Rewriting Her Destiny With The Lycan Kings

A young woman in her early twenties sat slumped in her study, a blank sheet of paper trembling in her hand. Her face was pale, lifeless, and her eyes, swollen and red, told the story of hours spent drowning in grief. The low murmur of voices drifted up from downstairs, where people had gathered, yet the house felt eerily quiet—too quiet for a home that had always felt full.

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, but the weight of loss pressed down on her chest. After what felt like an eternity, she finally gathered the strength to pick up her pen. Her hand hovered above the paper, as if the words were trapped inside her, too painful to release. Then, with a heavy heart, she began to write.

**Dear Mom,**

I don't know how to say goodbye. I keep waiting for the right words, but nothing feels like enough. You were my anchor, my guide, and now you're gone, and I feel so lost.

I'm sorry for all the things I didn't say, for the moments I missed. I wish I could have one more day with you, one more chance to tell you how much you meant to me, how much I admired your strength.

I'll carry you with me, always. I hope, wherever you are, you know how much I love you.

Goodbye, Mom. I'll miss you forever.

Love,

**Zara**

As soon as she finished writing the letter, her tears began to fall, staining the paper with soft, wet marks. She quickly wiped her eyes, trying to steady herself, and carefully folded the letter, her hands trembling. She stared at it, her gaze lingering as if the words held her mother's memory. Then, a voice broke through her thoughts.

"Zara, it's time."

The announcement hit her like a wave, and her heart plummeted. Gripping the edge of the desk for support, she felt her legs weaken beneath her. This was it—the moment she had dreaded. The moment to say goodbye to her mother.

---

That night, Zara sat in her study, utterly drained. The house, once filled with mourners paying their respects, was now silent and empty. Everyone had left, leaving her alone in the very place where her mother should have been. The accident had taken her so suddenly, on her way home. Zara couldn't shake the thought—just hours before, her mother had been alive, and now she was gone, leaving behind nothing but the weight of her absence.

Now, Zara sat in the quiet house, hollow and numb, without a single soul beside her to offer comfort. She longed for someone, anyone, to stay, just until she could find a way to bear the loss. But there was no one. The silence felt suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in on her grief.

Zara stared at the photograph on her nightstand, her mother's smile frozen in time, as if the world hadn't just crumbled around her. She let her fingers brush the edges, but her hand trembled too much to hold it. Her chest ached with the weight of all the things left unsaid, the empty hours that stretched in front of her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'll just… I'll just write for a little while,"

she murmured to no one.

Her desk was a mess of scribbled notes and half-finished ideas. But there, underneath her grief, lay the one thing she could control—the world of her book. A world she had crafted with every word, every character, every twist of fate. A place far from here.

This was her only escape from reality—a place where her characters thrived, shaped by her hands. Here, nothing spun out of control. It was the perfect moment to craft the climax of her upcoming book.

"Luna of the Lycan Kings," she murmured the title softly, letting it linger in the air. Her manuscript lay unfinished, still waiting for that moment when she would finally send it off for printing.

"Is the title right for the story?" she wondered aloud, repeating the names of her characters, tasting their sounds.

But the more she thought, the heavier her head felt. Fatigue pressed down on her. Her body was sending her signals—she needed rest. Still, the idea of leaving the study was unbearable. Sleep wouldn't come in her bedroom, not that haunted space filled with memories of her mother. It was too much to face right now, too raw.

She slipped off her glasses and rested her head against the desk, just for a moment, convincing herself this brief pause would help. She set the alarm for ten minutes, tricking her mind into believing this was only a short break, a controlled rest.

But as soon as her eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion washed over her, and sleep took her for real.

---

She slowly blinked her eyes open, an unsettling heaviness lingering in her limbs. A sinking feeling told her she had overslept. Instinctively, she glanced around, expecting the familiar sight of her study. Instead, she was greeted by darkness—an oppressive, all-encompassing blackness that felt suffocating. There were no shadows, no outlines—just pure dark.

Panic swelled in her chest. 'Why is it so dark?'

Her hand groped the desk for her phone, but it wasn't there. She swiped across the surface again—still nothing. A cold shiver ran down her spine as the room remained eerily silent.

Then, a soft glow caught her eye. Her gaze snapped to her manuscript. It was faint at first, but soon the pages began to emit a golden light, growing brighter with each passing second. The light spread like liquid, casting an ethereal glow across the room. The darkness retreated, pushed back by the shimmering golden rays.

