Chapter 2 Skylinda’s Revival
1155 Words
The moon hung at its highest point in the sky, casting a silver glow that bathed the world in quiet light.
The wind blew harshly, coldly—carrying with it a sense of dread, as if something ancient and feared was rising from deep below.
As if it were coming from the ground, may it be evil or unknown, but it is definitely coming to claim something from the world not of its own.
Winds from every direction gathered, converging as if drawn by an unseen force. They howled louder, fiercer—and if one looked closely, they could see the wind itself moving, alive with purpose.
The harsh wind traveled miles after miles, as if searching, as if smelling something other than life itself – death.
Guided by the moonlight, the wind pressed forward, relentless. It moved like a beast that had caught the scent of blood, racing toward its prey.
Finally, it arrived at the old oak tree.
The wind carried with it an infinite cold—otherworldly, unnatural—as it circled the lifeless body of Linda.
It did not pass.
It lingered.
It watched.
The wind seemed to have a thought as it circled the lifeless, pitiful soul of an Omega who had lost her life in such a deserted place.
As if it recognized the broken soul of an Omega who had died alone, abandoned, and forgotten.
The wind, though harsh, caressed the young Omega’s cheek with a tenderness that spoke of ancient sorrow—an abysmal love and kindness for the world it could never hold.
It mourned her.
A life lost.
A soul abandoned.
The wind continued to circle, as if trying to memorize every curve, every wound, every breathless inch of Linda’s body lying cold beneath the oak tree.
Then, suddenly—
The wind was pulled into her corpse.
It struggled, howled in silence, but the force drawing it in was far greater than its own. A power older than the wind itself.
A power that should not be denied.
With a final, voiceless yelp—if only it could—the wind vanished.
Silence returned.
The world stilled.
The wind lay calm.
“A…ugh…”
The lifeless body of the young Omega twitched.
Convulsed.
A broken gasp tore through the quiet.
Her eyes snapped open—once dull and despairing, now blazing gold, ignited with silver fire.
Inextinguishable.
Born from the abyss.
“Ugh!”
From the stillness of death, life surged into her.
Violent.
Unforgiving.
Divine.
Skylinda gasped, her lungs burning with new life as her eyes snapped open to a world both strange and familiar.
“W-Wh… What?!”
She weakly pushed herself upright, her gaze wild and unfocused, scanning the surroundings with growing panic.
“Where… am I?”
She tried to stand—but her legs gave out, sending her crashing back down.
All she could do was lean heavily against the oak tree, trembling.
Then the pain came.
A sharp, splitting ache surged through her skull.
She clutched her head, howling as if her mind were being torn apart.
“Ah… ah!”
Skylinda curled into herself, gritting her teeth as a flood of memories—some hers, some not—rushed in.
Battle.
Love.
Betrayal.
They clashed violently with the fragments of her new self.
Confusion gripped her.
Pain wrapped around her soul like chains.
Still, she forced herself upright, one hand braced against the ancient oak.
Her body shook, her breath ragged—but she stood up despite the pain stubborn.
It wasn’t easy.
Her body trembled with weakness, pain pulsing through every limb.
She stumbled—again and again—but gritted her teeth, refusing to yield. Slowly, defiantly, she stood taller than this fragile form had ever dared.
Each step was a battle.
Wobbly, uncertain—like a newborn fawn testing its legs.
But her eyes burned with stubborn resolve.
One step.
Then two.
Then three.
Until finally, she stood steady.
The cold wind kissed her face, heralding the birth of a new dawn.
Skylinda inhaled deeply, letting the chill fill her lungs.
It was familiar… and at the same time not.
The sensation belonged to a body she did not recognize but fate let her inhibit.
The sun crept over the horizon, golden and slow.
Skylinda’s gaze lifted.
The light caught her eyes, igniting them—twin golden orbs blazing like an inferno.
Her memories, once chaotic and clashing, settled into place.
The pain dulled.
The confusion quieted.
She had accepted it.
“I’m alive…”
Skylinda whispered to no one but herself, her voice barely audible against the wind.
“But how? Wasn’t I supposed to be dead?”
She raised her hands to the light, staring at her pale arms as if expecting them to vanish, to melt away like mist in the sun.
But they didn’t.
She remained.
She was truly alive.
And that was terrifying—not because she had returned from death, but because no one could explain how.
Resurrection was a myth, a whisper in old stories and childish tales.
Yet here she stood, breathing, thinking, feeling.
The real fear wasn’t life—it was discovery.
If anyone realized she wasn’t the real Linda, that she had taken this body, they would brand her a monster.
A thief of flesh.
A body snatcher.
And monsters were not given mercy.
But deeper than fear was the question that clawed at her soul:
Why?
Why had she come back?
What force had pulled her from the abyss?
Was it fate?
Was it someone’s twisted experiment?
Was it… black magic?
The questions swirled like a storm inside her, but only one thought remained, clear and unwavering:
“Now that I am alive, I will cherish my life. I want peace. No more politics. No more foolishness. Not like before.”
Skylinda turned her face to the rising sun.
Its golden light bathed the world in warmth and promise.
Another day had begun.
And this time, she would live it on her own terms.
The sun’s warmth seeped into her bones, and the cold breeze danced across her skin like an old friend.
Skylinda closed her eyes, letting the world embrace her—its sounds, its scents, its pulse. She breathed deeply, grounding herself in this moment.
Then she opened her eyes.
Clear.
Confident.
Alive.
“I will live,”
Skylinda raised her hand to the sky and shouted to the skies.
“From this day forward, I am no longer Linda of the Emberclaw Pack, nor Skylinda of the Skyveil Pack. I am Skya!”
Her voice echoed through the trees, carried by the wind like a vow etched into the dawn.
Her gaze sharpened, golden eyes blazing.
“I’m not after revenge. I’m not chasing peace. But if anyone comes for me—”
Her voice dropped, low and steady.
“—I’ll make sure they regret it a hundredfold.”
- Writer
