The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was weight. Not on my chest, but around me — the kind of heaviness that presses on your shoulders until your spine bends.
The ceiling above me was carved wood, painted with faint golden vines that had long lost their shine. I blinked hard, trying to place it. It wasn't my room back in Japan. The faint smell of old timber, candle wax, and unfamiliar herbs told me that clearly enough.
I sat up slowly. My body felt different — younger, lighter, though a strange stiffness lingered in my bones. My hands trembled as I lifted them in front of me. Slimmer, paler, softer. Not mine.
I tried to breathe steadily, but my chest tightened. This wasn't a dream.
My eyes moved around the chamber. Heavy curtains framed tall windows, letting in only slivers of moonlight. The furniture was grand but old — polished wood, velvet chairs, a desk scattered with papers I didn't recognize. And the bed I lay in was too wide, too ornate, its sheets smelling faintly of lavender and dust.
I swung my legs over the side. My bare feet touched the cold floor, and for a moment, I just sat there, trying to stitch together reason.
How did I get here?
And then, like a shard of broken glass piercing through fog, a flash of someone else's memory struck me.A boy standing in the courtyard of this manor, laughing under the winter sun. His name rang clear in my head, a name that was not mine, yet mine all the same.
Adrian.
The sound lingered, heavy, as if it belonged to me now.
I rubbed my temples, but the silence of the chamber pressed in like a suffocating blanket.
Then I heard it.
A whisper.
At first, I thought it was the wind slipping through the cracks of the window. But no — it was too close, too deliberate.
"Chains bind you, Heir of Thorns."
The voice was not loud. It was not even clear. But it slid into my mind with the weight of truth.
My blood turned cold. I spun around, scanning the corners of the room. Nothing. Only the furniture. Only the shadows.
I stumbled backward, almost tripping over the bed. My heart raced, every beat pounding against my ribs like a hammer.
"Chains bind you, Heir of Thorns."
It came again, closer this time, as though whispered directly beside my ear. I clutched my head, shaking, forcing myself to think.
Was I hallucinating? Still dreaming?
But the room was too real. The carved ceiling. The scent of lavender. The sound of my own shallow breathing.
The whisper wasn't imagination. It was something else.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself to sit back on the bed. Panic would kill me faster than anything.
I stayed there, silent, listening. The whisper didn't return. Only the ticking of a clock on the desk filled the room, each tick louder than the last.
I pressed my face into my palms, dragging in a long breath. My body shook, but slowly the fear dulled into a heavy confusion.
Heir of Thorns? Chains? What does that even mean?
No answer came.
I sat there until exhaustion returned like a wave. My body, or rather this new body, felt drained beyond its limit. Even fear couldn't hold me awake.
My eyes closed before I realized it.