Eliza awoke with a stifled gasp.
The air was cold. Damp. Thick.
There was no golden light. No perfumes. Only darkness.
She tried to move... and her body responded with disconcerting ease.
She was taller. Stronger. She felt the weight of a generous chest, wide, firm hips, and a narrow waist, similar to the one she had shaped for years with corsets... but here it was natural.
"What... am I...?" she whispered.
She lowered her gaze. She wore a simple dress, green and black, designed for freedom of movement. Worn, but clean.
Her skin was still pale, but not fragile.
It was a perfect body for survival.
Then the memories came.
Hands gathering herbs. Hand-to-hand combat. Freedom.
And a man.
It wasn't Lior.
It wasn't the Crown Prince of the East.
This man was feared by all. His mere presence commanded silence. Eliza felt a chill run down her spine, a disquieting sensation... as if she had seen him before.
"No..." she whispered. "It can't be him."
She shook her head.
"He only looks like him. That's all."
A sound made her turn.
In the dimness, she made out a figure lying on the stone floor.
Move.
Cold.
She recognized him instantly.
"Lior..." she said, running toward him.
She knelt beside him and took his hand. It was ice cold.
She didn't know the truth yet.
That body didn't house Lior.
The real Issa lay trapped inside, unconscious, her mind blank... unable to remember her name, her magic, or her life.
Eliza stepped back, trembling.
"What did they do to us...?" she whispered.
The darkness fell silent.
And fate, once again, didn't answer.