The pain was the first thing she felt. Caelia Rynn had been sick for days, weak and unable to move from her bed in the small, dimly lit room of her home in Wrenford. Her body felt heavy, her breath shallow, and her vision blurred. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a reminder that she was fading.
For a long time, she'd known this moment would come. The illness that gripped her was slow, cruel, and relentless. The village doctor had no cure, and the people in Wrenford, the forgotten village on the outskirts of Karethia, could offer little more than pity. Caelia had been alone through most of it.
Her parents were gone. They had died when she was young, leaving her to fend for herself. She had fought hard to survive, to scrape by in a world that barely noticed her. But now, it was clear that her fight was over. There would be no more mornings, no more chance to change her fate.
The room was still, too still. A faint whisper of wind from the cracked window brushed against her skin, but Caelia could hardly feel it. Her body was too numb. She closed her eyes, the last few moments of her life slipping away.
Then, in a flash, it all stopped.
For a brief second, she felt weightless—free from the pain, the sickness, the world that had forgotten her. But instead of peace, there was only emptiness.
And then… darkness.
Caelia blinked.
When she opened her eyes again, the familiar sights of her room in Wrenford greeted her. The wooden beams of the ceiling, the simple straw mattress beneath her, and the old, cracked window that let in the cold breeze.
But something was wrong.
This wasn't possible.
Her breath caught in her throat as her hands shot to her chest. She was alive.
The world seemed to spin for a moment as she sat up, a mix of disbelief and confusion clouding her thoughts. Her heart raced, the rhythmic thumping louder than her own thoughts. She was alive. She was… back.
This couldn't be happening. She had died. She had felt her life slip away, had known with every breath that she was done for. But now? Now she was here, in the same worn-out room, as if nothing had happened.
It was impossible.
"Am I dreaming?" she whispered to herself, her voice raspy and weak. Her fingers trembled as she touched her face, the familiar warmth of life coursing through her. The sickly pallor of her skin was gone, replaced by a flush of color.
No. This wasn't a dream. It was real.
Caelia swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing shakily on the floor. She hadn't felt the strength in her limbs for days. She could hardly remember the last time she had the energy to walk.
Her mind raced. If she was here—alive again—it meant one thing: she had been given a second chance.
But why?
Why had she been returned to this life?
Her hands clenched into fists. If this was a second chance, then she would make sure not to waste it. She had been poor, forgotten, and mistreated in her first life. But that would not be her fate this time.
She would change things. She would change her destiny.
No more would she live in the shadows. No more would she die without anyone even knowing her name. She would rise.
The thought of death, of the sickness that had claimed her before, no longer frightened her. She had already faced it. And now, it was no longer her master.
"I will make a different path for myself," Caelia swore softly to the empty room. "This time, I will live."
Her heart pounded with the weight of that vow. She didn't know what was ahead of her, but she knew one thing for sure—this second chance would not be wasted.
She stood taller, her resolve solidifying.
Wrenford had been her past, but it would not be her future.
With a deep breath, Caelia turned her gaze toward the door. She would step out into the world once again, but this time, it would be on her own terms.
Her fate was no longer written in stone.
And she would not be forgotten.