She jolted awake.
huff…huff…
Eyes wide, heart pounding. Her body felt warm—too warm. There was no pain. No blood. No sword through her chest. Just… soft silk sheets under her fingertips. A faint floral scent in the air. Velvet curtains half drawn. Crystal chandelier twinkling like she was inside some royal dollhouse.
She sat up, her breath uneven. What… is this?
This place—she knew this room.
Her heartbeat picked up as she stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over her own legs. Her body felt smaller. Lighter. No…
She rushed toward the mirror, almost slipping on the polished marble floor. And then—her reflection.
White hair. Crimson eyes. Two small horns just beginning to sprout from her head. Those familiar pointed ears.
Her breath hitched. It was her. Her younger self.
She looked no older than seventeen.
She reached up, touching her face, brushing her fingers along the faint scar on her jaw—one she remembered getting during training. It was all there. Her mind reeled. How?
She was… back.
"This can't be real," she whispered. But the room—the smell, the heavy velvet drapes, the cursed old bed she always hated—none of it was fake. She would never forget this room.
Her legs gave out beneath her, and she plopped onto the bed. Her thoughts raced as she crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.
"I died," she muttered. "I died… didn't I?"
She remembered the pain. The sword through her chest. The arrow in her eye. Her own blood soaking the ground. The betrayal etched into the faces of the people she once trusted.
The Hero.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She grits her teeth, eyes burning. That bastard. That filthy bastard.
She wanted to kill him. Tear him apart with her own hands.
But… now wasn't the time.
She glanced down at her hands—no power. Not even a hint of her former strength. She hadn't even awakened yet.
"Fuck…"
This wasn't just a dream. It couldn't be. Every detail, every emotion—it was too clear. Too raw. If it was a dream, it would be the cruellest one.
But she knew it wasn't.
Then what? A vision of the future? No. It was too clear for that. She remembered too much—every face, every word spoken, even the moment her heart stopped.
There was only one explanation left.
"Regression…" she whispered.
But that made no sense either. She never had that kind of power. No one in the world did. No artifact, no magic, no curse could bring someone back like this. And if someone did have that power, there's no way it'd be those traitorous heroes.
She sighed, running her hands through her white hair. There were too many unknowns. She couldn't waste time thinking about it now. She pushed the question of "how" to the back of her mind.
The real question now was—what next?
And the answer was simple.
Kill them.
Kill every last one of them.
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly as her expression turned cold, sharp, cat-like. There would be no mercy. No hesitation. She would tear down everything they loved, piece by piece.
But not yet.
Right now, she was weak. A girl who hadn't even awakened. They could crush her with a flick of their finger.
She sighed again and looked at the heavy wooden door of her room.
And gulped.
This damn house. These damn people. This cursed family.
She was back in this cursed place…
"Ughh… fuck me," she muttered, falling back on the bed with an annoyed groan.
The road ahead was long. Painful.
But she had time.
And this time—she would be the one holding the sword.