SSS 1: Resurrection (Patreon)

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Hello! Here's the first chapter of my new series, Sanassa Salina Survived. This will run alongside Amelia Thornheart and be a Patreon exclusive until it reaches 30-40 chapters, after which it will start to be posted on RR/SH while maintaining a ten-chapter Patreon backlog!

Those who have been hanging around the Discord will know this was coming. This is my take on a LitRPG/System series, and will contain Vampires, GL, Kingdom building, Military stuff, and all kinds of exciting twists and turns. It will make use of images for the System screens, so screen-readers will miss out details until I sort alt-text and other solutions!

To not overwhelm myself, I'm aiming to keep chapters shorter compared to Amelia Thornheart. Looking to target the 2-3k range, instead of the 4k+ that Amelia has. As for schedule... until I'm settled into my new accommodation in early September I'm afraid to commit to anything <3 Anyway, enough yapping, first chappie below!

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After being dead for a thousand years, Sanassa Salina was understandably rather surprised—and a little bit annoyed—to find that her comfortable situation had changed and she was now very much alive.

Her resurrection had come about in slow, incremental steps. The very first change was when her body once again became aware of its physical self—the weight and presence of her smooth, white bones becoming wrapped in flesh that knitted together, and the formation of blood vessels, filling with life force that should not be there. She existed in a void—a bubble of nothingness borne from her lack of senses. 

Then, as weeks—or perhaps years—passed, Sanassa’s senses developed. Her body could feel the coldness of her coffin, and later, the smooth texture of the hewn stone it was made from. The more her body repaired itself, the more feedback she gained, and the more feedback she gained, the faster her body rejuvenated.

At some unknown point in time, Sanassa’s hearing returned. From then on, her fragile existence was punctuated only by the rhythmic beating of her formerly shrivelled heart and the rushing of her formerly dried blood. Eventually, her lungs reformed, and the sounds were joined by the inhale and exhale of air. It wasn’t long before the symphony of her existence was joined by noises from outside.

The skittering of insects and the flow of water.

For a day or a week or maybe even a year, the shell that was Sanassa’s body listened to these sounds. Then, without warning, her eyes began to work, producing images of fuzzy darkness that was a grand improvement over the nothingness before.

The final step was sudden and violent. With the sensation of having a bucket of ice-cold water thrown over her, Sanassa’s shell regained its owner’s soul. Whether her soul came from someplace else or manifested from nothing, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wasn’t, and now she was.

I’m alive, Sanassa thought to herself—her first thought in a thousand years.

It was time to experiment. First, she moved a finger, then a hand, and then, feeling a growing sense of confidence, Sanassa reached out with her arm, pointing the limb up towards the dark ceiling.

I’m awfully thin, she thought, noting her skeletal limb.

She worked the muscles of her jaw, opening her dry mouth to make her first words in her new life a request for water, before stopping herself when she realised her maids and servants wouldn’t be here. 

But, where exactly was here?

Sanassa dropped her arm and, using her new eyes, relied on her bloodline ability to see through the pitch-black darkness. Above her, there was a domed ceiling, every part carved with ornate lettering forming prayers that Sanassa was well-versed in.

They were funeral rites.

Her funeral, no doubt.

At least I wasn’t left to rot, Sanassa thought bitterly.

The noise of running water caught her attention, the tantalising trickling conjuring up images of the crystal-clear fountain water that lined the Old Citadel. Taking as deep a breath as she could, Sanassa sat up and took stock of her surroundings. Along with the carved prayers, alcoves lined the circumference of the room, each one full of painted urns. Sanassa leaned slightly to look over the edge of her coffin, noting that she was positioned in the centre of the burial chamber, high up on a plinth.

All this confirmed to Sanassa that she’d been buried by her own people.

Vampires.

She took a few breaths, the noise loud and clear in the otherwise dead chamber. She twisted her body to look the other way. Her eyes widened as she saw something that very much wasn’t a part of her culture’s funeral rites.

Next to what must have been the broken remains of her coffin lid was a dead man. A dead man who hadn’t been part of the living for a long time, judging by the fact that only his bones remained. Who was he, and why was he here?

Any further thought on the matter was vanquished by the sight of flowing water.

A small trickle, barely enough to call it even a stream, ran through her burial chamber. Unable to stop herself, Sanassa used all the strength she could muster to lean out of her coffin and lever a leg over the rim. Just as she prepared to place her foot down and take the very first step of her new life, her instincts flared, warning her of danger.

Sanassa froze, like a cat that had spotted a mouse.

Nothing happened.

No, something was happening. There was a sense of something on the edges of her perception. Something large, no, something massive was coming for her. It wasn’t a physical thing. No, this was something magical in origin. Some kind of spell. Some kind of communication.

It reached her a moment later. Sanassa croaked out a dry cry of agony as her head felt like it was splitting open. Then, in front of her eyes. Something began to form. Something alien and familiar.

Something that knew her name.

