Nine sat still, her back aching, body numb, legs bound in cold iron. The sting of earlier voices echoed through her mind like falling ice.
"Thief…"
"Street trash…"
"Bet she's mad she didn't get to scream today…"
"Girl's got more rage than the rest of us combined…"
'A thief. That's what they called me. Again and again.
They say I've been here for days. Chained. Beaten. Running. Failing.
But how could that be me?'
She stared at her small hands—chained and bruised. Too delicate. Too soft.
'This body isn't mine. It's too small. Too weak.
But it feels… familiar. Not foreign. Not entirely.'
Night had fallen. The slaves huddled around a bonfire sparked from rotting wood and scraps of dry cloth. It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough in this frozen hell.
Her throat was parched. Tongue dry as ash. Instinctively, her fingers drifted toward the small bottle tied to her waist. She yanked the lid open and tipped it toward her mouth.
Nothing.
Not a single drop.
She hissed, face twisting in frustration as she stared at the empty bottle.
"Why tie this bottle around my waist if it holds no water?" she growled through gritted teeth.
A voice cut through the night. Not loud, but sharp enough to draw her attention.
"Didn't you say it wasn't for water?"
She turned quickly.
A slim boy, also chained, leaned against a snow-dusted tree nearby. His frame was wiry, barely clothed beneath mismatched rags. His skin was pale with cold, lips cracked. Bare hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. Messy black hair clung to his forehead, and his knuckles were red from either frostbite—or fighting. His eyes, though… too sharp. Too big for someone his age.
"I said that?" Nine blinked, her voice uncertain.
The boy scoffed.
"Yeah. You said there's a god trapped in that bottle. Tch."
He crawled toward her, dragging his chains through the snow. When he reached her, he tapped her head lightly, like an older brother scolding a child.
Nine jerked back on instinct—only to bump into a sleeping slave behind her.
Damn it… it's too crowded here.
The boy grinned.
"Little Finger, don't tell me the beating actually knocked the memories outta your skull."
Her brows furrowed.
"What did you call me?"
He plopped down cross-legged in the snow, completely unfazed.
Wind brushed strands of his black hair into his eyes. He blew at them with a playful puff.
"You don't even remember your name?"
'What is this? Did I enter another body?
That would explain the weakness.
But why does it feel like mine… and not mine at the same time?
Something's off. I need answers.'
"Do you know me from somewhere?" she asked carefully.
The boy laughed, shaking his head.
"Who doesn't know you in Shinda? You're Little Finger. Grew up with thieves and beggars. Only stole from the rich—gave to the hungry. People used to protect you. Until some fat merchant snitched. That's how they caught you."
Nine stayed silent, absorbing every word.
"You got captured last week. Yesterday, they beat you for not obeying fast enough."
He leaned closer, cupping his hand like he was whispering a secret the snow shouldn't hear.
"You better be careful. I think they wanna use you as a replacement. For the notorious thief who escaped last month. That knight that keeps picking on you? He's marking you. Watching you. Sooner or later… they'll kill you too."
Then, like it was nothing, he stretched and yawned.
"Anyway. I'm freezing. I'll sleep now."
He flopped over onto the snow, body curling in on itself.
Nine's thoughts swirled.
'I was right. This isn't my body.
I've been thrown into someone else's skin.
I don't know how—but it's real. And earlier… the old man said the gods are dead.
Dead for twelve thousand years. That means I'm still in the same world—just far into the future.'
She nudged the boy with her foot.
"Hey."
He grunted, eyes still shut.
"What now…"
"What country is this?"
He groaned, rolling to face her.
"You seriously lost your memory…" He scratched his neck with a sigh. "Fretoros."
She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Fretoros?"
He nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Fretoros Continent. Valia Town. Shinda Village.
Can I sleep now?"
She didn't answer.
She stared into the fire.
'Fretoros…'
'The land where exiled gods were buried.
Where divine tombs once slept beneath silence and fear.'
Now it's a village? A slum? A slave pit?'
She laughed. Quiet, bitter.
'Of course. Of course the mortals would turn graves into villages. Nothing surprises me anymore. They've done worse.'