The blinding flash consumed everything. One moment, Eris was pushing the last of her mana into the defensive barrier, the roar of demonic alien entities echoing in her ears, the air thick with the acrid scent of their chaotic magic. Her allies, brave and exhausted, fought beside her, their faces grim but determined. They were losing, but she wouldn't let them fall without buying precious time. A towering **Thirty-Circle mage** from the invading horde loomed before her, its power an oppressive weight. Eris met its gaze, exhaustion deep in her bones, but her will unyielding. This was it. Her final stand. A last, desperate surge of magic. Then, only an all-consuming, silent explosion, and oblivion.
When awareness returned, it was not the cold void she expected, nor the sharp agony of defeat. Instead, a gentle warmth cradled her, and the soft scent of lavender filled her senses. Sunlight, muted and kind, filtered through a window she didn't recognize. Eris blinked, her eyes adjusting, taking in the familiar, yet subtly changed, surroundings of what felt like her childhood room. Her body, young and untouched by the recent battle, felt oddly… complete.
Confusion, fleeting and distant, touched her mind. She reached out a hand, noting the delicate skin, the small fingers. It was her own hand, yet unfamiliar in its lack of scars, its newfound purity. Then, like a sudden download of data, a truth settled deep within her core, undeniable and absolute: **She was a Twelve-Circle Mage.** The knowledge of intricate spell formations, mana manipulation on a significant scale, and the fundamental laws of a truly vast magical universe, flowed into her consciousness as if it had always been there.
This felt right. More than right – it felt like truth.
She pushed herself up, the worn wooden floor cool beneath her feet. The house was quiet, filled with the comforting sounds of a home that was distinctly female. There were no rougher, deeper voices, no heavy footsteps. Only the soft rustle of fabrics, the distant hum of magical appliances, the melodic laughter from a room nearby. In this world, the very fabric of existence hummed with **feminine energy**, a society sculpted by the power and grace of women. Men, as a concept, simply didn't exist, had never existed. This felt normal, a fundamental aspect of the reality she now inhabited.
A small sigh escaped her. The exhaustion from her 'last battle' was gone, replaced by a vibrant energy that thrummed through her. This new life, this fresh beginning, felt like a gift. She walked to the window, gazing out at the familiar garden. The roses bloomed with an impossible vibrancy, powered by the innate mana of this fertile, woman-centric world.
A soft knock sounded at her door, and then it opened. Her younger sister, Lyra, peered in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Lyra, usually a whirlwind of playful defiance, paused, sensing a subtle change in Eris.
"Eris?" Lyra whispered, her voice laced with an unusual hint of shyness.
Eris looked at her, and a warmth, profound and unexpected, bloomed in her chest. Lyra, with her bright eyes and boundless energy, was a treasure. This was her family, her sanctuary. All that power, all that knowledge she now possessed, condensed into a single, overwhelming purpose: to cherish and protect them.
Eris smiled, a soft, genuine smile that lit up her face, a rare sight for Lyra. "Lyra," she murmured, her voice deeper, carrying a magnetic resonance she hadn't possessed before. She held out her hand, not as a command, but as an invitation. "Come here."
Lyra, drawn by an irresistible pull, stepped into the room.