Darkness clung to her.
She floated somewhere between pain and silence, wrapped in a sleep too heavy to be natural. The world around her was a blur, muffled and slow, like being trapped underwater. Then—
A sharp breath.A flicker of light.And agony.
ami's eyes opened with a gasp. The ceiling above her was wooden, dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. The scent of old herbs and burnt cloth hung in the air.
She couldn't move.
Her body was wrapped in thick bandages, her limbs stiff and aching. Bones screamed in protest with every twitch. Her left arm was in a sling. Her ribs throbbed like drums. Her legs—splinted. Strapped. Useless.
The moment her mind caught up to her body, it all rushed in.
The sky cracking open.Her grandfather.The screams.The fire.The blood.Riven.
A sob slipped from her throat.
Then another.
Then the dam broke.
She cried as if her lungs would burst. Her fingers curled weakly against the sheets. Her teeth clenched as she wailed through her wounds, face streaked with tears and ash and memory.
Images looped in her mind like a curse she couldn't shake: Riven standing tall, surrounded by monsters, his eyes the last thing she saw before the fall. Her body hitting rock, branches, earth. Then ,nothing!
But now she was alive. And she didn't know why.
"You're awake."
A quiet voice, low and unfamiliar, came from the shadows. Footsteps creaked on the wooden floor.
Emma turned her head slowly.
A man emerged from the dark corner of the room. Tall. Weathered. Dressed in a long, tattered coat stained with dust and something darker. His hair was streaked with gray, and a jagged scar ran across his cheek like a faded lightning bolt. One of his hands was gloved; the other was a patchwork of old burns.
He didn't smile.
"Thought I might lose you," he said as he pulled up a stool beside the bed. "Didn't think you'd last the night. But you did. That's something."
Emma didn't respond. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out—only a rasp of breath and the faintest whisper of pain.
He leaned back, arms crossed.
"You fell hard," he said. "Broken ribs. Legs crushed. Dislocated shoulder. And you were already banged up when I found you. Your body's been through hell."
She stared at him. Not understanding. Not caring. Her world was still burning.
He glanced at the window, where cold light filtered in through cracked wooden shutters. "It's a miracle, really," he muttered. "Anyone else would be dead."
A silence passed between them.
Emma's eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, unblinking, a tear trailing slowly into her hair.
Then, the man added, almost too quietly:
"…It was going to happen sooner or later."
That made her look at him.
He didn't explain.
He just stood, picked up the lamp, and walked toward the door. Before stepping out, he paused, one foot in shadow, one in light.
"Rest. You'll need it."
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Emma lay in the silence, the sound of her heartbeat loud in her ears. She couldn't tell if it was hope or dread that lingered in the man's words. Only that they stuck with her.
And as the fire in her memories burned brighter behind her closed eyes, she knew one thing with painful clarity:
The world was no longer what it used to be.