The world rocked gently beneath me when I finally forced myself upright. My limbs trembled, half-numb from cold and disuse. For a moment, everything blurred—sand, sky, crate, sea—bleeding together into one dizzying swirl.
I braced a hand against the crate and pushed.
My legs immediately gave out.
I pitched forward, collapsing back into the sand with a grunt. Pain shot up my elbows. My vision pulsed black around the edges, and for a moment I lay there, staring up at the wide blue sky.
Sky.
Real sky.
My throat tightened.
I dragged in a shaky breath and tried again—slower this time. My arms trembled under my weight, but they held long enough for me to stagger onto my knees. Then my foot slipped, and—
thud.
Back into the sand.
Each attempt drained me further until my body simply refused to rise. Darkness curled at the corners of my vision. I blinked, trying to clear it, but the sun wavered and blurred as though melting.
The waves whispered nearby.
The wind brushed cold fingers against my cheek.
My heartbeat slowed—
And then everything faded.
Warmth.
That was the first thing I felt.
Not the biting cold of eternal winter, not the numbness of drifting half-dead at sea—
actual warmth.
A soft blanket draped over me, not the coarse pelts of home but something woven and gentle. My fingers curled into plush fabric, sinking into softness I had never known before. Beneath me, cushions—actual cushions—supported my body.
My eyes flew open.
I was in a room.
A homey, sunlit place with white curtains fluttering at the windows. The walls were lined with wooden shelves holding jars, herbs, and trinkets. A kettle steamed softly on a small stove in the corner. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and broth.
The opposite of Absonditus.
The opposite of everything I had ever known.
Panic shot through me.
Captured.
I struggled to sit up—too fast. My head spun, vision warping. A wave of dizziness floored me again. I clawed at the edge of the cushion beneath me, heart hammering.
Where was I?
Who brought me here?
How long had I—
A soft shuffle sounded from the hallway.
I sucked in a breath and froze.
Then she appeared.
An old woman—small, hunched, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. Her eyes were pale, almost hidden behind folds of drooping skin, but they crinkled kindly when she saw me awake. In her other hand, she held a steaming bowl of soup, balancing it expertly despite her trembling fingers.
"Oh my stars," she croaked warmly. "You're finally up."
I blinked, struggling to process her voice—warm, steady, nothing like the harsh bark of commands I was used to hearing back home.
She hobbled closer and set the bowl on a table beside me.
"Careful now," she said, tapping her cane once against the wooden floor. "Don't try to stand yet. You've been asleep nearly two days. And you're thinner than a twig after a storm."
Two days?
I inhaled sharply—and choked when the air felt different than home. Cleaner. Warmer. Real.
The old woman gave me a sympathetic nod.
"Shipwreck?" she asked softly.
My mind stalled.
Ship…
Wreck?
I stared at her, unsure what to say. I didn't know what a ship even looked like—only heard stories of boats my people had once tried to build before giving up. A shipwreck wasn't even a concept in my world.
My silence was loud.
The old woman misread it instantly.
Her expression softened, her wrinkled face drooping with sympathy.
"Ahh… you poor thing," she murmured. "You don't have to talk about it. Losing people at sea… painful business. Can't expect someone to find the words right away."
Sea? Losing people?
I almost laughed, but the sound died in my throat.
If only she knew.
She reached out and patted my blanket-covered leg.
"It's alright, dear. You're safe now."
Safe.
The word felt unreal.
Impossible.
Almost insulting.
Her home was warm. Bright. Alive.
Mine had been none of those things.
She rose slowly, leaning on her cane as she shuffled toward the doorway.
"You can stay here," she said gently. "Until you're strong enough to leave. No rush. No pressure."
I stared at her back, stunned.
No one had ever told me that.
Not my generals.
Not my servants.
Not my people.
Stay until you're ready?
Leave whenever you want?
My tongue felt heavy. Words wouldn't form.
The old woman paused in the doorway and glanced back at me with a soft smile.
"You rest now, sweetheart. The soup's for when you're strong enough to lift a spoon."
She stepped out, closing the door halfway behind her.
Leaving me alone again—
this time in a place that didn't hurt, didn't freeze, didn't demand anything of me.
And for the first time since I'd washed ashore…
I didn't feel like I was dying.