It was cold. A heavy cold that had seeped into my very marrow. I opened my eyes and saw a low ceiling of dark, sooty wooden beams, from which hung cobwebs like veils of tears. The smell of damp earth, rotting grass, and old wood saturated the small space. This was not a place I knew. My body felt heavy and foreign, as if I had slept for years.
With effort, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. It was a small hut, more like a shepherd's shelter. From a small, glassless window came the gray light of dawn. I felt my feet on the pounded earth floor; it was cold. Directly in front of me sat an empty clay bowl and a jug of water. I dragged myself toward the jug and looked into its stale, still water.
A stranger's face stared back at me. A young girl with skin as white as mountain snow, so translucent that blue veins were visible beneath it. Hair as black as night, short and messy, falling to her chin. But the eyes… the eyes were mine and yet not mine. Pupils black as coal, but around them, thin, delicate streaks of fresh red, like cracks in dark marble. No one had eyes of this color. A deep shudder crept up my spine. This body was my body, but my memory was empty. Only a residue of fear, of anger, and of the pain of losing something precious.
A sound came from outside: the crunch of footsteps on gravel. The hut door opened with a thin creak, and an old woman in patched clothes and a dirty headscarf entered. When her gaze fell on my awake face, her eyes widened and she immediately made the sign of the cross over her chest.
"Astreia… you're awake?" Her voice trembled. "You've had a fever for four days. We thought…"
Astreia. That name rang a faint yet familiar bell in my mind. As if someone from a great distance was calling me.
"Water," was the only word I could force from my throat. My voice was hoarse and lifeless.
The old woman hurriedly brought the jug and held it to my lips herself. The water was cool and burned my throat. When I caught my breath, I asked, "Where am I?"
"The village of Saint-Michel, my child. I am Martine. We found you by the river, half-dead. We don't know where you came from."
I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn't hold me. Martine stepped forward to help. As her hand touched my bare arm, a sudden wave of heat ran from the point of contact through my body. The old woman suddenly groaned and pulled her hand back as if burned. I stared in shock at her palm. The old, festering wound that had been there was gone, replaced only by red, healthy skin.
For a moment, we both stared at each other, a heavy silence filling the hut. Fear washed in Martine's eyes.
"You… what did you do?" she asked.
I didn't know myself. I only had a vague feeling, as if I had stirred a part of my being long forgotten. But this incident pushed aside a veil of obscurity. A fragmented, painful memory: the sound of a cold laugh, cold metal plunging into my back, and pitiless eyes of dark gold staring at me. The eyes of Lord Carin. A name. And a smoldering anger, deep and ancient, flared in my chest.
Martine, still bewildered, said quietly, "The village people are talking. They say Lord Carin, the new lord of the domain, is gathering special people. Those who… bear a mark." Her gaze fixed on my eyes, on those mysterious red streaks. "And they say he fears the darkness. Fears something that is coming."
In that moment, despite my empty memory, I knew two things with certainty: First, that Lord Carin was my enemy, and I demanded vengeance for a death that had occurred in a forgotten past. And second, that this unwelcome healing power was the key to what he feared.
But amidst all this darkness and obscurity, there was also a faint, bright point of light in my mind: the image of a girl with golden hair and a laugh that shone like the sun. I didn't know her name, but I knew my heart beat for her. The only one whose loss was more terrifying to me than death.
Martine, still examining her healed hand, said in a low voice, "Today is the village market day. I must find food for you. But… Astreia, be careful of your eyes. They will give you away."
She left the hut, and I remained alone on the bed of straw. The wind blew through the window, carrying the scent of fresh bread and damp earth. This new world resembled the historical France that existed in the vague memories of my previous life, but was now interwoven with threads of mystery and unknown power. I, Loreina, or Astreia, with scattered memories and a cryptic power, had awakened in a small village, while the shadow of Lord Carin and the darkness he invoked slowly spread over the entire domain. And I, if I wanted revenge and to uncover the secret of my past, would have to take my first steps in this alien world. Steps that would begin in the bustling village market, under the curious and frightened gazes of the people.