his death.
The same colossal hall.
The same heavy air.
But something had changed.
Where once stood the gray portal — the one that had led him to the Essence Ascension trial — now sat a throne.
An ugly thing, stained and uneven, built from bones and dark stones slick with moss.
It reeked of decay — the kind of energy one only felt in the presence of a lich.
The sight alone made him frown.
This place was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
Before he could think further, a faint sound broke through the silence — slow, steady breathing.
He turned his head and saw her.
Sith wasn't far away, lying upon the intertwined roots that formed a natural cradle.
But she was no longer a lioness.
The body that once radiated wild strength now belonged to a woman again.
And the scene — even in that somber, lifeless chamber — held something profoundly human, almost sacred.
Her hair, black as the night shrouding the Tower, fell in long, disheveled strands across her shoulders and the ground, glinting softly under the pale light that seeped through the cracks above.
The damp locks clung to her skin like dark ink over porcelain.
Her skin — pale, almost translucent — seemed to reflect the faint glow around her, as if her body itself gave off a gentle light.
There were scratches on her arms and legs — marks of struggle and effort — yet nothing that diminished the strange delicacy now emanating from her.
She slept — or perhaps had fainted — her expression calm, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
Her breathing seemed to mark the very tempo of the room.
Nestled against her arms was a cub.
Small.
Its golden fur still damp, its movements faint, almost invisible.
It pressed itself against her body, seeking warmth, and with every breath she took, it moved in rhythm — as if its entire world depended on that quiet pulse of life.
For a moment, Alessio simply watched.
The sight struck him with silent force.
He had forgotten how human she could be — the woman behind the warrior, the predator, the fury-stained fighter he'd seen countless times.
The scene was… impossible to ignore.
Even amidst the tension, his chest tightened.
A faint, involuntary smile curved his lips.
That was his child.
The cub he had risked everything to protect during the trial — not knowing what would come of it, whether it was just part of the test or something real.
And now, there it was.
Alive.
Breathing.
A small golden miracle amid ruin.
For a heartbeat, Alessio forgot everything — the foul throne, the stench of necrotic energy, the lingering ache in his flesh.
All that mattered was there, alive before him.
But instinct never sleeps.
Something was wrong with the air.
The energy in the room was heavy — pulsating, dormant, yet alive, as if waiting for a single movement to awaken.
They had to get out.
Fast.
Alessio braced himself to move toward Sith, to wake her, to get her out of there.
He knelt, one hand against the ground, ready to take the first step—
—when something tugged at his leg.
It was faint, almost gentle.
But unmistakable — tiny claws scratching his skin.
He looked down.
And there it was.
A second cub.
Smaller, but awake.
Its golden fur shimmered in the dim light, and what made him freeze — what truly stopped his breath — were the eyes.
Honey-colored eyes.
The same eyes he saw every morning when he looked in the mirror.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
The little one stared at him, standing on trembling paws, head slightly tilted as if studying him.
That expression — curious, calm, yet firm — was his own.
Alessio blinked.
He glanced toward Sith.
The first cub still slept peacefully against her chest, unmoving.
The one before him, however, was clearly different.
And in that instant, as his heart raced, the truth struck him.
He wasn't the father of one cub.
But two.
Two hearts. Two lives.
A doubled light born from darkness.
And for a brief, unguarded moment — even before that cursed throne and the dense energy crowding the hall — Alessio felt the pure, uncontrollable urge to laugh.