“You should not have survived.”
The words pulled Aria from the void, wrenching her back into a world that felt foreign, unfamiliar. Her body ached, her limbs stiff, but it was the voice that sent a shiver through her. It wasn’t Kieran’s. It wasn’t anyone she knew.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of burning herbs. Shadows danced along the stone walls, flickering like restless spirits. A woman sat before her, shrouded in robes as dark as midnight, her silver eyes piercing through the gloom.
The Oracle.
Aria tried to sit up, but her body rebelled. A sharp pain tore through her chest, and she gasped, her hand flying to her ribs. The wound wasn’t there—but the phantom pain remained.
She had taken Kieran’s death. She should
