"I will never fall."
She mumbled the words over and over as she dragged herself forward. It wasn't over, 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 pushed forward.
Behind her, flames devoured the castle. Smoke covered the entire kingdom. The bodies of her clan lay scattered in pools of blood while 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, her hand trembling.
He must die, or they would die together.
She summoned the last of her magic. The dark smoke gathered at the top of her staff, which was shaped like a mystical lion about to swallow the bright crystal. When the dark smoke filled the crystal, it glowed a deep red.
He stood there, simply watching her with contempt. Then, in an instant, 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 tore through her stomach.
She gasped and lowered her eyes to the four deep marks he had left, where blood welled without stopping.
She forced herself to swing her staff, but it fell from her arms and clattered to the ground. She spat a mouthful of blood. Her breath trembled as her eyes struggled to stay open. Then she collapsed to the floor.
She would make them pay for everything they had done to her.
But what was the point of such thoughts? In the end, she had failed. Then her world went black.
---
A growl, too close to her ears, shattered the silence.
"You're not Nalath."
She snapped awake. 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.
No beasts, no clan, no castle. Only a small, cramped room filled with the stench of dust and spider webs.
Her hands moved to her stomach, where she remembered being torn open.
No wound. There wasn't even pain. How was that possible? She hadn't forgotten that humiliation.
At the last moment, she had drained herself completely. She had been too weak to summon any magic, even for healing. Had someone helped her?
"Bring her back!" The growl deepened.
She jumped to her feet. Her legs shook for a moment before she turned around. The voice was close, almost as if it had been 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, her pulse beginning to race as she tried to process what had just happened. Then she chanted another spell.
Without resting or thinking, 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.
If she didn't know better, she might have thought it was temporary, that her powers would soon return. But it felt as though 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 gaze snapped sharply to the room. She had no doubt. That voice knew what had happened to her. And if it wasn't responsible, it knew who was.
"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 yourself."
Her jaw tightened. That being was playing with her.
But when the words look at yourself 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 pushed it aside, focusing on where she was and why her powers were gone. But now...
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 creased. 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 only this stiffness in her muscles.
And worse, the thing that filled her with rage —
She had lost her powers because of it.
Her teeth gritted as she slammed her palm against the mirror. It cracked. 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 up and stumbled toward it. Standing there, she looked outside.
People roamed the streets below. She frowned. The place was unfamiliar, and she couldn't sense any magic.
Then, 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.
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.