Chapter 2: Rebirth

My body jolted awake with a sudden, ragged breath as if I had been dragged from the deepest depths of the ocean. My chest heaved, my hands clutching at the soft fabric beneath me as though it were my lifeline. For a moment, I was still lost in the nightmare—the sharp pain of a sword in my chest, the cold stone floor slick with blood.

But the ground beneath me wasn't cold anymore.

I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the world around me. The damp, suffocating gloom of the dungeon was gone, replaced by something much softer, much brighter.

Sunlight streamed in through sheer, delicate curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The soft scent of lavender filled the air, blending with the familiar, comforting smell of wood polish and fresh linens.

It was like waking from one dream into another.

My heart pounded in my chest as I sat up in bed, my eyes wide, trying to grasp the reality of my surroundings. This... this was my room. My childhood bedroom in Vale Manor!

How could this be? I had died. I had felt the blade pierce my chest, had tasted the metallic tang of blood on my lips. The cold darkness of death had consumed me, and yet, here I was... alive. But this wasn't just a return to life—this was something else entirely.

My hands trembled as I reached out to touch the soft blankets beneath me, feeling the warmth and smoothness of the fabric. My pulse raced as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the wooden floor cool against my bare feet. I took a hesitant step toward the tall mirror on the other side of the room, my heart hammering in my chest.

The face staring back at me from the mirror was one I hadn't seen in years.

I gasped, taking a step back, my hand flying to my chest. The reflection was mine, but it wasn't the woman I had become—the one who had fought and lost, who had died at the hands of Idris Gordondale. No, this was a younger version of me—a girl with wide amber eyes and long, unruly brown hair.

I wasn't twenty anymore. I was... thirteen.

I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection as my mind raced. This wasn't just a dream. I hadn't simply survived. I had been reborn—sent back in time to a moment before everything had gone wrong. Before my father's death, before my brother's senseless murder, before Idris's cold, brutal betrayal.

The realization hit me with the force of a wave crashing against the shore. I had a second chance. A chance to stop the nightmare that had torn my family apart.

But how? Why?

My heart pounded as memories of my death flooded back to me—Idris's cold blue eyes, the green glow that had flickered in them as he delivered the final blow, the strange warmth that had filled my veins even as I lay dying.

I pressed my hand to my chest, half-expecting to feel the scar where the sword had pierced me, but there was nothing. No wound, no pain. Only the rapid thrum of my heartbeat beneath my skin.

I had been given a second chance! And this time, I wouldn't be the naive, carefree girl I had once been. This time, I wouldn't trust so easily, wouldn't be caught off guard. I wouldn't let Idris destroy my family.

But first... I needed answers.

Before I could collect my thoughts, a soft knock echoed from the door. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I was terrified that it would be Idris standing on the other side, here to finish what he had started. But then, the door creaked open, and my mother's familiar, warm face appeared in the doorway.

"Isadora?" she called softly, her voice filled with gentle concern. "Are you awake, dear?"

My breath caught in my throat. Mother.

The tears I had been holding back since the moment I woke up finally spilled over, hot and unchecked. I rushed forward, throwing my arms around her, clinging to her like a lifeline. She was warm and alive, her familiar lavender scent filling my senses as she wrapped her arms around me in return.

"Oh, my darling," she murmured, stroking my hair gently. "What's all this? You're trembling."

"I... I had a terrible dream," I whispered, burying my face in her shoulder as my tears soaked into the soft fabric of her dress. "It was awful... I... I thought I lost you."

"Hush now," she said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "It was only a dream. Everything's alright. I'm right here, and so is Lucas. We're all safe, I promise."

The mention of my brother's name brought a fresh wave of emotion crashing over me. I pulled back slightly, my hands gripping her arms as I searched her face, desperate for reassurance. "Lucas... where is he? Is he—"

"He's fine, sweetheart," she said, her smile gentle and reassuring. "He's downstairs, pestering the cook for breakfast, no doubt. He's been waiting all morning to see you."

Relief flooded through me, and I felt my knees weaken as the weight of everything hit me all at once. Lucas was alive. He was safe. I still had time to protect him, to protect all of us.

Mother cupped my face in her hands, her thumb brushing away the remnants of my tears. "You've had quite a fever these past few days, Isadora. I was so worried. But you seem much better now."

I nodded weakly, unable to find the words to explain the depth of my relief. How could I possibly tell her what I had been through, what I had seen? It was impossible.

"I'm fine, Mother," I managed to say, my voice still trembling. "Really, I am."

She studied me for a moment longer, her brow furrowing slightly with concern, but finally, she nodded. "Good. You need to regain your strength. Come down and have breakfast when you're ready, alright?"

I nodded again, watching as she turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind her. The moment she was gone, I collapsed onto the bed, my hands shaking as I pressed them to my face.

What just happened?

I had been reborn. I had a second chance—a chance to change everything. But how could I possibly navigate this new reality? How could I prevent the tragedy that I knew was coming?

I had no idea where to start.

The world I had been thrown back into felt foreign and familiar all at once. I knew this house, this family, this life—but everything had changed. I had changed.

Before my death, I had been naive. I had trusted too easily, had taken everything at face value. I had been so wrapped up in the comfort of my family's life that I hadn't even seen the danger looming on the horizon. I hadn't seen how fragile the peace between the noble families truly was, or how vulnerable my family had become.

But now, with the knowledge of my previous life, I saw things differently.

Later that day, after the initial shock of waking in my old life had faded, I found myself wandering the halls of Vale Manor, taking in the familiar sights and sounds that had once been so comforting. The air was filled with the scent of fresh flowers and the faint, distant hum of servants going about their duties.

As I passed the grand staircase, my gaze fell on the family portraits hanging along the walls—portraits of my ancestors, the Vales who had ruled this region for generations. My father's portrait hung near the center, his strong features and kind eyes captured perfectly in the brushstrokes. He had always been a man of honor, dedicated to protecting our people and maintaining peace in the region.

But it hadn't been enough.

My heart ached as I thought of the events that had led to his death—events that I had been too blind to see coming. I had trusted too easily, had believed that our loyalty to the Gordondale family would protect us. But I was wrong.

I couldn't make the same mistake again.

There had to be something I was missing—something in the history of our world that would explain why there were werewolves like Idris living among the humans.

My feet carried me toward the library, an old, familiar place where I had spent countless hours as a child, lost in books and stories. But this time, I wasn't looking for entertainment. I was looking for answers.

The library was just as I remembered it—walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books, their spines worn from years of use.

I made my way to the far corner of the room, where the older, more obscure volumes were kept. My fingers brushed over the spines of the books, searching for something—anything—that might give me insight into what had happened to me.

After what felt like hours of searching, my hand finally settled on a thick, dusty tome with a faded title: The Tales of Lysterfield. I pulled it from the shelf, my heart pounding as I flipped through the pages.

This book contains many legendary stories that have been passed down in folklore for hundreds of years. It spoke of the founding of the kingdom, how the four races—humans, werewolves, vampires, and witches—had once been at war, each vying for control of the land.

But then, a powerful human general had emerged, uniting the races under a fragile peace. The kingdom had been divided into four regions, each ruled by a different race, with humans maintaining the central seat of power. The balance of power had been precarious, with each faction constantly vying for control, but for centuries, the peace had held.

As I read, a cold dread settled in my stomach, this might not just be a fantasy tale made up by some random folks. I had seen Idris transformed into a werewolf right in front of me, so could this mean mythical creatures such as witches and vampires also exist?

I closed the book, my heart racing.