"What comes easy won't last long, and what lasts long won't come easy." -​ Francis Kong

I struggled to wake, my body rebelling against my attempts as sleep clung to me like a heavy fog. After several minutes of battling drowsiness, I finally managed to pry my eyes open. My surroundings came into focus, revealing a stunning bedroom, bathed in soft light. Blue curtains draped over a floor-length window, fluttering gently in a breeze I couldn't feel. A small sitting area with plush white chairs beckoned me to relax. The bed I lay on was the softest surface I had ever experienced, cradling me in a warm embrace.

As I took in the unfamiliar room, an unsettling sense of disorientation washed over me. I racked my brain, desperate to recall how I had ended up here. Memories of last night surged like a tidal wave—fragments of a creature that was more nightmare than reality, the endless forest, the terror of running for my life, the suffocating sensation of drowning, and then that inexplicable moment of salvation. After that... nothing. A gaping void filled with uncertainty.

I sat up slowly, my body protesting with aches as if it were still grappling with the remnants of whatever ordeal I had endured. Glancing down, I expected to see bandages or stitches marring my abdomen. Instead, my skin was smooth and untouched, as if the injury had never existed. Confusion gripped me. Just last night, I had felt the warmth of my blood seeping through my clothes—a crimson reminder of the monster I had narrowly escaped.

A wave of unease flooded my senses as I realized I was no longer clad in my long-sleeved shirt. Instead, I found myself in a strange bandeau bra, wrapped tightly around my chest. Panic surged within me; someone had changed me, yet I wasn't in a hospital, and there was no wound, no scar. What was happening?

Anxiously, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and edged toward the only door in the room. Pressing my ear against the cold wood, I strained to hear something—anything. But there was no sound of life beyond the door. My heart raced as I swallowed hard and turned the handle, cracking the door open just enough to peek out. The sight that met my eyes sent a jolt of fear through me: emerald, green eyes and a fist mere inches from my face.

I screamed, stumbling back in shock, losing my footing and tumbling to the ground in a heap. Pain lanced through my spine on impact, making me wince.

"Shit, I'm sorry! Are you alright?" the creep asked, his voice a mix of concern and surprise, an expression of guilt flickering across his features.

I felt faint; his constant presence in this bizarre reality was pushing me closer to a panic attack—or worse, a mental break. Fear pierced through me, sending tremors through my limbs. I glared at him, frustration boiling within. I was so sick of fearing this man. I was fed up with feeling weak and terrified. This creep had nothing on him—on Don. "I swear to God, if you've kidnapped me, I will find a way to kill you." My voice sounded strange—more mature and fuller than I remembered.

He raised his hands in surrender, his expression shifting from surprise to a mix of concern and annoyance. "I told you this before—I couldn't have forced you through the gate. You passed through it on your own, although I'm not sure how you managed to do that without guidance."

I blinked at him, my scowl softening as confusion washed over me. The gate? Was this guy on drugs? I knew my memories were foggy, but I was certain I hadn't done any such thing.

He must have read my thoughts, as he quickly continued, "I swear I didn't touch you or kidnap you. You came through two weeks ago and have been in this room, in a coma, ever since. So—yeah." His voice trailed off as his eyes darted away, avoiding mine.

He looked like a deer caught in headlights, a complete one-eighty from yesterday... wait. Did he just say... "TWO WEEKS?" I screeched, the realization crashing over me like a cold wave.

I scrambled to my feet and stumbled past him, a sense of urgency propelling me forward. I needed to get back to Covecrest. I was going to lose my damn scholarship. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

Barely aware of my surroundings, I dashed down the hallway, the sound of my bare feet slapping against the wooden floor echoing in the silence. Before I knew it, I was practically flying down a massive split staircase, a large wooden door with intricate iron designs looming before me like a beacon of hope. If that didn't look like a shiny exit sign, then I didn't know what did.

The sound of footsteps pounding against the stairs came from behind me as I swung open the door, light flooding my vision.

As my eyes adjusted, I froze, gasped, and stopped breathing altogether. Where the hell was I?

Before I could fully grasp my surroundings, the creep—whom I was sure hadn't predicted my sudden halt—slammed into me. I crumbled like paper toward the ground, bracing for the pain I knew would come on impact with the cobblestone. Yet, before I hit the ground, I was surprised to be cushioned by a solid body.

I stared down at the creep with wide eyes. How had he turned us so quickly? I had been mere seconds from faceplanting into the unforgiving stone.

His warm hands gripped my waist to stop me from falling forward. He took a few deep breaths, his minty scent wrapping around me, grounding me amid the chaos. "You aren't ready to leave yet. You have no idea what's going on here, and before you even attempt to go back—which, good luck with that, by the way—I'd suggest you take a few deep breaths and let us explain some things before you recklessly put your life on the line again."

