awake {Klaus Mikaelson}

The chill of stone seeped into my very bones, a familiar cold that had been my constant companion for what felt like an eternity. Then, a shift. A subtle tremor, a faint sound, and a sensation I hadn't known in countless lifetimes: air. It filled my lungs, raw and sharp, and I gasped, eyes snapping open.

The world was a blur of muted colors and strange shapes. Above me, a rough, unyielding stone ceiling. I blinked, trying to clear the haze from my vision, and slowly, a face came into focus. A woman, dark-haired and stern, stared down at me with an expression of profound shock. Her clothes were unlike anything I remembered, sleek and strangely tailored.

"What the hell?" Her voice, sharp and modern, sliced through the ancient silence. I tried to speak, but only a dry rasp escaped my lips. My head throbbed, a dull ache that resonated with the unfamiliarity of my surroundings.

I pushed myself up, my muscles stiff and uncooperative after centuries of stillness. The surface beneath me was soft, yielding, yet still confined. A coffin. I was in a coffin. Why? And who was this woman?

"Who are you?" she demanded again, her voice laced with an undeniable tremor of fear. Fear of me? A human? I looked around the subterranean chamber, carved from rough stone, and a single, desperate question formed in my mind, a whisper that felt impossibly loud in the echoing space.

"What year is it?"