At first, it was subtle.
Ella stood at the training grounds, sparring with two warriors. Her movements were sharp, her strikes clean. But suddenly—her balance faltered. A misstep. A hesitation. The blade in her hand clanged against the ground.
Damian was at her side in seconds. “Ella?”
“I’m fine,” she said, waving him off with a weak smile. “Just… dizzy.”
But she wasn’t. Something felt off. The ground felt too soft. The wind too loud. The colors around her were too sharp—almost like the world had turned sideways.
That night, the whispers began.
Not voices… not exactly. But a slithering sound in her mind, like something brushing against the edges of her thoughts.
You don’t belong here.
She sat up in bed, breathing heavily, her silver hair damp with sweat. “Who said that?”
The room