Barely allowing his words to penetrate my thoughts, I lifted my gaze to my surroundings, overwhelmed by the breathtaking beauty before me. A winding staircase of smooth stone spiraled around towering spires of a castle, crafted from light tan bricks that gleamed as if freshly laid. Below me, the stairs led to a gracefully arched bridge that spanned over the clearest water I had ever encountered. The crystalline rapids cascaded into a tranquil pond, reminiscent of the one from the clearing—its surface shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow.

Yet, this pond was distinctly different from the one where I had nearly drowned. In its center lay a small, grassy island featuring an unusual arch adorned with the most peculiar blue flowers I had ever seen, their vibrant hues contrasting against the lush greenery.

Beside the pond stretched a forest, but this was no ordinary woodland. Unlike the untamed forests of my home, this one appeared almost surreal in its perfection. The trees stood in perfect alignment, each a mirror image of the other, spaced apart with meticulous precision, as if a careful gardener had counted every foot before planting. Beyond this enchanting grove, a magnificent dome of glass glimmered.

Below this strange landscape was crystal-clear water. Yet, this ocean lay hundreds of feet below us. We weren't on a mountain; if anything, this landscape seemed singular. It almost felt as if it were floating. I would need to go closer to the edge of this island to be sure. But even that wasn't the strangest thing. Above me was not the blue of the sky I would have expected. Instead, there was a ceiling of rock and crystals that glowed like starlight.

My mouth hung agape as I let everything sink in. I turned my focus back to the man still below me. "Um, creep... are we underground and, um, floating?"

His brows furrowed before a wide grin tugged at his lips. "That's an interesting pet name, but you could always call me Cohen, dear. And to answer your questions—yes, to both."

I nodded, struggling to grasp the entirety of what was happening. Perhaps I was dreaming. Yup, that explained everything. I was still in a coma and would eventually wake up safe and sound in a hospital. I let out a laugh that sounded delirious, even to my own ears. Pinching my arm while still chuckling, I attempted to rouse myself from this coma dream. Yet, despite my efforts—nearly breaking skin—the surroundings remained unchanged.

I scrambled off Cohen and stumbled back to the wooden door I had practically bolted from earlier. My breath hitched as I took in the entryway for the first time. I was struck by a unique blend of modern touches and old-world charm. The air felt alive with history, but the soft, ambient lighting created a warm and inviting atmosphere. Sleek LED fixtures illuminated the stone walls, highlighting intricate carvings that seemed to tell stories from centuries past.

The centerpiece was a stunning split staircase, featuring a polished wooden banister that curved elegantly to either side. The steps, while showing signs of wear, had been artfully designed to blend tradition with contemporary style. At the base, a cozy sitting area was adorned with plush velvet chairs and a modern settee in deep crimson hues, perfectly paired with minimalist coffee tables.

Beyond the sitting area, softly lit hallways stretched into the unknown. The walls were embellished with vibrant, abstract art depicting strange creatures and dreamlike landscapes.

"I'm going to pass out or puke," I forced out. "Either way, I'm going to need to sit down."

I didn't know what I had expected, but it certainly wasn't Cohen gently grabbing my arm and guiding me over to the settee. Just inches from the couch, though, I collapsed. I hung my head between my knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm the rising panic within me. Hadn't I just told myself I needed to overcome my fears? Yet here I was, only five minutes later, on the verge of another panic attack.

When Cohen rested his hand on my shoulder, I flinched so violently that I nearly tipped over the settee. His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly withdrew his hand. I cringed at my reaction, but I couldn't help it; this man had given me no reason to trust him—not really. Instead of approaching my situation with care when we first met, he had threatened me and tried to force me to comply with his whims. His sudden change in demeanor wasn't enough to erase the panic he had instilled in me. And what was my body's instinctive response to fear? Flight—even if it came in the form of a flinch.

"I'm sorry," Cohen whispered, stepping back to give me the space I desperately needed.

I snorted and shook my head. "I'm going crazy."

Cohen lowered himself to his knees a few feet away, looking me in the eye. His strange but alluring green eyes seemed to pierce straight into my soul. "I promise you, you're not crazy. This is a lot to process, and there's much you need to know. I assure you that everything will start to make more sense soon. We intended to give you some time to settle in first, and given your reaction so far, I think that's for the best."

"I don't need more rest," I said, exasperated. "I need answers—now."

He nodded slowly, his frown deepening. "I completely understand, but maybe you'd like to change first and eat something before these hallways start to fill up."

A strange squeak escaped my lips as I remembered what I was wearing—a bra and shorts that left little to the imagination. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly stood. "Yup! You're right. Let's do that."

Cohen shot me a cheeky grin as he led me back upstairs to the room I had practically bolted from earlier. He walked over to a wooden wardrobe and pulled out a black tank top and a pair of pants that looked like leggings but had a unique leathery texture. I frowned; they seemed way too big for my small frame.

"Um, Cohen, I don't think these are going to fit me," I mumbled, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.

Cohen chuckled lightly. "Well, maybe two weeks ago that would've been true, but they should definitely fit now."

