Chapter 1: The Fall
Falling.
The wind cut her eardrums like blades. Thorns came from every direction—tearing her skin, shredding her clothes. Violet couldn't even scream. A thick vine lashed across her ribs. The pain blacked out everything.
But she did not close her eyes.
Because on the third second of the fall, a thought hit her like lightning—
She knew this place.
The pattern of the thorns. The height of the cliff. Even that dead tree sticking out of the rock. All of it matched the trashy novel she'd read on a flight three months ago. Exactly.
She was Cecilia Winter.
The vicious side character. Pushed off Thornveil Gorge in Chapter Three. Slapped by the heroine in Chapter Six. Dead and alone at the end.
And the one who pushed her—Astrid Frostfang. Daughter of the Silver Spring chieftain. In the original book, part of Seraphina's circle.
The reason was simple. Cecilia found out Astrid's secret. She wasn't pureblood orc. Her mother was a human captive. In Silver Spring, that blood meant exile. And Cecilia didn't even do anything with it. She just stayed quiet. But that silence scared Astrid more than anything.
Scared enough to strike first.
"Fuck."
Violet squeezed the word out. Not from hate. From the unfairness of it.
She did nothing wrong. She stayed quiet. And she got pushed off a cliff for it.
Before she hit the second layer of thorns, she curled up tight—knees to her chest, arms over her head, spine rounded. The book described it. Thornveil Gorge had four layers of thorns. About seven meters apart. Right posture, four layers of cushion. Anyone under sixty kilos could survive.
Bang—
Second layer. Thorns tore three cuts into her calf. It hurt. Bad. Tears rushed out. She bit down and swallowed the scream.
Bang—
Third layer. A snapped vine whipped past her temple. Cut her cheek open. Warm blood ran down her face, mixing with tears.
Bang—
Fourth layer. She crashed through the last of the thorns. Her back hit the mud at the bottom. She slid three meters and slammed into a boulder. Stopped.
Pain.
She lay in the mud, gasping. Dirt and blood filled her mouth. Bitter. Metallic. Her left ribs felt smashed with a hammer. Three cuts on her right calf still bled. The gash on her cheek burned.
Her lungs felt squeezed. Every breath came with a sharp whistle. A broken rib might have cut into her lung.
She knew she could still die here.
She wanted to live.
That thought burned louder than anything. Not because she had some big reason to live. In her old life, she had no lover. No kids. Not even a cat. Her life was work, meetings, flights, contracts. Thirty-seven years turning herself into a machine.
But that machine wasn't broken yet.
She did not want to die.
Violet's hands shook. Not from pain. From fear. She was scared of dying in this unknown place. No gravestone. No one in this world even knowing she existed.
But her hands kept moving. Tore a strip from her skirt. Folded it. Pressed it hard against the spot below her left ribs that hurt the most. Pressed. Harder. The pain blacked out her vision. A small whimper came out.
She did not stop.
Her breathing slowly steadied.
Violet rolled onto her back. Two suns burned above her. One red. One gold. The sky looked soaked in blood.
She cried. Silent. Tears slid into her hair. Her lips shook. She bit her lip until it bled.
She was alive.
Pushed off a thirty-meter cliff. Through four layers of thorns. Rib nearly through her lung. Alive.
She let herself cry for ten seconds.
After ten seconds, she wiped her face. Closed her eyes. Pulled up the book's map in her head.
Thornveil Gorge. A dry riverbed on the east side. Follow it north for seven miles. A gentle slope. At the end, the Moonstone vein. Next to it, an orc hunting camp. Clean water. Bandages. Weapons.
She knew this. She read it. She remembered.
She pushed herself up. Checked her wounds. Right calf—three cuts. Deepest about two centimeters. Tendons okay. Left ribs—hurt to touch, but breathing was normal now. The real problem was her right foot. A two-inch thorn stuck through the arch. The tip showed on the side.
She stared at the thorn for three seconds.
Then she pinched the end with two fingers. Took a deep breath.
Pulled.
"Ah—!"
She couldn't hold it in. The sound ripped out. Sharp. Short. Blood sprayed. Her whole body seized. Pain exploded from her foot and shot up—calf, knee, thigh, spine. Her teeth ground together. Cold sweat and hot blood ran down her face.
She cried a second time.
She let herself cry for five seconds.
Then she tore more cloth. Wrapped the wound. Tied it tight.
She pushed up on the rock. The moment her foot took weight, pain shot up her leg. Her knee buckled. She almost went down. Her right hand grabbed the rock behind her. Nails dug into stone. She steadied herself.
She stood.
She was standing.
Violet looked down at her wrapped foot. Blood already seeped through the cloth. A small dark red spot on the stone.
The corner of her mouth moved. Not a smile. Just a little relief. She was still alive.
She took her first step.
---
End of Chapter One
She fell from a thirty-meter cliff, through four layers of thorns, and lived. But living is just the start. Beasts hunt Thornveil Gorge at night. And the one who pushed her—she won't let this go.