When Alysia awoke, she was surrounded by a dark, cold void. Her body ached, and her mind felt sluggish, as though it were trapped in a haze.
"Alysia," the voice called again, echoing from all directions.
"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice small and lost.
"You are in the realm of the Forgotten Ones," a cold voice answered. A figure materialized from the darkness, its features blurred, almost ghostly. "You have crossed the threshold, and now you are ours."
Alysia scrambled backward, panic rising in her chest. "No! I don't belong here!"
"Ah, but you do," the figure said, stepping closer. "You are one of us now, a lost soul wandering between worlds."
"No," Alysia said again, shaking her head. "I don't believe you."
The figure's eyes glowed red. "Believe what you will. The truth cannot be outrun."
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through Alysia's head, and memories—broken, shattered pieces of her life—flooded back into her mind. Faces, names, moments that had once been hers but had been ripped away.
She screamed in agony, clutching her head. "No! Stop!"
But the memories kept coming, overwhelming her, each one more vivid than the last.
Then, as quickly as it began, the pain ceased. She was back in the cavern, lying on the cold stone floor.
The figure was gone.