I looked up at him, completely bewildered. What was he even talking about? I glanced down at my body, trying to figure out if anything had changed, but I didn't see much difference. Then it dawned on me: he wasn't as tall as he used to be. Just two weeks ago, he had towered over me by more than a foot; now, he was only about eight inches taller. Either he'd shrunk, or I had gone through some weird growth spurt—judging by his comment, it was clear that I had indeed gotten taller.

"How is that even possible?" I blurted out, my mind racing.

Cohen shrugged it off casually. "We're not entirely sure, but I think Saga has some theories."

I furrowed my brows, curiosity piqued. "And who exactly is Saga?"

"You've got a lot of questions, huh?" he said with a hint of amusement. "She's kind of like the headmaster," he paused to rethink it. "No, that's not quite right... maybe our director? No... Overseer?"

"I get it!" I interrupted before he could keep searching for synonyms for Saga's job title. "So, she's in charge of this place. Awesome."

He nodded and handed the clothes to me. "Take these, get changed, and I'll be back shortly with some food. After you eat, I'll take you to Saga so she can start explaining what's going on around here. And please, don't leave this room without me; the, um, people here aren't really used to your kind."

With that, he crossed the room and left, gently closing the door behind him.

My kind? What did that even mean?

I dropped the clothes he handed me on the bed and flopped onto the mattress. If this were all real and I somehow got from Hailing Cove, New York, to this strange underground place, we couldn't be too far from home, right? Monsters were real, I guessed. So, that meant other things could be possible—like maybe the gate was this weird transportation, like a train that led these people to this castle. And perhaps by my kind, he meant people who lived above ground?

I groaned. God, I didn't know, and I had this sinking feeling that anything I could guess would be wrong. It was as if a voice in my head was whispering to me, begging me to understand. Yet, every time I tried to wrap my mind around any possible explanation, my thoughts grew foggy, and panic spread throughout my chest.

Reluctantly, I rolled over and put on the outfit. Cohen was right; it fit perfectly. The tank top hugged my curves... my curves. I gasped, reanalyzing my body; I had hips, an actual curve to my waist. Sliding my hand down my body, I closed my eyes, trying to absorb the change. I gulped; I felt different. My eyes must have been deceiving me because there was no way what I was feeling matched what I saw when I looked down.

I searched the room for a mirror, even opening the wardrobe, but I struck out. There was no bathroom in here; there had to be one nearby. I was going to spiral if I couldn't see myself. I inched toward the door again, ignoring Cohen's warning, and opened it. The hallway was still empty.

I crept out of the room, leaving the door cracked to ensure I could find my way back, hopefully before Cohen discovered me gone.

There were doors lining the hallway, similar to the one I left, marked with numbers. I glanced back at the door I had just left, memorizing my number: 235. I walked until I saw a door not labeled by a number and peeked inside. A breath of relief escaped me as I met the familiar sight of a communal bathroom—stalls, sinks, shower stalls, and, thankfully, a full-wall mirror.

I moved toward the mirror, my breath catching in my throat. Why was I so scared to look at myself? I screwed my eyes shut, positioning myself before the glass. Don't overthink this, Kae; when you open your eyes, it will be the same plain face looking back at you.

I nodded, inhaled deeply, then opened my eyes—and stumbled back.

Nope. Nope. I knew it. That panic had foreshadowed this: the stranger staring back at me. My yellow hair, which I used to think resembled straw, was now silky white. My baby face looked as if I had aged three years, but not in a bad way. I had always looked like a twelve-year-old; now I actually looked my age. My cheekbones were more pronounced, my skin smoother than it had ever been. My body was indeed different—more sculpted, though still skinny without much curve. It was a vast improvement from the child-like frame I'd had my entire life. All of this, though absolutely impossible, wasn't what made my chest heave. No, it was my eyes.

I loved my eyes; they were the only feature on my face that I thought was pretty—a warm brown that others said was inviting. Now, they looked cold; I had never seen eyes like those on my face. They were orange, like molten gold, with flecks of yellow crowding my iris.

I averted my gaze and backed away until my back hit a wall. I searched for the door, stumbled toward it, and pushed it open—only to collide with something in my haste. A soft grunt escaped the person, but I was too keyed up with my own appearance to care. With everything happening today, I just turned on my heels and ran.

"We aren't used to your kind," played in my head as I rounded a corner and dashed into the room.

I hadn't made it in time. Cohen sat on the bed, his expression blank, a plate with a sandwich resting in his lap.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, his eyes leaving mine to peer over my shoulder.

I turned around, my heart racing as I stared into the eyes of my savior from that night. Those blue depths instantly pulled me in. I blinked—once, twice—and then finally took in the thunderous expression on his face.

"How dare you walk around like you own this place, human," he spat, his features twisted with disgust. "Stay out of our way and go back up top, where you belong."

He looked me up and down, scoffed, and then stormed away, slamming the door behind him.