Where am i?

"What the hell is going on?" I whispered, my voice foreign and raspy.

My head throbbed as if a hundred bricks had been dropped onto it. A sharp, pulsating pain threatened to split my skull open. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut, but the question lingered. Where was I? What had happened?

Fragments of memories flickered like a broken reel: the party, the laughter, and too much alcohol. A dare stood out—a moment of absurdity when I leaned in to kiss old man Jared, whose presence among the young crowd was both creepy and baffling. But just as my lips nearly met his cheek, a strange weakness swept through me, draining the strength from my limbs. And then... darkness.

A sharp scream pierced the silence. My head snapped toward the door just as it flew open, revealing a middle-aged woman. She stood frozen in shock, her hands trembling as the bucket and cloth she held clattered to the floor.

"She's awake! Your Majesty, she's awake!" the woman stammered, her face pale as she turned and fled down the corridor.

Footsteps followed, heavy and purposeful, growing louder with every step. My heart pounded, and I stumbled back toward the bed, pressing myself against the ornate headboard. Moments later, two figures entered the room.

The first was a rugged man with a scar slicing across his left eye. He looked like a soldier—or perhaps a warrior—with an air of raw strength and authority. His expression was stoic, but his piercing gaze locked on me like a predator sizing up prey.

The second figure stole my breath. He was tall, with long black hair cascading over his shoulders and eyes as icy blue as the winter sky. His chiselled jawline and flawless features gave him an otherworldly beauty, like a god from ancient myths. But there was more—an undeniable presence about him as if the air itself bent to his will.

I pressed myself further against the bed. "Who are you? Who am I? What is going on?" I demanded, my voice trembling.

The rugged man remained silent, but the other—the gorgeous one—stepped forward. His gaze was steady and unyielding. "Athena," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "Do you not remember us? Do you not remember who you are?"

"Athena?" I shook my head frantically. "I'm not Athena! My name is Kiara!"

The two exchanged a glance, their silent communication unnerving. Finally, the gorgeous man spoke again. "It seems she has lost her memory... Because she is from the future."

"The future?" The word left my lips in disbelief. My knees felt weak. "This is insane. Magic isn't real. Time travel isn't real!"

The rugged man's gravelly voice cut through my panic. "We need to be sure she is the one."

The gorgeous man nodded. "There is a way to confirm."

The scarred man exited briefly and returned, carrying an object wrapped in cloth. He handed it to the other man, who carefully unwrapped it, revealing an ornate sword. Its blade gleamed, and intricate runes glowed faintly along its length.

"Unsheathe the sword," the gorgeous man said, extending it toward me. "This is the only way to know if you are truly the one we seek."

I stumbled back, shaking my head. "No. No way. I've never even held a sword before."

"If you are truly Athena," he replied patiently, "the sword will respond to you. If not, we will send you back to your time, none the wiser."

The idea of returning home felt like a lifeline, but the sight of the sword filled me with unease. "What if it doesn't respond?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. "Then your memory will be wiped, and you will return to your life. You will not remember any of this."

I hesitated, my eyes darting between him and the sword. Slowly, I reached out, my fingers trembling as they neared the hilt.

Before I could touch it, the sword lifted on its own, hovering in mid-air. A gasp escaped the middle-aged woman, who had returned silently. The scarred man's eyes widened, but it was the gorgeous man's reaction that froze me in place. His expression shifted to something like awe.

"It recognizes her," he said softly.

The sword pulsed with energy, its light intensifying. I recoiled, clutching my chest as a strange sensation rippled through me.

"What was that?" I gasped, panic clawing at my throat.

"The sword recognizes its master," he said. "This is the body of the goddess Athena, and your soul now resides within it."

His words felt like a blow. A goddess? A sword? Another body? None of this made sense.

I reached for the sword again, determined to prove—or disprove—whatever they believed about me. This time, my fingers closed around the hilt. A wave of energy coursed through me, not as jarring as before but no less powerful.

I stared at the sword, its glow reflecting in my wide eyes. I turned to them, hoping for answers, only to find their expressions had changed. The scarred man looked conflicted, but the gorgeous one's face darkened like a brewing storm.

"You see?" I said, desperation creeping into my voice. "I'm not her. Just send me back."

The excitement in their eyes faded, replaced by disappointment. The gorgeous man's face twisted, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door, "You are not my wife" His presence left an oppressive silence in its wake.

"Wait!" I cried, stumbling after him. My hand caught his wrist. "You can't just leave me here! Take me back—"

A sharp pain struck the back of my head, and the world tilted. My vision blurred, and my knees buckled.

The last thing I remembered was the cold floor beneath me before everything went black again.