The first thing Lyanna noticed when she returned to consciousness was the light.
It wasn't the harsh, fluorescent glare of a hospital ward. It was warm, golden, and felt remarkably like actual sunshine.
She opened her eyes grudgingly, expecting to see the white ceiling and the familiar IV pole. Instead, her vision was met with rough-hewn stone and thick, dark wooden beams.
She lay still for a moment, her mind sluggish. Was this heaven? She had imagined it might be a garden or perhaps a place of pure white light, but this looked remarkably... solid.
"Is heaven supposed to look like this?" she murmured.
She sat up, and the first thing she noticed was that her chest didn't hurt. The usual tightness, the constant struggle for a full breath, was gone.
She looked around the room, her eyes widening in genuine shock. This was a scene straight out of a historical drama.
The walls were heavy stone, and the floor was made of wide wooden planks.
A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, though it held only glowing embers now.
Iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, fitted with thick beeswax candles that remained unlit in the morning light.
In the corner stood a tall, free-standing mirror with a frame of dark wood and glass that looked slightly yellowed with age.
What struck her most, however, was the symbolism. Carved into the bedposts, etched into the stone mantle, and woven into the heavy furs draped over the chairs were wolf symbols.
Everywhere she looked, the image of a snarling or howling wolf met her gaze.
Confusion swirled in her mind. Had she been reincarnated? The thought felt absurd.
She was a woman of science and modern medicine, yet here she was, breathing without a machine in a room that looked centuries old.
"Hey, what are you thinking, Lyanna?" she said aloud, her voice sounding different—richer, stronger.
"That's ridiculous. There is no way you've been reincarnated. Is that even possible? Just because you read a lot of novels doesn't mean life works that way."
She shook her head, trying to find a logical explanation.
If this wasn't heaven and it wasn't a miracle, then what was it? Perhaps she hadn't died. Perhaps her brothers, in an act of extreme desperation or a very elaborate birthday surprise, had moved her to a themed resort to help her recover.
"Yes, that makes much more sense," she told the empty room. "This is a prank. Or a therapy tactic. I should stand up and go find them. They've gone way too far with the realism this time."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but the moment she tried to stand, the world tilted.
A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and she slumped back onto the mattress, clutching her head. Her scalp felt sticky.
When she pulled her hand away, her fingers were coated in a mixture of dark blood and a pungent, green herbal paste.
Anger flared in her chest alongside the confusion. "Did they drop me? Did my brothers actually drop me while moving me and just leave me here with some grass on my head? They should have been careful. How can you be so clumsy with someone who was literally on her deathbed?"
She looked down at herself and realized she wasn't in a hospital gown. She was wearing a shift of heavy, cream-colored linen with lacing at the neck. The realism was starting to feel less like a prank and more like a nightmare.
"Do you really have to change my clothes too?" she shouted, her voice echoing against the stone.
"It doesn't have to be this realistic! Your prank is no longer funny! Come out now!"
Silence was her only answer. But as she sat there, breathing hard, something strange happened.
Her hearing seemed to sharpen to an impossible degree. She could hear a rhythmic thudding—a heartbeat. But it wasn't her own. It was coming from somewhere down the hall, accompanied by the muffled sound of footsteps.
She froze. The footsteps grew louder, and then, voices began to drift through the heavy wooden door. They were clear, as if the speakers were standing right next to her, even though she could tell they were still several yards away in a corridor.
"That Luna is really not great," a woman's voice whispered, dripping with disdain.
"And she is definitely stupid. Alpha Cedric is the most powerful and handsome Alpha out there. He only chose her as his mate because he couldn't find his fated one, and her father had helped the previous Alpha. It was a debt of honor."
Lyanna blinked. Alpha? Luna? Mate? These were words from the supernatural romances she used to read to pass the time in the ward.
"I know, right?" a second voice replied. "Instead of seeing how lucky she is, she acts like she's a prisoner. Did you hear she actually jumped down the mountain when the guards tried to stop her from escaping? She preferred death over a marriage to our Alpha."
"But he still brought her back," the first voice said with a sigh. "She's been in a coma for two weeks. If it wasn't for our fast healing and the effort the healer put in, she'd be buried by now."
"What's the difference?" the second voice retorted. "She hasn't opened her eyes. I hope she just stays asleep so she stops causing the Alpha problems. Our village little healer is much more beautiful and loyal. She actually likes the Alpha. She should be the Luna."
Lyanna sat frozen on the bed, her heart racing.
Her hearing was acting like a high-powered microphone, picking up every shift in their tone and every step on the stone floor.
She looked at her hands—they were hers, but they felt different. Stronger.