Chapter Five: Reclaiming Strength

Days passed in a haze of recovery. Selene's body healed slowly but surely, her strength returning like the first rays of dawn after a long, dark night. Her wounds, though painful, were nothing compared to the mental toll of adapting to this strange, modern world.

The underground safe house became her temporary haven—a fortress of steel and wires, cold but secure. Ronan kept his distance, always immersed in his mysterious work, while Kiera, the red-haired medic, helped Selene adjust in her own brusque way.

Selene’s mornings began with physical training. At first, her muscles protested with every movement, her reflexes sluggish. But she pushed herself relentlessly. Every punch, every stretch, every practiced move brought back pieces of her former self—the warrior, the survivor. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not here.

One morning, while sparring with a battered training dummy, Kiera entered the room, arms crossed. "You fight like someone trained for war," she observed, tossing Selene a water bottle.

Selene caught it with practiced ease. “I was trained for survival.”

Kiera’s gaze lingered thoughtfully before she gestured to a table filled with sleek devices. “Time to train your mind, too. You can’t just punch your way through this world.”

Selene approached the table, eyeing the glowing screens warily. Her fingers hesitated before touching the cold metal of one of the devices—a tablet, Kiera called it. Its smooth surface lit up, revealing shifting icons and endless streams of information.

“Think of it as... a book of knowledge,” Kiera explained. “Only faster.”

Books she understood. With Kiera’s guidance, Selene navigated the tablet, devouring every scrap of information she could—modern history, technology, languages. Her sharp mind absorbed facts with startling speed, though much of it felt like magic disguised as science.

One evening, while scrolling through historical archives, she froze at the sight of a symbol—ancient and hauntingly familiar. It was etched into the dark figure’s armor from the night of the attack. Her pulse quickened as she traced the image on the screen, her mind racing.

Before she could process the revelation, Ronan entered the room, his presence commanding as ever. “You’ve been busy.”

“I learn quickly,” Selene replied evenly, rising to meet his gaze.

His eyes flicked to the symbol displayed on the tablet. “Where did you find that?”

“In your archives,” she said, studying his reaction. “You know what it means.”

Ronan’s expression darkened. “It’s a mark of the Veilborn—beings from beyond the rift.”

The room seemed to grow colder. “They’re coming back, aren’t they?”

“They never left,” Ronan said grimly. “And you might be the only one who can stop them.”

Selene’s hands clenched into fists, determination surging through her. She had lost her kingdom, her world—but she wouldn’t lose herself. If the Veilborn were truly connected to her strange arrival, she would find out how... and she would be ready.

Her past had forged her into a survivor. This world would make her into something far more dangerous.

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