Chapter 2 The Arrival 2

Old Japan, Present-Day

A deep, infinite silence that devoured everything. Not the sterile silence of a hospital. No soft beeping monitors. No antiseptic scent. This silence was deeper-older. It breathed with the weight of centuries, pressing in on her chest. Akiko's lashes fluttered. The dim light stung her eyes. She couldn't move at first. Couldn't even think. There was only the slow return of sensation: the scratch of coarse cloth beneath her fingers, the damp coolness in the air, the faint crackle of oil lanterns burning low. A strange fragrance coiled into her nostrils- incense, thick and woody, mingled with something ancient and earthen. Wet stone? Moss? Her throat felt parched. Her skin, clammy. Her muscles twitched as if awakening from death.

She blinked slowly and saw the carved wooden ceiling above her, its surface etched with curling dragons and lotus flowers. Not hospital tile. Not Tokyo. Panic rose sharp and sudden, squeezing her ribs like a vice. Her heart began to pound as she pushed herself upright, dizzy and disoriented. She was lying on a futon, draped in embroidered silk that felt nothing like her usual hospital linens. Her breathing hitched. Where was the fluorescent light? Where was the sound of heels on linoleum floors, of nurses rushing, of machines keeping people alive? She looked down at herself-robes, not scrubs. Bare feet, not sneakers. Small hands. Slim wrists. Lighter bones. Her body felt... off. Younger. Smaller. Not hers.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. A mirror-tall, wooden, and aged stood against the far wall. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, legs trembling. Her knees almost gave out, but she caught herself on the wooden beam beside her. She staggered forward, the tatami mat rough against her feet, and came face to face with the reflection.

She gasped.

The woman in the mirror wore her shock like a mask. Her face-almost hers-but distorted. Familiar yet foreign. Wide, haunted eyes stared back. A swollen cut split her bottom lip. Bruises-faint but unmistakable-circled her pale throat like ghostly fingers. Her hair was longer than Akiko's had ever been, wild and black, spilling messily over her shoulders. Silk robes clung to her narrow frame. Regal robes. Nobility. But the woman in the mirror, about 19 years old, looked like she'd been dragged through hell. Akiko reached up and touched her cheek. So did the reflection. Her heart stopped.

"No,"

She whispered. Her voice was hoarse.

"No. This isn't real."

She stumbled backward, her shoulder hitting the beam. A choking sound rose in her throat. She clutched her sides, shaking her head. This was impossible. She had died. She had seen the lights, heard the screech of tires, felt the crash, the searing pain, the dark. She remembered it with terrifying clarity. So how-how-was she here?

She turned, intending to bolt from the room- maybe out into a street, a hallway, something- but a creak at the door froze her in place. The door opened slowly, and a young girl, perhaps 20, entered and bowed deeply. "My lady... you're awake?" Akiko's voice was hoarse. "Where... am I?" The girl hesitated. "You're in the Moon Shrine, Lady Kiyomi. After your fall, they thought you'd... well, never mind." Kiyomi. The name resonated within her, foreign yet familiar. "What year is it?" The girl blinked. "The 18th year of King Kaito's reign."

Akiko sat down hard, the reality sinking in. Another life. Another world. She was inside the body of Lady Kiyomi, a woman with bruises, a broken spirit, and secrets. She glanced at the mirror again, questions swirling in her mind. Who was this woman? And why did someone want her gone?

Outside the shrine, two noblemen whispered beneath the crescent moon.

"She lives?"

"For now."

"She wasn't supposed to."

"Then we'll just have to make sure she doesn't win."

"Win?"

"The Maiden Wars begin in three days. If she dares enter the palace again...

" A pause. "

...We finish what we started."