Blood soaked the earth like rain.
She knelt in the center of a burning courtyard, hands trembling as she cradled the limp, bloodied body of her baby brother. His tiny fingers twitched once… then stilled. The warmth on her hands—scarlet and thick—felt heavier than the sword lodged in her heart.
Torches flared in the hands of traitors.
Familiar faces.
Faces she had once trusted—once loved.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her vision blurred.
Through the haze, she looked up one last time, fixing her gaze on the high platform where her parents' heads had rolled just moments ago, framed by red silk banners that now mocked her family name.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
"If I have a chance…" she rasped, each word soaked in blood, "…I'll come back. I'll haunt you... again and again… until you've paid for every crime."
Then—darkness.
---
The scent of antiseptic hit her first.
Her eyelids fluttered open to a white ceiling and flickering fluorescent lights. Cold air brushed against her bare arms. Machines beeped nearby—steady, slow. The sharp ache in her chest was gone, replaced by something softer… stranger.
Her fingers moved.
She wasn't dead.
But this wasn't her body.
It was slimmer. Frailer. Delicate. A soft bandage wrapped around her temple. A glimpse of her reflection in a stainless steel tray beside the bed made her heart jolt.
Her eyes stared back at her—yet the face was not quite hers which was once fierce, but was soft and delicate but still had a striking resemblance as has.
A nurse walked in and gasped. "Miss Celestela? You're awake!"
She was too shocked to understand the name.
The name meant nothing to her.
She blinked, dazed.
The nurse rushed out, calling for a doctor. Moments later, a middle-aged man in a white coat appeared, flipping through a chart as he glanced between her and the documents in hand.
"You've been in a coma for three months," he said gently. "Your family—well, your father will be contacted right away."
Family?
Her family was dead. What family were they referring to? Or… was it the family of the girl whose body she now inhabited?
If not for the fact that this body was so weak and unstable, she might have believed it was hers. But everything felt wrong. Foreign.
She knew the land of Arnold like the back of her hand—its rough soil, its cool air, its wooden homes. But this place? This place was alien. Bright white walls, machines, strange clothes, soft beds, smooth floors. She couldn't make sense of any of it.
Her heart raced.
Was this... the afterlife?
She'd expected to survive the stab. To rise, to take her revenge. She remembered it vividly—her brother's death, her parents' screams, her own last breath.
Tears stung her eyes. She bit her lip hard and forced them back.
But she needed answers.
Her voice came out hoarse. "Where… is this?" as someone who hasn't talked in three months.
"Golden City," the doctor replied. "You're in Beijing, in Golden City First General Hospital." he said puzzled, but then she had just woke up from a coma its was normal to feel out of place and confused.
She didn't recognize the name. The city, the machines, the clothes, the girl in the mirror—it was all wrong.
Her gaze dropped to her hands. Pale. Fragile. A stark contrast to the battle-worn fingers she once bore.
Memories crashed over her like a broken dam—her family's screams, the traitors' laughter, the smell of blood.
And now… this.
She wasn't dreaming.
She gasped as realization struck her: her soul had transmigrated.
But why this body?
Why here?
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. A tall woman in designer heels entered, followed by a man in a dark suit. Their expressions were cautious, unreadable.
"Miss Celestela," the woman said with a tight smile. "We're so relieved you're awake. We weren't sure if you'd ever return to us."
She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
The woman paused. "I'm your aunt. Do you… not remember anything?"
This wasn't her mother sister, or biological father sister…. but that of her stepfather and Celesteela definitely didn't have a good impression of her.
She didn't answer. Instead, she leaned back against the pillow, her gaze drifting toward the window.
The lady twitched her lips awkwardly,by the lack of response and ignorance.
She had come back. The heavens had answered her plea.
Now, she needed clarity.
Who was this Celestela?
And why did her new eyes carry the same sorrow?
If fate had given her a second chance, she wouldn't waste it.
This time… she wouldn't die weakly or quietly.
Yet she was confused. Lost. She had no idea how this world worked—no idea where to begin.
In her time, to wield influence or commit evil, one needed power: a title, a seat on the court, control over armies or regions. But here? She didn't know what authority looked like in this era. What title granted influence? What status allowed someone to rule?
She reached deep, searching for memories.
And they came.
Celesteela… was the heiress of a major company. She'd already begun supervising operations before the accident.
From what she could gather, there had been internal conflict—her stepfather, her stepmother, her stepsibling. And before the accident… she'd suspected betrayal.
Her boyfriend. Her stepsister.
Their faces had been the last she saw before everything went black.
More fragments surfaced.
Celestela had been orphaned once already. Her real father and brother had died in a car accident when she was just eight. Only she and her mother survived.
Two years later, her mother remarried—her father's best friend. A kind man, loyal to their family, with a daughter of his own. It had seemed ideal: two single parents raising their children together.
But it had stayed peaceful.
The more she recalled, the clearer it became.
Celestela had lived a life of power, envy, and betrayal—just like her.
And now… that life belonged to her.