"I will never fall."
She mumbled the words over and over as she dragged herself forward step by step. It wasn't over. It wouldn't be, not as long as she could breathe.
Her body was mangled. Strands of silver hair stuck to her bloodied face. Her torn dress barely covered her wounded body, making her look half-dead.
But she forced herself forward.
Behind her, flames devoured the castle. Smoke covered the entire kingdom. The bodies of her clan lay scattered in pools of blood, and beasts slaughtered the survivors mercilessly.
The tall figure before her didn't move. He only watched with glinting red eyes as she approached.
When she closed the distance, she steadied her stance and raised her staff toward him.
He must die, or they would die together.
She summoned the last bit of her magic and the dark smoke gathered at the top of her staff which shaped like a mystical lion, about to swallow the bright shining crystal. And when the dark smoke filled the crystal, it glowed a deep red.
He stood there, simply watching her with contempt. Then, in a second, he was closer. He moved too fast for her blurred vision to follow.
The wind from his movement hit her face before his sharp claws passed through her stomach.
She gasped and lowered her eyes to the four deep marks he left, where blood welled nonstop.
She forced herself to swing her staff desperately, but it fell from her arms and clattered to the ground. She spat a mouthful of blood. Her eyes struggled to stay open, and she collapsed to the floor.
If only she had another chance. She would make them pay more than what they had done to her.
But what was the point of such thoughts? In the end, she failed.Then, her world went black.
A growl, too close to her ears, shattered the silence.
"You're not Nalath."
Her eyes snapped open. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths while sweat drenched her face. The wooden roof above her slowly came into focus.
She remembered the last time she had been hanging by a thread with no hope of survival. Yet she was still breathing.
She jolted upright and scanned the room.
There were no beasts, a clan nor a castle. Only a small, cramped room filled with the stench of dust and spider webs.
Her trembling hands moved to her stomach, where she remembered being torn open.
No wound. Not even pain. How was that possible? She hadn't forgotten that humiliating, agonizing pain.
At the last moment, she had drained herself. She had been too weak to summon any magic, even for healing. Did someone help her?
"Bring her back!" The growl deepened.
Immediately, she jumped on her feet and turned around. The voice was close, almost as if it were whispered directly into her ears. But she couldn't see anyone.
An invisibility spell? No. She couldn't sense any magic. This was something she didn't understand yet.
"What did you do to Nalath?!"
Nalath?
"Show yourself," she ordered coldly, shifting into a fighting stance.
She waited, but the room remained silent.
She spoke the words to open her third eye, the one that allowed her to see what normal eyes could not.
Nothing happened.
She stayed still for several seconds, trying to process what had just happened. Then she chanted another spell.
Still nothing.
Without resting or thinking much, she tried every spell she could remember, trying to open the door, light a fire, move objects.
When her strength was exhausted, she fell to her knees.
She could feel how empty she was… a horror she never wished to face.
If she didn't know better, she might have thought it was temporary, that soon her powers would return. But it felt like she didn't even have a core anymore.
A witch without a core was a cripple, better off dead.
"You're not her!"
The voice again.
Her eyes moved sharply. She had no doubt. That voice knew what had happened to her. And that... if she wasn't responsible.
"If you are that capable," she said quietly, her voice cold, "come and face me!"
Then she heard another growl, followed by words.
"I'm not afraid of you. Look at your body."
Her jaw tightened. That being was playing with her.
But when the words look at your body repeated in her mind, her eyes narrowed.
Since she woke up, she had felt strange in a way she couldn't explain. Each time, she had ignored it while focusing on where she was and why her powers were gone.
She dropped her gaze to her body.
She was wearing a pale blue flowing dress with long sleeves. Her mantle was nowhere to be seen.
She raised her hands.
They were slim and delicate. Her nails were pristine, not blackened and damaged by dark magic.
She touched a strand of hair and stared at it. Long curly pale brown hair.
Her forehead wrinkled. What was she seeing? She was supposed to have silver hair.
She rose to her feet and walked to the dressing table.
Through the mirror, a petite girl stared back. Long curly hair. Wide light brown eyes and golden-brown skin.
A chill crawled up her spine.
She was still herself. She could feel, see, hear, and smell. But the face wasn't hers.
She should have known something was wrong the moment she woke up. Someone who had pushed her body past its limits shouldn't feel this stiffness in her muscles.
And worse, the thing that filled her with anger...
She had lost her powers because of it.
Her teeth gritted as she slammed her palm against the mirror. It cracked under the force. Blood streamed from her palm, yet through the red cracks, that face still stared back.
"Who are you?"
If she was in someone else's body… whose body was it?
And where was she?
Her eyes darted to the window where moonlight slipped through. She pushed herself off the floor and stumbled toward it. Standing there, she glanced outside.
People roamed around. She frowned. The place was unfamiliar, and she couldn't sense any magic.
However, in less than a minute, something moved along the road.
A massive beast, dog-like and covered in dark fur, casually walked down the street. Its predatory eyes scanned the surroundings.
But no one screamed. No one ran. They didn't even seemed to notice it.
Her stomach twisted, and she stepped back. Her nails tore open the wound on her palm further.
A pack.
Without a doubt, she was standing in a werewolf den.
She couldn't have been kept alive and captured just to be tortured. That wouldn't explain why she was in another body. Werewolves couldn't perform sorcery.
Unless they had joined forces with a powerful witch? No. If that were the case, they would have restrained her. No matter how weak she had become, she was once a powerful queen.
Confusion swirled in her mind.
She needed answers. Immediately she turned and headed toward the door.
The slow creak of it opening shattered the silence. She froze.
A woman in her forties stood in the doorway, her expression stern and cold. The air itself seemed to grow colder, as if she drained the warmth from the room.
She wore a white long-sleeved shirt with a long neckline and a flowing linen skirt that reached her feet. Her hair was pinned into a neat bun.
"You must obey her," the voice warned, tension heavy in every word.