Voices reached her before thought did.
"She—she's breathing."
"No… that's not possible."
"Go—go get him. Now."
The words overlapped, rushed and sharp, cutting through the quiet like sudden cracks. She felt movement around her before she understood where she was. Fabric shifted beneath her fingers. Light pressed faintly against her eyelids.
She opened her eyes.
The reaction was immediate.
"She's awake."
"She's really awake."
Someone stepped back so quickly a chair scraped the floor. Another voice broke into hurried disbelief.
"My lady—?"
She tried to move, but her body felt heavy, slow—as if it had been resting far longer than it should have. Her gaze drifted upward, unfocused, catching fragments of white ceiling and pale stone before settling again.
People surrounded her bed.
Too many.
Their faces were pale, eyes wide—not with relief, but with shock. Fear sat just beneath the surface of their expressions, barely contained.
"She was declared dead," someone whispered.
The word dead reached her clearly.
Declared.
Dead.
She frowned slightly. The movement seemed to startle them further.
"Send word to Lord Aurelion."
"He must be informed immediately."
One of them was already rushing toward the door.
She tried to speak.
Her throat felt dry, unused. The sound that came out was barely more than a breath.
"What…?"
The word dissolved before it fully formed.
"She's trying to talk," someone said.
"Don't let her move."
Hands hovered, uncertain whether to touch her or not.
The room was bright—almost painfully so. Everything was white stone and pale light, reflected off polished floors. Nothing about the space looked dark or ominous—yet the tension made it hard to breathe.
Footsteps echoed from beyond the doorway.
Heavy. Measured. Unhurried.
The room stilled.
He entered without announcement.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark wings folded close behind his back, feathers catching the light without reflecting it. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere, pulling every gaze toward him.
"My lord," someone said quickly. "She—she has awakened."
His eyes were already on her.
Golden. Sharp. Unmistakably cold.
He stopped a short distance from the bed and looked down at her as if assessing something that should not exist.
"You're awake," he said.
His voice was calm.
It carried no relief.
A physician stepped forward, swallowing hard. "My lord, we… we confirmed it. She was already asleep when we found her. The draught had taken effect—deeper than expected."
Aurelion didn't look at the physician.
"Too deep," he said.
His tone held no anger. No disbelief. Only certainty.
The physician nodded quickly. "Her breathing slowed. Her pulse faded. We waited. It did not return."
She swallowed, her throat tightening.
"It was only meant to make me sleep," she said quietly.
The room went still again, as if no one had expected her to speak at all.
Aurelion's gaze hardened.
"You took more than you should have," he replied. "Enough that there should have been no waking."
A murmur rippled through the servants.
Someone lowered their eyes.
She stared at him, trying to place his voice against anything inside her—any recognition, any memory. There was nothing. Only the weight of his eyes, and the cold fact of being watched like a mistake.
He spoke again, slower.
"You shouldn't be here."
The words landed cleanly.
Final.
She forced her voice steady. "Then… where am I?"
A small, sharp exhale came from someone behind her.
Aurelion's jaw tightened.
"That's enough," he said. "Everyone out."
"My lord—"
"Now."
They obeyed at once.
One by one, the room emptied. Footsteps retreated until only the two of them remained. The door closed with a muted sound, sealing the silence inside.
Aurelion did not sit.
He stayed standing, wings still, gaze fixed on her as if he were waiting for the version of her he hated to surface.
"You don't remember," he said at last.
It wasn't a question.
She hesitated, then shook her head.
His mouth tightened.
"How convenient," he murmured.
She frowned. "Why are you angry?"
For the first time, his control slipped.
Not into shouting—only into something sharper, rawer.
"Because," he said, "you were never meant to wake up."
The statement hung between them.
She stared at him, heart beating faster now—not from fear, but from the certainty that whatever life she had opened her eyes into, she was already unwelcome in it.
Aurelion turned away.
"Rest," he said coldly. "We'll deal with this later."
Later.
The door closed behind him.
She was alone again.
The bright room felt larger now, its white light almost indifferent. She stared at the ceiling, the name she had heard echoing faintly in her mind.
Seralyth.
Whoever that woman had been—
She was certain of one thing.
Aurelion had never wanted her alive.