Tyla’s POV
The world rebuilt itself around me in pieces.
Sound first.
A roaring wind, sharp and hollow, like it had been pulled through a thousand miles of tunnel before reaching my ears. Then the low, distant groan of trees bowing under something heavy. Then a single voice — faint, broken — whispering my name.
“Tyla…”
I blinked.
White flared.
Then dimmed.
Then focused.
I was lying at the center of a forest I didn’t recognize.
The trees rose like pillars, all of them white — bark, leaves, branches — as if winter had claimed every fiber of them, but the air was warm. Too warm. My hands trembled when I tried to push myself up.
The ground wasn’t dirt.
It was ash.
Pale, feathery ash that clung to my palms like snow.
A breath caught in my throat.
“What… happened…?”
Memory slamme
