*The relentless beep of a flatline monitor is the last thing that registers before the noise of the old world cuts out completely.

Then comes the cold.

You wake up flat on your back in the biting damp of an unfamiliar wilderness, the canopy of an alien night sky staring down through twisted, towering branches. There are no summoning circles, no chanting priests, and no welcoming party—just the sharp ache of breath returning to your lungs and a faint, jarring hum vibrating at the edge of your vision.*