Elara awoke to a world she did not recognize.
The first thing she noticed was the ceiling—white, sterile, and glowing with strange, flickering light. It wasn't candlelight, or moonlight, or the ambient glow of magic. No… it was something else. Harsher. Artificial.
The second was the smell.
Clean. Too clean. No incense, no smoke, no blood. Just sharp chemicals and something floral—like lilies drowning in bleach.
Her body felt heavy, as if gravity itself had changed. She tried to move, and pain rippled through her limbs like fire licking along nerves too long asleep. A soft beeping echoed nearby, regular and relentless, like a ticking clock she couldn't see.
She turned her head and winced.
Machines surrounded her bed—silver arms of cold metal, screens glowing with numbers and lines. Tubes ran from her skin into bags filled with clear liquid. Her wrists were bare. No scars. No marks. Her ring—the sun ring of the rebellion—was gone.
Something was very wrong.
She sat up sharply, only to groan and clutch her side. Her ribs screamed in protest. She looked down, breathing fast. She wore a pale blue gown, flimsy and soft, tied with strings. Her hands trembled.
"Where… am I?" she whispered.
The door burst open.
"Elara!" a woman gasped, rushing into the room. "Oh thank God, you're awake!"
Elara flinched.
The woman was tall, elegant, dressed in what looked like flowing silk but far too smooth, too shiny. Her dark hair was tied into a high bun, and her face was streaked with tears. She ran to the bedside, grabbing Elara's hands.
"Oh honey, you scared us to death! The doctor said the accident was bad. Your head…" she choked, "but you're awake. You're okay."
"I—" Elara started, her voice hoarse. "Who are you?"
The woman froze.
"Elara," she whispered, heartbroken. "It's me. Mom."
Mom.
That word. The way it cracked against her skull like a shattered spell. No one had called her that since she was five. Her mother had died in the third raid on Drelmore, bleeding out in her arms.
This woman wasn't her.
Elara stared at her, cold crawling down her spine. "This is a mistake."
A man entered next—tall, gentle-eyed, wearing a dark suit with a red tie and carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Sweetheart?" he said softly. "How are you feeling?"
Elara said nothing. Her hands balled into fists beneath the sheets.
They stood on either side of her, gently speaking, asking if she remembered the accident. A hit-and-run. A rainy night. She'd been walking home from work. None of it made sense. The more they spoke, the more panic crept in.
Work?
Cars?
Home?
She had died. She had felt it—Lucien's hand crushing her throat. Her vision going black. Her soul tearing in two.
So why was she here?
A mirror rested on the nightstand. Slowly, Elara reached for it.
She almost dropped it when she saw the face staring back at her.
It was hers—but wrong.
The same sharp cheekbones. The same shape of mouth. But the silver in her eyes had dulled to a warm, unfamiliar brown. Her hair was darker, her skin untouched by the sun. She looked younger. Softer. As if war had never hardened her.
There were no scars on her palms. No calluses. No proof of the years she had fought, bled, survived.
This was a copy of her.
But not her.
Her fingers trembled.
The woman—her "mother"—gently squeezed her hand again. "Sweetheart… do you remember anything at all? Maybe from earlier this week? The office? Your boss?"
Boss?
Elara looked up sharply. "What is this place?"
Her "father" exchanged a worried glance with the woman. "You're at St. Jude's Medical Hospital. You've been unconscious for three days since the accident. It's okay, sweetheart. You've just got a bit of memory loss. Nothing to be afraid of."
Memory loss.
They thought she'd forgotten.
If only that were true.
Elara leaned back against the pillow. The walls felt like they were closing in. There were no runes here. No enchantments. No hum of ancient magic. Just electricity, machines, and the steady smell of antiseptic.
This wasn't her world.
And yet… everyone around her seemed to think it was.
"I'm going to get the doctor," the woman said softly. "We'll be right back, okay?"
Elara nodded faintly.
As they left, she stared at her reflection in the mirror again. She didn't know what to think. She wanted to scream. To tear the tubes from her arm and find the nearest shadow to vanish into. But there were no shadows here. Only neon lights and metal rails.
What is this place? What gods did this to me?
The sky outside had turned orange by the time the door opened again.
This time, it wasn't her "parents."
It was a man.
Sharp suit. Black, perfectly pressed. Not a wrinkle in sight. He had a tablet tucked under one arm and a cold air of business surrounding him. He looked vaguely irritated, but composed—like he didn't have time to care and couldn't be bothered to pretend.
"Elara Vale," he said smoothly. "Good. You're awake."
She stiffened.
"I'm Lennox, executive assistant to Mr. Thorne. CEO of Thorne Tech Empire." He paused, as if that name should mean something. "He sent me to check up on you."
Elara blinked.
"Your boss is quite… displeased with your absence," Lennox continued, tapping at his tablet. "You've been out for seventy-two hours. He'd appreciate your return to the office as soon as you're cleared."
She just stared at him.
"Do you… remember anything yet?" he asked, glancing up from the screen. "Your role, your duties?"
"I…" Elara swallowed. "What exactly do I do?"
Lennox frowned slightly. "You're his personal secretary."
Silence.
The word felt foreign on her tongue. "Secretary?"
Her heart began to pound again. Her thoughts scrambled.
She had fought emperors. Bled under moons. Killed gods. And now they told her she was someone's… secretary?
Lennox stared at her, and Elara could tell he was assessing her—like she was a malfunctioning device he didn't want to deal with.
"Right," he muttered, tapping on the tablet again. "I'll inform Mr. Thorne of your condition. He'll likely want a formal update tomorrow."
Elara opened her mouth to protest, but she didn't even know what to say.
Secretary?
This was madness.
He gave her a curt nod and left.
The door clicked shut.
Elara stared at the glowing light above her head.
She was alive.
But not herself.
And now… she apparently worked for an emperor made of steel and glass.
What the hell is a secretary?