"It's cold… why is it so cold?"
The thought crawled through her mind like a dying whisper.
Her body shivered.
Pain bloomed across her limbs as she stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered open—then slammed shut as the sudden light stabbed into her skull like knives. She groaned, teeth clenching. Slowly, carefully, she opened them again.
The world came in fragments.
Blurred silhouettes… pale skies… sharp white ground.
Snow.
> "What… what illusion is this?"
Her eyes widened as the haze cleared. People—not hers—moved past in heavy, unfamiliar clothing. Thick woolen coats, layered boots, rough gloves. Their faces were pale, sun-starved. Their hair tied back. Their gait brisk, cold, uncaring.
And behind them—buildings made of stone and metal, not carved wood or bone. Straight lines. Chimneys. Smoke rising from them in neat trails.
It looked nothing like the tribal lands.
It looked nothing like the battlefield.
> "Where am I?"
She tried to rise. Pain shot through her like a spear. She gasped, collapsing back onto the ground—snow crunching beneath her, biting into her skin like teeth.
Chains.
She looked down.
Thick, rusted iron chains bit into her wrists and ankles—too tight, too cold. Her breath caught as she traced them, her arms trembling. The chains didn't end with her. They linked to others. Rows of them. Shackled bodies, slumped like shadows.
Slaves.
Most looked half-dead. Wrapped in torn rags. Mud-caked feet. Greasy hair. Shivering. Beggars. Criminals. Forgotten people.
And she was one of them.
Her stomach turned.
> "Mortals. Again. They dare—"
She couldn't finish the thought. Rage surged through her… but her body betrayed her. Her legs trembled. Her skin felt raw. The snow bit deeper.
Then came laughter.
A deep, mocking laugh that cracked through the air like fire on ice.
Nine turned, eyes sharp.
A bulky man sat chained not far from her. Heavyset. Wrapped in layers of mismatched cloth. His beard was thick, streaked with gray, matted by cold and time. He looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks—but his eyes sparkled with cruel amusement.
> "Well, well… the little firebird's awake again," he grinned. "Kid, aren't you tired yet?"
Nine's brow furrowed.
> "You've been trying to run for days," he went on, dragging a hand through his beard. "Thought you were dead after the last beating. But look at you. Still got that royal twitch in your bones."
The others nearby chuckled—soft at first, then louder.
> "A thief Acting special, never heard of it. Seems this profession isn't all about stealing," someone muttered. Laughs erupt.
> "Bet she's just mad she doesn't get to scream today."
Another voice, hoarse and sharp:
> "Sit down before they come back and cave your ribs in again."
> "Let her breathe, damn it. She's just a girl."
> "Girl? That thing's got more rage than the rest of us combined."
Their voices blurred. Too many. Too loud.
Nine's head spun. She clenched her fists, knuckles white against the rusted chains.
> Slaves. They've bound me like an animal. A god… chained in snow, spat on by mortals…
The cold burned deeper. Her teeth began to chatter.
> This is a nightmare. Another level of the illusion. Another trap.
But why does it feel so real?
Then—
> "SILENCE!" she barked.
The world froze.
Laughter died in throats. Chains stopped rattling. Even the wind seemed to still for a moment.
Nine rose, as far as the chains would allow. Her back straightened. Her voice—torn, but thunderous—cut through the frost.
She pointed at the bearded man who'd mocked her first.
Her eyes burned—not with fire, but fury deeper than flame.
> "You. Speak. What is this place? Who dares put their hands on me?"
"Tell me before I tear the sky open and bring down the gods you no longer fear."
Silence.
Then—
A voice. Not loud, not sharp. But clear.
Too clear.
It slithered from the back of the crowd like a whisper in frost.
> "Child… what god do you seek? The ones that died twelve thousand years ago… or the one you carry in that little bottle tied to your waist?"
The words seemed to echo, even though they were barely spoken.
Laughter erupted again—wilder, sharper, crueler.
Nine's gaze snapped toward the voice.
An old man stood chained among the others. Cloaked in rags, hair wild and gray. His eyes, though—too calm. Too knowing.
She hissed, her breath fogging in the cold.
> "I've not granted you permission to speak, mortal."
Someone scoffed behind her.
> "Isn't she the thief from last week?"
> "Yeah. Street trash. Thought she was a noble or something."
> "Maybe the last beating cracked her skull. She's acting like she's forgotten where she is."
The whispers slithered through the air, slapping her pride like open palms.
But she wasn't listening anymore.
> The last thing I remember… was dying. On the battlefield. The fire. The screams. The sky bleeding…
> So how did I get here? This place—this frozen land—is not mine. It doesn't belong in the illusion. My prison was made from memory… and I've never seen this place in my entire life.
> No. This isn't my illusion. This is something else.
Her fists clenched.
> But even so… how did I escape the spell? That shouldn't be possible. Unless—
> No. Don't act rashly. Think. Watch. Find the truth.
She took a shaky breath, forcing her body to still—even as her mind screamed.
But before she could regain full control—
> "Hey!"
The voice boomed from behind, sharp and cutting like an axe to bone.
Her ears rang.
She turned, slowly.
Her glare could've shattered bone.
Before her stood a knight—not young, but not aged either. Maybe fifty. His armor was worn but clean, the steel dull beneath the frost. A long fur cloak draped from his shoulders. His face was lined, jaw squared, and lips twisted in casual disdain.
> "Look at you," he muttered, almost amused. "Still staring like a queen on a throne. You're getting bold."
He reached out—pushed her chin to the side with two fingers.
She said nothing.
He did it again. And again.
On the third push, her balance broke.
She collapsed onto the snow.
> The weight of this humiliation…
The knight crouched before her, breath steaming in the winter air.
> "Still got fire, huh?" he chuckled. "Tell me—was yesterday's beating not enough?"
His smile darkened.
> "But I'll admit… I do enjoy our little chats. I get to relieve stress, you get to remember your place. Win-win."
He leaned in, his face inches from hers.
> "Honestly, I'm glad you didn't die. Finding a replacement with your… skills… would be such a pain."
Nine's voice barely escaped her lips. Just a whisper.
But it was enough.
> "You're not my target."
A pause.
> "Don't make me make you one."
He blinked. Then burst into laughter.
Without warning, he grabbed her by the hair—yanked her up with brute force.
She gasped, hands clawing at his wrist, teeth clenched in pain.
> Why… can't I stop him? I'm not this weak. I'm a god. A god—
> Something is wrong with me. This body… it's broken. Or bound. Or both.
The knight leaned close again.
His voice dropped, cold and rough.
> "Next time you defy me… I'll have you thrown off the cliffs. Let the snow decide if you live or die."
He let go.
She collapsed.
Hard.
Face-first into snow and ash.
And all she could do was whisper, breath trembling through frozen lips:
> "Just… where am I?"