Morning arrived quietly, slipping into the room through the narrow window as pale light crept across the wooden floor. Ilyra woke slowly, not because her body was rested, but because it no longer knew how to rise with the sharp alertness she had once relied on. This body carried a different rhythm, one shaped by routine rather than danger, by endurance rather than survival. For several heartbeats, she lay still, listening.
The house breathed softly around her. Somewhere beyond the thin walls, a kettle was set over fire. Footsteps moved across packed earth outside, unhurried and familiar. The sounds belonged to a life that had never known battlefields or execution platforms, and their calm unsettled her more than chains ever had When she finally sat up, weakness rolled through her limbs, dull and persistent. Her head ached, though not sharply, and the pain behind her eyes had softened into a constant pressure that reminded her of its presence with every thought. She pressed her palm against her chest and felt a steady heartbeat beneath her skin.
Still alive, she thought. Borrowed, but alive. The room looked different in daylight. What she had taken for shadows the night before revealed itself as careful order. Shelves lined the far wall, holding folded cloth, small jars labeled in neat handwriting, and bundles of dried herbs tied with twine. A narrow desk sat beneath the window, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Nothing here spoke of magic or ambition. It spoke only of quiet usefulness. This was Seris's life. The realization settled heavily in her chest. Ilyra rose slowly and crossed the room, her bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. The mirror by the door reflected her movements, and she paused again, studying the face that answered her gaze. In daylight, it looked even less like her own. The eyes were too open, the expression too honest. This face had never learned how to hide behind cold detachment or sharpen itself into a weapon.
She touched the glass lightly, half-expecting it to reject her. Instead, a wave of unfamiliar emotion washed through her, sudden and disorienting. It was not fear this time, but something gentler. A quiet hope, fragile and unguarded, like a thought never spoken aloud.
Ilyra drew her hand back as if burned. The body remembers, she reminded herself. And the body remembers things the soul never lived. A soft knock sounded at the door before it opened, and the older woman from the night before stepped inside carrying a tray. She set it down carefully on the table, her movements practiced and kind.
You should eat, she said. You have not looked well for days. Ilyra's attention sharpened immediately, though she kept her expression calm. For days? The woman nodded, concern deepening the lines of her face. You have been tired, distracted. I thought perhaps the market work was too much for you. The words stirred something faint within the body, a memory without shape. Long hours. Heavy baskets. The quiet ache of wanting more but never asking for it.
I am sorry, Ilyra said, choosing her words carefully. I did not mean to worry you. The woman smiled faintly. You have always been considerate, Seris. Even when you should not be."
The name struck again, softer this time. Seris. Ilyra sat at the table and lifted the spoon, though her appetite was uncertain. The food was simple and warm, and as she ate, she became acutely aware of how different nourishment felt in this body. Her old body had treated food as fuel, something consumed quickly and forgotten. This one reacted with quiet gratitude, as if each bite mattered.
When she finished, the woman collected the tray and hesitated. Master Halren asked about you this morning. He will want to see you once you are stronger.
Master Halren. Another thread woven into a life that was not hers. I will go when I am able, Ilyra replied. The woman studied her for a moment longer, then nodded and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Once alone, Ilyra leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The ache behind them pulsed steadily, responding to her thoughts. Carefully, cautiously, she reached inward, brushing against the faint ember of her magic without grasping it. The reaction was immediate. Pain flared sharply, and her breath caught as the pressure in her skull intensified. She withdrew at once, gripping the edge of the table until the sensation passed.
So much for testing boundaries, she thought grimly. Whatever power she retained was locked behind something deeper than the seals that had once bound her. The Crossing had not simply moved her soul. It had fractured it, leaving her with only fragments of what she had been.
And worse, she was not alone. The presence within the body stirred faintly, like a distant echo responding to her thoughts. It was not conscious, not yet, but it was there. Waiting. Seris had not vanished. She had been displaced.
Ilyra stood and paced the room slowly, forcing herself to adjust to the body's limits. Each movement felt like learning to walk again, but beneath the weakness was something else, something unsettling. This body knew the house. It knew the weight of the door, the slight dip in the floorboards near the window, the way light shifted in the afternoon.
She knew these things without thinking. The realization made her stop.If the body remembered its life, then it could betray her just as easily. She would need to be careful. Later that day, she stepped outside for the first time since waking. The air was cool and carried the scent of earth and smoke. The house stood on the edge of a modest settlement, its buildings clustered together in quiet cooperation. People moved through the narrow paths carrying baskets and tools, their greetings casual and familiar. Several of them nodded to her.
Seris, one woman called, smiling. You look better today. Ilyra returned the smile automatically, though it felt strange on her borrowed face. I am feeling better, she said, and the truth of it surprised her.
As she walked, sensations rose unbidden. Familiar routes. A sense of belonging she had never known. Seris had been woven into this place, thread by thread, until her absence would have been noticed. That, Ilyra realized, was dangerous.
In her former life, she had been a shadow, feared and erased with equal efficiency. Here, she was visible. Known. Cared for. She did not yet know which frightened her more.
At the far end of the settlement stood a modest stone building marked with faded symbols of healing and study. Something in the body tightened as she looked at it, a mix of respect and apprehension.
Master Halren's place. Ilyra stopped short, her instincts warring within her. Knowledge was power, and power was survival, but drawing attention to herself too quickly could be fatal. If anyone recognized what she was, or even suspected it, the law would not hesitate.
Crossed souls were not forgiven. They were erased.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, she turned back toward the house, decision heavy in her chest. Tonight, she would rest and observe. She would learn Seris's routines, her connections, her weaknesses. This life had rules, and Ilyra intended to master them. Because if she was going to survive in a body that was not hers, she would need more than borrowed breath. She would need control. And somewhere beyond the hills, in places of stone and power, the consequences of her survival were already beginning to stir.