Lyra woke to pain.
It didn't come gradually, but hit all at once—sharp, tearing through her arm before her mind could catch up. Her breath hitched as cold air scraped down her throat, too heavy, too thick, as if something was wrong with it.
She forced her eyes open.
Stone walls came into focus, damp and cracked, catching faint light. Water dripped somewhere above, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence.
A dungeon.
The thought felt distant, unreal.
Her arms were stretched above her head, wrists locked in iron chains. When she moved, pain shot through her skin, forcing a sharp gasp.
"Don't move."
The voice came from the shadows, calm and unhurried.
Lyra froze. "Where… am I?" Her voice barely held.
A figure stepped forward, boots quiet against stone. Tall, cloaked, his face hidden, his presence controlled and deliberate.
"You're exactly where you need to be."
Her stomach tightened. "I didn't do anything."
He tilted his head slightly. "That's not relevant."
Something glinted in his hand.
A blade—thin, clean, precise.
Lyra's pulse spiked. She pulled against the chains, but they held. "Wait—please—"
The blade touched her arm, cold enough to make her flinch before sliding across her skin.
Pain burst through her, immediate and blinding. Her body jerked as a broken gasp escaped. Warmth followed, spreading down her arm.
Blood.
It slipped from her skin and dripped onto the stone.
The man didn't look at her. His attention fixed on the blood, intent and unsettling.
"There it is," he murmured.
Panic surged. "Stop—please, just stop—"
The blade moved again, opening another cut with careful precision. No anger, no rush—only intent.
The realization settled in, colder than the blade.
He wasn't trying to kill her.
Her breath faltered. "Why…?"
He stepped closer. "Because your blood behaves differently."
The words didn't make sense, but something in his tone made her chest tighten.
"What are you—"
"We're about to confirm it."
Before she could react, the blade drove deeper.
A scream tore out of her as pain surged through her arm, deeper than before, cutting past skin into muscle. Her body strained against the chains, uselessly.
"I'll die—" she choked. "Please—"
"That's the point."
No hesitation. Only certainty.
Her strength slipped too fast. Her legs gave out, leaving her hanging from her wrists. Each breath came weaker as cold spread through her chest.
Something was wrong.
Her heartbeat slowed, uneven, fading.
This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.
Her vision blurred as darkness crept in, swallowing everything.
I don't want to die.
The thought barely formed before everything gave way.
Her head dropped. Her body went still.
Silence followed.
The man watched her briefly before straightening, interest already fading.
"…Disappointing."
He turned away. "Take care of it."
The chains released.
Her body hit the stone floor with a dull thud. She didn't move. Blood spread beneath her, dark against the cold surface.
Footsteps echoed, then faded. A door opened somewhere in the distance, then closed.
And she was alone.
Time passed—or maybe it didn't.
Her body lay where it had fallen, lifeless.
Until her fingers twitched.
Small, barely noticeable—but enough to break the stillness.
Her chest rose shallowly, faltered, then rose again. Something shifted beneath her skin, subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.
The wound on her arm began to close.
Not cleanly or instantly, but steadily, as the torn flesh pulled itself back together. The blood on the floor stopped spreading, as if the flow had simply ceased.
Her heart stuttered, then steadied, each beat stronger than the last.
Alive.
Lyra gasped as air rushed into her lungs. Her body jolted, hands pressing weakly against the floor.
"What… is this…?" Her voice trembled.
Her eyes locked onto her arm.
The wound was closing.
That wasn't possible.
People didn't heal like this. They didn't come back.
"…What am I?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
A sound answered.
Footsteps.
Not from the door.
From behind her.
Lyra stiffened as dread crept up her spine. She forced herself to turn.
A second figure stepped out of the darkness, moving with quiet certainty.
Watching her.
Golden eyes met hers, clear even in the dim light, filled with quiet, unsettling interest.
"…So it works."
The words settled heavily in the silence.
Lyra's chest tightened.
Before she could move or speak, darkness snapped over her vision.
And she woke.