“No,” she whispered, her instincts using what little strength she had to push the invasive spell away. She was too weak to engage in magic right now, with only a trickle of goldlight within her. She needed to drink something. She needed to—

She slipped and tumbled down the plinth, slamming rather unceremoniously onto the floor.

True Ancestor, give me strength, she thought with a unroyal groan. 

She took a moment to make sure all her limbs were still attached. Her cheek felt cool. At first, she was worried she was bleeding; whatever state she was in, she was sure she couldn’t afford to lose what little blood she had. Her hope bore fruit, and with a sense of surprise followed by enlightened rapture, Sanassa saw that she’d fallen straight into the stream.

Wasting no time, she opened her mouth, pushing her face against the shallow water so that the water ran into her mouth. Unable to wait any longer, Sanassa closed her mouth and swallowed.

The feeling of cool water running down her thousand-year-old parched throat was, without a doubt, the greatest pleasure she’d ever felt. She let out a satisfied moan, a noise that was perhaps rather undignified for a former queen, but Sanassa cared not. She let her mouth fill with water once more and then swallowed again.

The feeling of that second mouthful was, without a doubt, the second greatest pleasure she’d ever felt.

She continued to drink, mouthful after mouthful, lying there in the stream. She drank more than she’d ever drunk before. She drank until she was worried that at any moment she might burst open and end her new life there and then. 

Eventually, her body refused to drink any more water.

Too tired to reposition herself, Sanassa tilted her head so her mouth wouldn’t fill with water and closed her eyes.

Then, she slept for several days.

When she next woke, Sanassa immediately felt a dozen times stronger. Even her arms, formerly skeletal and firmly in the ‘should-not-be-alive’ category, were now filled out enough so that she might pass for a living being.

Sanassa sat up.

She gently probed her body. She was naked, but Sanassa could worry about that another time. It wasn’t like there was anyone else here, after all. She noted that she had bruises where she’d fallen. While they were sore, they were well on their way to healing. With a bit of food, her vampire bloodline would do its job and heal her in no time.

But where would she find something to eat here, of all places?

Oh.

Of course.

Thank the Ancestors for our burial rites, she thought.

Sanassa climbed to her feet, silently congratulating herself for not folding over from her weight. Taking a few shaky steps, she approached one of the alcoves before collapsing against it. After resting for a minute, she reached up and pulled down one of the urns. She knew the patterns painted upon it were vibrant colours, but in the pitch-black darkness of her burial chamber, Sanassa’s vampire eyes only gave her greyscale vision.

Lacking the strength to break the air-tight wax seal, Sanassa dropped the urn, letting it shatter upon the stone floor. The chamber filled with the smell of lavender, originating from the thick and creamy liquid now spreading over the stone floor. The urn’s preservation magic had done its job.

It smelled nice, but it wasn’t edible.

Sending a silent apology to the True Ancestor for destroying the gifts Sanassa was supposed to give him in the afterlife, she reached up and grabbed another urn and repeated the process. A moment later, a different smell tickled her nose.

Nutmeg.

Followed by anise.

And then cinnamon.

And then mint.

And then…

Finally, Sanassa thought, as she quickly tried to move the remains of the sixth urn to save as much of the gloopy, sticky liquid as possible.

Honey.

Not just any honey. Sakurian Honey. Expensive, delicious, and known for its resistance to crystallisation, even in cool environments, preservation magic or not. Sanassa was lucky that whoever entombed her didn’t spare any expense. A cheaper honey would mean she would need to chew, and she didn’t have the energy for that.

Not hesitating a moment longer, Sanassa used a shard of the smashed urn to scoop up a generous amount of honey and bring it into her mouth, eagerly slurping it from the piece of pottery.

Oh, True Ancestor…

Whatever past Sanassa had thought the meaning of the phrase ‘the flavour explodes in your mouth’ meant, current Sanassa wished she could go back and correct her foolish self. The sheer, delightful sweetness of the thousand-year-old honey was at an intensity that she’d thought impossible to experience outside of the Ancestor Halls. The finest chefs of her kingdom would never be able to produce a dish that could match what she was feeling right now.

Without waiting or caring how she might look, Sanassa greedily scooped another generous serving of honey, and then another, and another. She continued until the urn was empty, and then, feeling unsatisfied, she continued smashing urns to find more. This time, she’d recovered enough strength to break the urns using the lip of the alcove. This way, once she found another honey urn, she could simply tip the contents into her mouth.

It wasn’t any surprise when she started to feel very sick.

And very thirsty.

Sanassa stopped gorging and returned to the stream, this time with much more confidence in her legs. She bent down and drank deeply, and when she sat back, she, for the first time since waking up, felt content.

That was until it happened again.

Her instincts tickled, and then the strange spell hit her. It had come out of seemingly nowhere, but Sanassa could just about sense the vague, endless power behind it. She felt pain, this time not so much from the overwhelming magical stimuli, but from her effort resisting it. 

