Chapter 2: So... I Might’ve Been Reborn or Something

  So, I'm guessing you're confused.

  Don’t worry. I got you.

  Allow me to properly introduce myself.

  My name is Karina—at least, that’s what it is now. But in a past life (shocked? Gasping? No? Cool, moving on), I went by Su Rin. Chinese-American. Hardcore fantasy nerd. Mythology junkie. Believer in dragons, magic, and hidden civilizations that definitely weren’t invented by bored historians in the 1800s.

  Naturally, I studied archaeology.

  Cool, right?

  Yeah, no. Not even a little.

  Let me break it to you gently: archaeology is not Indiana Jones. It's hours of digging in the dirt, sweating like you’re in a slow-burn sauna, only to uncover something that suspiciously looks like fossilized poop. And don't even get me started on the sunburns.

  As you might expect, all that “living in remote deserts and talking to rocks” lifestyle didn’t exactly do wonders for my social life—or my love life. So I got used to being my own best friend.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  And by “my own best friend,” I mean I had full-blown conversations with that little voice in my head.

  You know the one.

  The voice that sometimes gives solid advice and other times tells you to cut your own bangs at 2 a.m. Or, you know, lie inside ancient crypts because “what could possibly go wrong?”

  (Yeah. That voice.)

  Anyway, one day I got a call from some colleagues. Apparently, there’d been a discovery—a big one. An artifact from a supposedly unknown civilization. The archeology world was buzzing harder than a soda can in a paint shaker.

  Now, between you and me, the “artifact” just looked like a fancy bronze foot-washing bowl. But the guy who found it was so smug about it, you'd think he uncovered Atlantis.

  Still, the National Archaeology Council (or some equally boring government-sounding thing) decided to fund an official expedition. And they were looking for qualified archaeologists to join.

  So obviously, I signed up. One: career boost. Two: an unknown civilization, hello? Maybe my childhood fantasies weren’t so delusional after all.

  (Ha. Delusional? Me? Never. Shut up.)

  Anyway. Fast forward to the site.

  We discovered a deep pit right at the center of the excavation, with a crypt-like structure buried inside. It was ornate, strange, and large enough to fit a human body. When we opened it, we were all expecting—something. A corpse. Bones. At least a creepy-ass curse.

  Nope. Just empty.

  Some experts theorized it might’ve been a ceremonial coffin. Others thought it was a hoax. Me? I thought it was a whole lot of hype for something that looked like it belonged in a vampire cosplay convention.

  Everyone packed up for the night, heading off to eat dehydrated noodles and pretend we were making history.

  I was bored. My phone died. So naturally…

  I went back to the pit.

  Because if horror movies have taught me anything, it’s that poking mysterious tombs at night is a great idea.

  And then the little voice in my head whispered, “You should lie in it.”

  So I did.

  (Yep. Certified genius here.)

  As soon as I lay down, the lid slammed shut. And for the first time in my entire life, I realized—I might actually be claustrophobic. Like, screaming-into-the-void claustrophobic.

  Five minutes later, the lid opened again.

  But instead of my very annoyed colleagues finding me… I was greeted by a dozen monsters. Literal monsters. Horns, tails, glowing eyes, the works.

  They looked at me.

  They bowed.

  They shouted in a language I didn’t understand—and then in very clear, very dramatic English:

  “WELCOME BACK, YOUR MAJESTY!”

  I screamed.

  Loudly.

  So yeah… that's how I died, got reborn, and somehow ended up being mistaken for the Lord of Demons.

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