Jiang Yue
A metallic taste floods my mouth. Blood. My blood.
The pungent scent of burning flesh and the distant sounds of gunfire mix in the air, but I can not feel my legs. My fingers move weakly, struggling against the numbness taking over me. My vision blurs, the sky above me dividing into rough lines of gray smoke and flickering smoke.
Betrayal.
The word sinks into my bones, colder than the pain tearing through my body.
I struggle to move, but my legs won't respond. My arms feel like stone, pinned under the crushing weight of junk. Somewhere, distant but clear, I hear the screams of men, the sharp reply of rifles, the dull boom of bombs shaking the earth underneath me.
"General! We have to retreat!" A soldier's frantic voice cuts through the chaos.
Retreat?
A bitter smile tugs at my lips. I had led them into this battle, trusted them, fought beside them. We had sworn loyalty to each other, to the cause. And yet, as I lay broken and bleeding on the cold concrete, my so-called comrades had chosen their lives over mine.
A shadow looms above me.
I force my vision to focus.
Captain Lu. My most trusted officer.
Relief washes over me for a fleeting moment—until I see his expression. Not determination, not grief, not even regret. Just cold calculation.
His mouth is moving, but I cannot hear his words over all the battle sounds. Then, I hear the unmistakable sound of a safety being disengaged.
A gun.
My pulse stutters. So this is how I die—not in the heat of battle, not in a blaze of glory, but discarded like a useless piece on a chessboard.
I brace for the shot, my breath shallow.
But it never comes.
A deafening boom rips the battlefield in half , and suddenly the world is nothing but light, heat, and an unbearable silence.
Liana
Pain.
It takes over me like a wave of heat, pulling me up from the depths of unconsciousness. My lungs burn as if I've been suffocating, and I gasp—only for the air to choke me. It's thick, heavy with the scent of mold and something sickly disgusting.
My arms feel wrong. Too thin, too weak. My body feels foreign, unfamiliar.
The jolt of movement forces my head against rough wood. My vision spins. A carriage?
Something cold bites into my wrists. I move, and chains rattle.
My breath catches.
Before I can fully understand my surroundings, a low chuckle pulls me from my thoughts.
"Finally awake, my lady?"
The voice is deep, amused, combined with something that makes my skin crawl. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim lantern light. Across from me sits a man, he grins revealing stained teeth, his small eyes shining like that of a predator who has just cornered his prey.
I swallow my saliva, my fingers balling into weak fists. "Who—?" My own voice startles me. It's softer, lighter than it should be.
Something is wrong.
I shift, wincing at the dull ache in my limbs, and that's when I see it—a fragment of a reflection in the metal cuffs around my wrists.
The face staring back at me is not mine.
Gone are my sharp features, my sun-scorched skin hardened by years of war. Instead, delicate cheekbones, pale skin, and wide golden eyes stare back at me in confusion.
My heart pounds. This isn't my face.
This isn't my body.
Panic claws at my throat. My hands tremble as I lift them, touching the smooth, unblemished skin. My hair—long, silky, cascading down my shoulders instead of cropped short for combat.
My breaths come faster, shallower. This has to be a dream, a hallucination from the battlefield. But the chains are real. The wood beneath me is real. The rough jostling of the carriage is real.
"You're looking quite lost, my lady," the man muses, watching me with lazy amusement. "Not that it matters. You'll fetch a good price at the auction."
Auction?
The word slams into me like a physical blow.
I force my voice to stay steady. "Where are you taking me?"
The man smirks. "To your new home, of course. Or, at least, to whoever bids the highest."
Rage coils in my stomach, hot and vicious. I refuse to be sold.
I lunge forward—only to be yanked back by the chains. Pain explodes through my shoulders as I crash onto the wooden floor.
The man doesn't flinch. If anything, his grin widens. "Fiery one, aren't you?" He leans forward, grabbing my chin between his filthy fingers. "That spirit of yours might not last long where you're going."
I jerk my face away, my skin crawling. My body might be different, but the fire inside me hasn't changed.
Who was this girl before I took her place?
What am I doing here?
I bite my lip, forcing myself to think rationally. If I've been reborn—or whatever the hell this is—then I need to figure out first of why and how to survive.
Survive first. Ask questions later.
The carriage jolts violently, nearly throwing me to the side. Outside, then I hear shouting. They are not from humans but more like howls .
Wolves!!.
I swallow hard. This isn't my world.
The man frowns, muttering curses as he pulls back the curtain. His expression shifts to one of mild annoyance. "Looks like we're almost there."
I take the opportunity to glance down at myself. My wrists are smaller, fragile. My arms, once toned from years of combat, are soft. I press a hand against my stomach—thin, malnourished. Whoever this girl was, she hadn't lived an easy life.
Something tingles against my skin.
I freeze, heart hammering. Slowly, I push open the sleeve of the torn dress I'm wearing.
A mark.
A brand, burned into my upper arm.
At first glance, it looks like an intricate design, but as I stare, the shape becomes unmistakable—a Phoenix.
The edges glow faintly, a warmth pulsing beneath my skin.
I inhale sharply, fingers tracing the mark.
And then, like a whisper against my mind, I hear it.
"Rise, and reclaim what was lost."
A sharp pain flares in my wrist, and I bite back a cry. The mark burns—searing, alive, as if something inside me is waking up.
I clutch my wrist, pressing my teeth together. What the hell is happening to me?
The carriage slows. The man chuckles. "Time to meet your fate, little bird."
The burning sensation lingers, but I ignore it. I steel myself as the carriage door swings open, revealing a city bathed in the eerie glow of torches.
My fate?
No.
They have no idea what I'm capable of.