A king returns

Aric's eyes flickered open, the world gradually coming into focus around him. The first sensation that greeted him was warmth—unexpected and unfamiliar, the kind of warmth he hadn't felt in many, many days. 

It wasn't the pale, weak light that barely kissed the skin during the frigid marches through the northern lands. No, this sunlight was far brighter, harsher even, bathing his face in an almost startling heat that jarred him awake.

He squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the golden rays spilling across the horizon. 

The brightness made his head swim, disoriented by the stark contrast between the warmth and the biting chill he had endured for what felt like ages. For a moment, he wondered if he had died after all—succumbing to the wound, the exhaustion, the battle. 

Perhaps this was hell, and he had been damned to wander through an eternity of suffocating heat.