Back Home, With A Few Minor Changes

The first thing I felt was the cold. Not the fiery, soul-searing heat I had grown used to, but the quiet chill of air conditioning brushing against my skin. My eyes fluttered open, the world a swirl of muted colors and familiar shapes. A ceiling. A fan spinning lazily overhead.

I blinked hard, my breath catching in my throat. No flames. No molten gold. No whispers. Just… my room.

I sat up, my head pounding with disorientation. The bed creaked under my weight—no, not my weight. Something was different. I looked down at my hands, my arms, and froze.

What the hell?