Sylvera woke slowly. Too slowly. The kind of slow where she wasn't sure she was awake yet.
Light came through her eyelids first. Soft. Gold. It didn't stab at her eyes the way light usually did. That alone felt wrong. The air around her was warm. Not heavy. Just warm. It sat on her skin and stayed there. She blinked once. Then again. Her body didn't move right away. She didn't tell it to. She just lay there and breathed slowly , because at this point it felt like breathing was easy and thinking wasn't.
The ceiling above her was high. Higher than she expected. Painted clouds stretched across it, pale and uneven, with small stars scattered between them. Not perfect. Someone had painted them by hand. A silk canopy was hanging over the bed . And it moved slightly when the air moved. Sunlight came in through open balcony doors and reflecting across the stone floor. From somewhere outside, she heard birds. Wind in trees. Water running, steady and calm.
It took her a moment to sit up.
When she did, her body tightened right away. This was usually where it started. The burn at her collarbone. The pressure in her head. The whispering, low and crowded, pushing in before she was fully awake. She waited for it. She almost held her breath.
Nothing happened.
She frowned.
Her chest moved up and down, slow and quiet. Her hands shook when she lifted one to her collarbone. She pressed her fingers there, harder than she needed to.
Nothing.
No pain.
No voices.
Just silence.
Her hand stayed there. The mark was still on her skin. Faint. Silver. But it felt wrong. Cold. Still. Like it was sleeping. Or dead. The thought made her stomach twist.
"What…?" Her voice sounded rough in her own ears. "What is this?"
She looked around.
The room was beautiful. That was the first thought that came into her mind, and she didn't really like that it did actually looked like that. Pale stone walls carved with vines and roses. Curtains in soft gold and cream moved gently with the breeze. Everything looked clean. Too clean. No dust. No cracks. No dark corners waiting for something to move.
She stood up, slow and careful. Her legs felt a little weak. Her bare feet sank into a thick carpet. It felt expensive. She didn't belong on it. She walked toward the balcony and stepped outside.
She stopped.
Gardens spread out below her. Real ones. Flowers everywhere. Bright ones. Trees full of fruit. A blue lake in the distance. The sky above was clear and wide. No dark clouds. No strange colors. No magic crawling through the air.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
Her chest tightened anyway.
She leaned onto the railing and stared. It had been a very long time since she have seen a place like this. Her life didn't look like this for a very long time . Her life had been filled of blood, curses, and running until she couldn't breathe. This place didn't feel like it was meant for her it was someone else's.
It felt wrong.
It felt like a dream that hadn't decided to end yet.
She hugged herself. Her arms shook. Not from pain. From not knowing.
"Where am I?" she whispered. "What happened?"
She went back inside. Slower now. Like the room might vanish if she moved too fast. A robe lay folded on a chair. Water. Fresh fruit. Everything was placed very neatly, like someone had planned this out for her to wake up here.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her palms into the mattress. Tried to feel real.
"Was it a nightmare?" she asked quietly. "The shadows. The creatures. Lorian."
His name hit her harder than she expected. Her throat tightened.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to remember.
The fight.
Shadows everywhere.
Lorian shouting her name.
The creature's hand closing around her ribs.
Pain. Too much.
Then power. Wild and burning and not listening to her at all.
Then nothing.
Her eyes opened fast. Her fingers clenched in the sheets.
"I blacked out," she whispered. "So how did I get here?"
Her heart started beating faster. Panic crept in, slow and heavy.
"Who brought me here?" she said. Louder now. "Why can't I remember?"
She stood again and walked to the door. Her hand closed around the handle.
Locked.
She stared at it for a few second and then let out a short, empty laugh. "Of course," she muttered within herself. "Of course it is."
Something felt wrong. Or maybe too right. The room was perfect. Too perfect. It made her skin itch.
And yet it was real.
She could feel the air. Smell the flowers. Hear the birds.
That didn't help.
She sat down again and buried her face in her hands.
"Where is Lorian?" she whispered. "Where is everyone?"
She tried again to remember. Forced her thoughts back.
The creature.
Its eyes.
Her magic tearing loose.
Darkness.
Now this.
Alone.
Safe?
She didn't feel safe. She felt lost. That was worse.
Her hands shook as she pressed them over her heart.
"Please," she whispered. "If someone's listening… just tell me what's happening."
She waited.
Nothing answered.
No pain. No whispers.
Just silence.
Her stomach turned. Silence had never been kind to her.
She started pacing, fingers caught in her hair. "No. No," she muttered. "It can't be a dream. I felt it. I saw it."
She stopped and looked around again. Sunlight. Curtains moving. The smell of flowers.
"It's not a dream," she said quietly. "It's real."
She tried the door again. Pulled harder. Still locked.
"Wow," she muttered. "What a shock."
Her eyes went to the window. She hurried over, searching for something. Anything. The view was still perfect. Gardens. Lake. Light.
"This place is beautiful," she said, distracted for a moment.
Then she noticed the frame.
She slowed. Picked it up carefully.
The woman in the picture looked exactly like her.
But it wasn't her.
"Who is this?" she whispered. "Why do I look like her?"
She looked closer. The way the woman stood. The calm in her face.
"No," she said softly. "That's not me."
Cold slid down her spine.
"That's Lyria."
Her eyes shifted to the man beside her.
"And that means…"
Her grip tightened.
"He's her fiancé."
Her thoughts went messy and fast. "Did you do this?" she whispered. "Did you bring me here?"
She set the frame down.
"I need to leave," she said. "Now."
She searched the room properly this time. Slow. Careful. Her feet made no sound on the floor.
Everything looked staged.
A vanity. A white wardrobe with gold trim. Shelves filled with different books. Pillows keeped neatly. A folded blanket and Fresh flowers.
She frowned. "Where's the dust?"
She dragged her finger across a shelf. Clean.
Her stomach dropped.
Someone lived here. Recently. Just not her.
She searched for magic. Scrolls. Spellbooks. Potions.
Nothing.
It felt normal. Too normal.
"This doesn't make sense," she whispered, kneeling by the desk. Ink. A quill. Notes about plants and weather. Careful handwriting.
She stared at them.
"Wasn't Lyria a mage?" she murmured. "Where's her magic?"
She stood and slowly turned.
"There's nothing," she said. "No wards. No symbols."
Her voice shook.
"And this room isn't old," she added. "It isn't broken. Someone still lives here."
Her heart beat faster.
"If this is her room," she said, "why does it feel like she just stepped out?"
Her eyes went back to the frame.
"This is a trap," she said. "It has to be."
She dropped it on the bed and went back to the window. The view was still calm.
Now it felt fake.
"Why bring me here?" she whispered.
She leaned onto the sill and breath in slowly. "What do you want from me?" she asked the empty air.
A soft click sounded behind her.
The door.
Her body went tight.
She turned.
A man stood there.
Tall. Older. Silver in his hair. Dressed neatly in blue and gold. His face was calm. His eyes were sharp.
She knew him.
Not from memory. From the photo. From stories. From Lyria.
"You…" she breathed. "Who are you?"
He stepped inside, quiet.
"I wondered if you'd recognize me," he said. "You look just like her. Though… stronger."
Sylvera backed into the desk.
"Lyria," she whispered. "You're her ex-fiancé."