Maerwyn slowly opened her eyes, her vision blurry from an intense brightness. Her chest tightened. This wasn't the dark, dusty cave she had called home her entire life. The light was too harsh, painful even—like a fire that burned not with heat, but with blinding radiance. She tried to force her eyes open, but the sting made her shut them tight. She repeated the process over and over until her vision gradually adjusted.
Above her was a smooth, white ceiling—pristine and unmarked, though it didn't feel like stone. It gleamed with an unnatural polish, far more refined than any surface she'd ever known. A small light hung above her, glowing like a miniature sun, yet it emitted no heat. Its cold brilliance was foreign, alien even.
"What is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible. "This isn't fire. It's not the moon. Not even the stars."
Memories of the faint firelight that once illuminated her cave filled her mind—the only light she had ever known. But this light was different. It was purer, sharper, and strangely... clean.
She tried to move her hands, but they were stiff, unyielding. Her arms throbbed with pain as though they had been broken. The surface beneath her was cold, unyielding, and unnaturally smooth—neither earth nor stone. What is this?
Fragments of her last memory flashed through her mind: the betrayal, the plunge into freezing waters, and then... nothing. Only the light. The cold. The pain.
"Where am I?" she murmured, her voice laced with fear and confusion. "Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?"
The concept of an afterlife was vague, a mystery she had never dared to explore. She didn't know what to expect—only that everything about this place was strange and unfamiliar. The only thing she truly understood was the overwhelming disorientation coursing through her.
She attempted to move her hands again, but agony surged through her limbs. They felt heavy, as though a great weight pressed down on her bones. Every movement brought sharp, biting pain. Gritting her teeth, she tried to lift herself, but her strength failed her. Her arms gave out, and she collapsed back onto the cold, unforgiving surface.
"Why does it hurt? They said there's no pain in the afterlife. So why does it hurt this much?" Her last memory of crashing into jagged rocks resurfaced, and her breath quickened. "Is this what the afterlife is? You carry your wounds with you?"
A faint sound broke the silence—a soft creak of something shifting nearby. She ignored it, focusing instead on the blinding light above her. Desperation filled her as she extended a trembling hand toward it, straining to sit up. But as soon as she tried to rise, her balance faltered, and she fell again.
"Ugh!" she groaned as her face struck the cold floor. For a moment, she thought she might have knocked a tooth loose. The sharp pain forced her to remain still, clutching the smooth surface beneath her as she fought back tears of frustration and humiliation.
"Pathetic, Maerwyn," she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with self-directed anger. "You're better than this."
Forcing her head up, she glanced around, searching for anything to hold onto. The floor beneath her was ash-gray, smooth, and polished like glass. "What... what is this?" she whispered, her voice barely audible and tinged with awe.
With trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed the edge of a nearby structure—a metal cot, gleaming and silver, its surface cold to the touch. It had wheels underneath, and for a brief moment, she wondered at its design. This was where she had woken moments ago.
Slowly, painstakingly, she used the cot to pull herself upright. Every movement sent sharp jolts of pain through her body, but she pressed on. The foreignness of her surroundings ignited a desperate need to understand. I need to know where I am, she thought, her heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and determination.
Her gaze fell to her hands as she gripped the cot. Pale, smooth skin stretched over unfamiliar fingers—no calluses, no scars, nothing like the hands she remembered. Her left hand, twisted unnaturally, sent a wave of panic through her. She looked down at her legs—crooked and unfamiliar as well. That's when she noticed something even more alarming.
She was naked. Completely exposed.
"What happened to my hands? My feet?" she muttered, her voice shaking. "Why is this body so... strange? Where are my clothes?"
Her mind raced. The body she inhabited was not her own. The skin was too smooth, the injuries unfamiliar, and the absence of her usual scars sent shivers down her spine. Her breaths quickened, her chest tightening as fear gripped her.
Before her thoughts could spiral further, a metallic clang echoed from somewhere nearby. The sound jolted her, her head snapping toward its source. A door. It slid open with a soft hiss, the noise reverberating in the eerily silent space.
A figure stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the light spilling from the corridor behind him. His eyes widened in shock as he froze, staring at her as though she were some kind of apparition. Something slipped from his grasp—a small metal object clattering to the floor—but he didn't seem to notice.
Maerwyn squinted, studying the man's strange appearance. His clothes were unlike anything she had ever seen, and even his hairstyle was foreign. The way he looked at her—wide-eyed, trembling—was unsettlingly familiar. She recognized that look. It was the same expression she had seen countless times on those she had faced in battle: fear, pure and unadulterated.
"Why is he scared?" she wondered aloud. "I haven't done anything to him."
But his terror only deepened. His breathing quickened, and his lips quivered as though he wanted to scream but couldn't find the voice to do so. Then, without warning, he turned and bolted, frantically fumbling with the door he had just opened.
Maerwyn took a hesitant step forward, confusion clouding her thoughts. Why is he running?
And then it came—a piercing scream that echoed through the sterile room. A scream so raw, so filled with terror, that it sent chills down her spine.
She froze, watching as the man disappeared beyond the door. The sound of his retreating footsteps faded, leaving her alone once more in the suffocating silence. She stared at the now-empty doorway, her mind reeling.
"Am I... a ghost?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze lingered on the spot where the man had stood, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But there were no answers—only questions that seemed to multiply with every passing second.