Elara’s eyes opened once again, it was the stabbing pain in her shoulder that had woken her this time, sharp enough to drag her from the haze of her uneasy dreams. Though she didn’t exactly remember what the dream was about, but the drops of sweat on her forehead were the evidence of its nasty nature.

She sucked in a breath, blinking her eyes rapidly in the pale light that was now streaming inside the cave, confirming the departure of the dark night. The sight brought a groan of frustration. She had rested long enough but her body was still far from recovered. Yet, the biting cold from last night had faded, replaced by a dull ache in her injuries and a small, fragile warmth in her core.

As Elara tried to sit up straight, she had to stifle a cry, her shoulder had throbbed again, the pain exceeding anything she had felt so far. The crude bandages that the man had used to cover her wounds were soaked through on the shoulder. Now that her body was no longer stiff and cold, the full extent of her injuries made itself known. Even the pain that had dulled from whatever treatment that man in the jungle had given her was back. Her ribs ached with every breath, her muscles protested with each movement and the stinging cuts on her arms reminded her of her fight with the goons that seemed a long time ago.

Pressing her palm against the jagged wall for support, Elara shivered slightly as her damp clothes clung to her skin. The memory of the wolf flashed through her mind. Its blue eyes, watching and observing her carefully with human intelligence, still sent goosebumps racing across her skin. But what shocked her most was the fact that in the presence of such a huge beast where she should have felt fear, she was contemplating its kind nature and why it was helping her. And the man... who was it? In the haze of the moment, she had confused the man with Kael, but she knew he was not him. That man couldn’t be her brother as her brother would never leave her in this condition.

The questions remained lodged in her head like a sticky note she couldn’t peel off, no matter how hard she tried: Why did the wolf carry her instead of attacking her for trespassing on its territory? It had chosen to protect her from the harsh cold when it could have ended her like any beast would. Why? And the man too, she had thought that it was the tamer of the wolf- its owner, but it turned out it was the other way around. It was the wolf that gave orders, not the man. But, the questions loomed, heavy and unsettling, without an answer.

A loud growl from her stomach shattered her train of thought, dragging her attention to more immediate concerns. Hunger cawed at her, insistent and unignorable, her throat too was dry to the point of aching. She cast a wary glance around the semi-dark cave, its jagged walls looming ahead. The faint light seeping in from the entrance was just enough to navigate without tripping, but not enough to reveal every nook and cranny, but much better than the dark night where she was unable to even see her own hands.

A steady drip echoed somewhere in the corner, water pooling slowly onto the cold stone floor. Her eyes lingered on the water, but her brother’s words echoed in her mind: “Never drink water from an unknown source unless you’re certain it’s safe. No matter how desperate you are, it’s better to endure the thirst than to risk bacteria or poison- it could cost you your life.”

Shaking the memory off, she refocused her gaze. There was nothing else here- no food, no supplies, just her, the constant dripping of the water from the cave’s roof, and the occasional howl of the wind outside.

She needed to move. “At least the blizzard has stopped,” she croaked, wincing at the pain in her dry throat.

“Food first, then.... a way out,” she murmured under her breath, ignoring the constant pricking in her esophagus. If the pain was going to be her constant companion in this journey, she had to learn to either control or ignore it. No point in wincing or moping on it.

The idea of a hospital briefly crossed her mind. Her injuries were severe- far beyond what she could handle with her limited knowledge about first aid, especially the one on her shoulder, she must be at least a doctor to tend to it, as from the degree of pain it was making her go through was the clear evidence of its severity. But hospital means questions. Questions about where she had been, what had happened to her, and why was she battered in the middle of nowhere. She was sure by now that the warehouse would be empty, and the goons nowhere to be found. No, she couldn't go to the hospital that would mean unnecessary attention. She could still see the faces of the men, their cold and calculating eyes promising they would finish what they had started if given the chance. No, a hospital wasn’t an option. Not yet.

Elara exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Home,” she decided. “I just need to get home.” Once there, she could patch herself up, plan her next steps, and try to make sense of... everything. But first, she had to survive the day.

