The moment her eyes opened, the ceiling above her blurred in and out of focus. It was a carved dome, painted in soft golds and silvers, trimmed with polished obsidian and lines that spiraled like roots across its surface. It was far too grand, too elegant, too clean. The air was thick with the scent of lotus oils and a cold sweetness that did not belong to any place she could name.
Nyra blinked, but the name did not come to her. Not her own, not anyone's. Her mind was hollow, a deep, dry void where something important used to be. Her head ached, not from pain, but from absence. She knew she was alive. She knew she had hands, a body, and breath.
But she did not know who she was, where she came from, or why her chest felt so tight, like it had been emptied of everything and filled with someone else's air.
She sat up slowly, her movements stiff, as if her limbs had not moved in years. She found herself in a chamber draped in sheer curtains that shifted without wind.
The walls shimmered faintly, etched with glowing sigils that pulsed in a rhythmic pattern. Light came from orbs floating mid-air, shifting in hue from soft blue to pale violet. There were no windows or doors. Only this strange silence.
A soft humming rose nearby, low at first, then steady, like chanting underwater. Her gaze followed the sound until her eyes landed on three figures approaching from a curved corridor. They wore long robes stitched with glassy threads that caught every flicker of light.
Their faces were still, unreadable, eyes glowing faintly with different colors. The first was tall, with skin that looked like carved silver, lips pressed into a firm line. The second was shorter, plumper, with vine-like patterns etched into her skin. The third walked slower, older, with eyes like dull emeralds.
The tall one stepped forward first. "You are awake."
Nyra didn't speak. She didn't know what she should say. Her mouth opened, but no words formed. The second figure waved a hand, and a chair formed behind her, made of light and fabric that felt real yet weightless. She sat, though unsure if it was choice or instinct.
"You are Celene," the first one said again. "The daughter of Mayor Thalos. You have been asleep for six cycles. The Overseers have returned your life."
She looked down at her hands. They were pale, soft, free of scars or burns. Her skin shimmered faintly under the light. "Celene?" she repeated, quietly, but it sounded foreign. It didn't feel like hers.
"You may feel disconnected. That is expected. The return of life often brings imbalance. But your memory will return. In time."
She tried again. "Where am I?"
"The Axis Temple. You are under the care of the Lorian Circle," said the older one now, stepping forward. "We are Overseers. Guides of the balance. Protectors of the Veil."
Celene's—Nyra's heart thudded unevenly. It was like they were speaking a language she should understand but had never heard before. Their words were simple, but nothing made sense.
The tall Overseer introduced herself. "I am Selor. This is Vaeli," she gestured to the second, "and the Elder is Caul. We restored your vessel because the system required a host. Your condition presented the necessary opening."
Nyra flinched. "I don't… remember anything."
"You are not meant to yet," said Vaeli softly. "Memories have weight. You must be stable before they return."
Nyra looked around. "Why me?"
Selor didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned to a table nearby and picked up a crystal slate. She tapped it, and floating sigils glowed above its surface. "Your status was… unique. Between death and preservation. No spirit. No consciousness. A shell."
Caul stepped closer. "We gave you breath. But what comes next is no longer within our hands."
Vaeli smiled faintly, too faintly. "We will observe. Guide. But what you become now depends on what remains inside you."
She stood up, uncertain why she suddenly felt the urge to move. Her body responded too quickly. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the edge of the floating table.
Selor didn't reach to help her. "You will be assigned a companion. Not for protection, but observation."
Nyra looked up. "Why do I feel like I'm not supposed to be here?"
Caul responded without blinking. "Because you're not."
She froze.
He continued. "But that is not something we will change. What is done has been sealed."
A shimmer echoed in the walls, and a doorway formed out of nothing. Through it stepped another figure. A young man, dressed in black and bronze, with eyes that flickered red, then faded to grey. His posture was tense, cautious. But his face was passive, like someone forced into a role they did not ask for.
"This is Arion," Selor said. "He is your watcher."
Nyra looked at him. Something in her chest stirred, like it recognized his shape, but not his name. Arion didn't speak. He simply nodded once, then turned away, motioning for her to follow.
Vaeli whispered something into Caul's ear. He grunted. Selor said nothing.
The room dimmed slightly. The sigils slowed.
As Nyra stepped through the doorway after Arion, the atmosphere shifted again. Not just the light. The air. The pressure. She felt like something had been placed inside her. Something watching from behind her ribs.
She turned back once, and Selor met her gaze.
"You were not meant to return," Selor said quietly. "But the Veil has shifted. And now, the system watches you closer than it does any other."