Once again, the strange mirage began forming. It seemed to appear in her vision, but it also occupied her mind’s eye. It was manifesting in front of her, taking up space wherever she looked. Yet, somehow, she could see through it at the same time. Bit by bit, against her best efforts, the illusory image began to coalesce into something recognisable.

Seeing it come together, Sanassa felt her blood run cold.

“Stop!” she shouted. Her first shout in her new life.

She ignited her blood, burning up what little goldlight she had to push the spell away. It took almost everything she had, but the illusory image faded away. She sensed it retreat, relaxing the magical claws it had gripped her with.

But it wasn’t gone, it was just waiting.

She wouldn’t be able to fight it again.

Could it be…? Sanassa dared to think. Did that man manage it in the end?

Trying not to let herself ruminate on the dreadful consequences of her thoughts, Sanassa did her best to distract herself by approaching and examining the skeleton—her only companion in her thousand-year-long hiatus.

It was the skeleton of an adult male, that much she was sure. What she wasn’t sure of was how he died, or when. He was just bones, so many years had passed since the man’s passing. His body held no clues to his cause of death. She couldn’t see any sign of damage to his skeleton.

Had he died from a disease?

Sanassa turned, looking around for more clues. Spotting the stream, she followed the water to its origins. There, at the base of the wall, was a hole. Judging by the work marks on the stone, it looked like someone had chiselled in from the outside. It might be a bit of a squeeze, but a man could push themselves through it if they tried.

A man-sized hole, Sanassa thought, turning and looking at the skeleton. And a man.

Was this man the one who’d broken into her burial chamber?

Had he somehow become trapped in here? Is that how he’d died?

Sanassa looked at the remains of her coffin lid. Had he come to loot her coffin? Perhaps a defensive spell or trap had been inscribed upon her coffin, and he’d activated it?

Sanassa bent down to examine the shattered lid. Unfortunately, the mystery of the man’s death remained unsolved as she sensed no sign that the lid had ever held any spellwork of any kind.

“Who are you?” she murmured, looking at the hollow skull.

Then, something caught her eye.

In one of the alcoves, there was a box. Where all the other alcoves contained slender, rounded urns, the dark-grey box stood out. Approaching it, Sanassa saw it was made from lead and, like the urns, used wax to create an air-tight seal.

It looked out of place, like it wasn’t part of her original funeral.

There was no way Sanassa had the strength to smash a metal box, but she needn’t have worried; whoever had left it there had made sure there was a clasp that she could pull to open it.

It took most of her remaining strength, but the box’s lid opened with a soft pop. She levered the lid up and off the box, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud. Peering inside, she removed the items one by one.

A wrapped bundle of clothes that, if she wasn’t mistaken, looked like they would be suited for travel.

A pair of shoes that looked suspiciously like her size.

A pouch of coins—gold, silver, and bronze—minted with a symbol she didn’t recognise. The discovery of the coins confirmed that this box wasn’t a part of her funeral. Currency wasn’t allowed to be taken to the Ancestor Halls; it wasn’t needed.

There was also a large, glass bottle of water, followed by a metal tin. Opening the tin, Sanassa found several dozen fist-sized packages, wrapped in waxed paper. Opening one, she recognised it was hardtack—a travelling biscuit.

And then, last of all, was the most significant of all.

“Who does this belong to?” Sanassa murmured, examining the small bottle of blood that glowed with faint golden hues.

She was sure of it now. Someone or something had orchestrated her resurrection. Whether it was the dead man or someone else, they had come in here at some point and prepared everything she would need to begin a new life. 

The strength of the goldblood was weak, but she could hardly be picky in these circumstances. She would need to drink this quickly and replenish her goldlight before that dreadful spell returned and—

As if on cue, Sanassa was once again gripped by the titanic piece of magic that sought to envelope her senses and impose its will upon her. As the illusory image began to form once again, she desperately looked towards the bottle of goldblood.

It wouldn’t be enough.

Not even close.

Sanassa could sense the sheer power behind this spell. This wasn’t a piece of magic created to overwhelm her. No. This was magic that was made to overwhelm the world. This was magic backed by more than mortal man or vampire. This was… this was…

A memory surfaced in her mind, a fragment of a conversation she’d had a thousand years ago.

I will power it with the world’s ley lines. It will be forever and unstoppable, he had told her.

“I can’t believe it…” Sanassa whispered as she fell to her knees, clutching the bottle of goldblood. “You did it, didn’t you? You terrible, great man…” she trailed off as the magic took root within her. 

She was as helpless as a single drop of water on the surface of the sun.

Sanassa wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

It was right there. An inescapable sight.

She felt herself tear up. 

It was improper for a queen to cry, but Sanassa cared not.

What she saw before her confirmed her worst fears. To prevent this thing from manipulating them all, she’d led armies into slaughter. To prevent this thing from coming into existence, she’d died on the battlefield. She’d given everything and lost everything to try and stop its creation.

This thing’s chief architect was even the one who’d slain her.

For it to be here meant one thing.

They had lost. 

The natives of the world had lost to the Outsiders.

They’d lost the War of the System.

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