Her hands instinctively patted the ground, searching for her jacket, even when her mind already knew it was not there. But her fingers brushed against the fabric, confused, she lifted it, but the sight that met her eyes made her freeze. It wasn’t her jacket, how could it be, she remembered not taking it off of her. It was a grey, almost black cloak, bloodied and unfamiliar. She didn’t remember ever owning or using such a thing. The fur on the topmost area was intact, but the bottom was frayed and strained, reasons for its state remained a mystery to Elara. One thing, however, was certain- this didn’t belong to her.

Elara’s eyes then moved to her attire. Gone were the black tights and button-up shirt or the leather jacket she had worn just the other day. Instead, she now wore sturdy grey pants, fitted with a belt around her thigh that held a dagger snuggly in place. Another belt wrapped around her waist, its design suggesting loops for a long stick- or perhaps a sword. Her grey shirt was patched with stains of dried blood, torn at the edges, and worn thin in place. The epaulets on her shoulders bore markings she didn’t recognize, but their marking suggested they were meant to secure a cloak- the cloak that was in her hand.

But before she could name her shock, her eyes met the most bizarre thing... Her hair.

Elara’s heart skipped a beat. Her hands trembled as they reached up, fingers brushing against locks of shimmering silver and blue. It was unmistakable, the way the strands glinted faintly even in the dim light. This wasn’t her hair. Her hair had always been black, as black as the midnight sky. The reflection of her hands in the metallic strands sent a wave of unease rolling through her.

“What... what happened to me?” she whispered, her voice cracking. She tugged at a strand with force as if to prove it wasn’t real or she was still dreaming, but the tug sent a brief, stinging pain rippling through her scalp, grounding her in the reality of the change. It wasn’t a dream nor was it just her imagination- these hairs were hers now, as alien as it felt.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Her eyes moved back to her attire. Had someone changed her clothes? Had someone... done this to her? The state of her shirt- the rips and wear on each of her cuts and injuries told a different story. These clothes had seen battle, the cuts indicated she had been wearing them from the start but why was it that she remembered something entirely different?

Before she could make sense of anything, faint voices echoed from outside the cave. The sound was distant, muffled by the wind, but unmistakable. Her pulse quickened as every muscle in her body tensed. Someone was out there, could it be that Riven had failed to stop those goons? Had her rest helped her pursuers to come close to her? Or was it just the illusion created by the howling wind outside?

Slowly, she crept toward the cave entrance, the cold walls beneath her hands grounding her with every cautious movement. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she knew she needed to be closer to be sure- to hear better.

“How much longer do we need to keep searching for her?” a man’s voice reached her, faint but clear enough to make her breath hitch. It was not an illusion created by the wind. There really were people outside and they were looking for someone- for her. It was because she had let herself rest for too long.

Another voice followed, exasperated. “We’ve searched the entire mountain in just three days when it takes a whole week for a proper expedition. I just want to rest!”

Elara’s mind raced. Three days? She’d been out for three days?

A third voice, deep and commanding, silenced the complaints, both inside her and the ones outside the cave. “We rest when we find the lady. The energy you’re using to whine would be better spent searching. Keep moving.”

The first man’s voice rose again, uncertain. “What if the others have already found her and we are just searching in vain? And how is he even so sure she’s on this side of the mountain? This side is...”

“Enough.” The deep voice interrupted sharply. “If the others find her, they’ll send a signal, and since there has been no signal so far, that only means she is yet to be found... As for how he knows she is on this side... You can question him when we get back. For now, search thoroughly.”

“Ask him? I would rather search the entire mountain once again!” the first man’s voice rang, followed by low chuckles of someone.

Elara found their way of speaking strange, archaic, as if they had stepped out of another time. She pressed herself against the wall, her grip tightening on the dagger. Dagger? Something pricked at her mind. When had she picked it up? It was the same dagger Riven had given her, but she had lost it when she fell unconscious in the jungle. Had someone... retrieved it for her? The memory of the wolf’s blue eyes flashed again along with the strange man, but she shook her head. There was no time for that, the men were coming closer.

The exasperated voice pulled Elara’s attention again, the voice was coming from somewhere dangerously close. “We’ve checked every crevice. If she’s here, it has to be somewhere impossible to see. Or maybe... she’s already entered the – “

“Quiet,” the deep voice commanded. “There had been a blizzard for the last three days... have you forgotten already? No one can pass this long field on foot in that blizzard.”

“Even if she has... we just need to find any evidence that she had been to this side of the mountain. The orders were clear.” The voice of the second man added, his voice though ragged was awfully calm.

“Wait,” the first man said again. “Did you hear that? There was a sound.”

Elara froze, her breath catching in her throat. She could hear the crunch of their footsteps in the snow. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go.

The deep voice spoke again, closer than ever. “The wind? No... it’s off. It’s coming from below the ridge.”

Elara stepped back slowly, pressing herself into the shadows of the cave as the sound of footsteps grew louder.

“Here,” one of them said. “The wind is whistling around here. There’s an opening.”

More steps, hurried this time, and in no time, three figures appeared at the cave entrance. Blocking what little light was coming inside the cave.

“Check inside,” the deep voice barked.

Elara’s grip on the dagger tightened, hoping they wouldn't be able to see her in the darkness. Still, she wouldn’t take chances.

The men moved with precision and caution in the dark, their postures tense but not hostile.

The nearest man stopped abruptly, moving his head for a better look in the dark. “There!!” he shouted.

Elara didn’t hesitate, the moment the figure shouted, her instincts flared, and her battered body reacted before her mind could catch up, her dagger already raised, her arm swinging in a quick, brutal arc toward the nearest man.

Her blade cut through the air, aiming straight for his throat. The tall man barely had time to react, but Elara's dagger met with something hard, his sword was there to block her attack, making a resounding clang as the two blades met each other with force. The man stumbled back a few paces, clearly surprised, but his training took over. The moment Elara took another step, she met with the other two men, their faces obscured by the veil of darkness and the cloaks they were wearing.

“My lady, stop!” the one closest to her called, but Elara didn’t hear him. Her world had narrowed to the raw fury and fear that kept her moving- this was her only chance, she could only win if she struck first, taking them by surprise. She was a fighter, not a victim. She wouldn’t be taken easily.

The man in front of her stepped back, raising his sword to block another strike from Elara, this time it was her turn to stumble back. The wound on her shoulder sent a violent shock of pain through her arm, but she ignored it, pushing forward, she couldn’t afford to give them enough time to adjust in the dark. Her movements were wild, fueled by the chaos in her chest and the desperation to protect herself, but the men were skilled. They parried her strikes easily, their swords moving in a fluid, coordinated defense as if they too had practiced sword from a young age like Elara.

“You don’t need to fight us,” one of the men said, his voice soft but urgent, as he deflected her blow that came for his waist and attempted to grab her wrist. “We mean no harm, my lady. We are here to help.”

But Elara was beyond reason, she didn’t even notice the way they kept calling her, the pain of her injuries clouding her judgment. Her dagger danced in the air, slashing at anything within reach. The tall man blocked another blow, but she quickly spun, striking toward the second man. The wound on her shoulder flared again, nearly making her falter, but she pressed on as a faint groan left her lips. Her body was weakening, but her resolve remained.

The third man stepped forward; his sword raised in both hands. He didn’t swing immediately, instead, he moved to block her path. “My lady, stop! We are not your enemy,” his deep voice echoed in the cave, more commanding. He tried to maneuver to her side to disarm her without harm.

Elara felt the tight grip of desperation, the weight of her injuries slowing her movements, exhaustion creeping into her limbs, each strike making the ache in her body worsen. Her vision blurred for a brief moment, but she shook it off, her dagger slashing an erratic arc toward the third man. She refused to listen, refused to believe any of them. The world had taught her one brutal lesson: trust no one.

The third man sidestepped her attack with practiced ease, his movements precise yet cautious. He wasn’t trying to harm her- his stance was defensive, his strikes calculated to disarm not to injure. “Please, my lady,” he tried again, his tone firm but almost pleading. “We are under orders to ensure your safety.”

“Lies!” Elara finally spoke, her voice rough with pain and fury. She feinted left before lunging to the right, aiming for the exposed side of his armor. But her body betrayed her- her injured shoulder gave out mid-strike, and she stumbled forward. The man seized the moment, stepping into her space and catching her wrist with a firm grip. The dagger fell on the stone floor with a loud thud that echoed in the silence.

“Enough!” the man said quietly, his strength overpowering her weakened state. His hand closed around her other arm, tapping her in place. “You’re injured. Fighting us will only make it worse.”