She stood frozen, mesmerized by the sight, barely able to process what was happening. The light intensified, filling the space around her, until everything—walls, floor, and ceiling—became enveloped in a blinding, pure white.

And then, silence.

---

"Has she woken up? Are there any signs of life?"

Faint sounds echoed in the dim room, barely breaking through the thick veil of silence.

"Poor girl. She must have lost the will to live. After all, who could bear the weight of rejection from their soulmate?"

A chorus of murmurs rippled through the air, each voice adding to the heavy atmosphere that surrounded her.

The voices reached her ears, but an unexpected heaviness gripped her body, preventing her from responding. It felt as though she was lying on the most uncomfortable bed imaginable, her muscles weighed down as if she were trapped beneath a crushing burden. Pain coursed through her back, each throb a reminder of her struggles.

With tremendous effort, her eyelids fluttered open, and as they did, the cacophony of voices faded into silence, leaving her in a world of stillness.

---

The dim light filtering through the grimy window blurred her surroundings, but she could make out shadowy figures hovering nearby, their faces twisted with concern and pity. She tried to speak, to break the silence that clung to her like a shroud, but her throat felt parched, as if it hadn't seen water in days.

"Look! She's awake!"

one of the figures exclaimed, a wave of relief washing over the room.

The faces turned towards her, a mix of joy and apprehension etched across their features. It was a moment suspended in time, yet it felt heavy with unspoken words. They were waiting for her, but she didn't know what to say or how to respond.

"Can you hear us?".

another voice gently prodded, soft and warm.

She nodded slowly, each movement a laborious task. It was as if she was reawakening not just from sleep, but from a deep, numbing slumber that had gripped her spirit.

"Thank goodness,"

the first voice said again, a tremor of relief evident in their tone "You've been through so much. We were worried you wouldn't come back to us."

A swell of emotion surged within her. Memories flickered like shadows in her mind—moments of laughter, warmth, and the heartbreak of betrayal. The rejection, like a jagged stone, had embedded itself in her heart, but now it felt distant, almost dreamlike.

She was going through something and she felt that.

"Where... where am I?" she finally managed to whisper, her voice a raspy echo of the girl she once was.

"You're safe," the warm voice reassured her "You're at the recovery center. You've been in and out of consciousness for days. We were so scared... but you're here now."

As the reality of her situation settled over her, did she fell sick after writing nonstop? Why couldn't she remember whatever that had happened afterwards? And the biggest question was, who are these people, they look quite peculiar.

With a deep breath, she focused on the faces around her, the concern etched in their features "I—I'm okay,"

she said, the words feeling foreign but necessary "I am good to go back to my home."

Their eyes widened, and a wave of smiles washed over them, illuminating the somber room.

"Then let's start right now," the warm voice said, taking her hand in theirs. "We'll be right here with you every step of the way." One of the woman told her encouragingly.

"Yeah, Zara. It's usual to be rejected by our fated ones. But that's not the end of the world. we should live life happily the way goodness gives us."

And for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her—a fragile, yet determined light pushing through the shadows of despair. It felt so good, like she was getting the hope to live again.. thanks to good.....

wait what!!!!

The relief that had briefly crossed her face transformed into astonishment as she realized what she was saying. Her words felt oddly familiar, yet strange—why did they sound so unusual? And what was she even talking about?

With a sudden jolt, she became aware of her surroundings, this time taking in every detail. The architecture was unfamiliar, with a style that felt foreign and out of place. Even the air carried a strange scent—something she'd never experienced before. It hit her all at once: she wasn't anywhere near her home. A wave of panic surged through her chest, tightening its grip.

"I'm sorry, but can someone please tell me where I am? How did I get here? Why am I here?"

Her voice wavered, thick with anxiety. The tension in her body was palpable as she pushed herself out of bed, only to feel a sudden numbness in her legs. A tingling sensation spread through them as if they had fallen asleep, but when she tried to move, two women were already at her side, holding her up.

They looked at her with kind, sympathetic eyes.

"Dear, you're still under the effects of the sedative. Give it time," one of them said softly, stroking her hair. "You shouldn't push yourself yet. You need to rest and heal."

But Zara wasn't in the mood for comforting words. Panic clawed at her insides, and the need to understand her situation overwhelmed her. Once she felt some strength return to her legs, she pushed forward, marching toward the wooden door. She had to get out.

Flinging it open, Zara stepped outside, desperate to find a familiar face. But what met her eyes left her utterly stunned. Her mouth fell open, and she could only stare, frozen in place.

What she witnessed was nothing short of surreal—a landscape straight out of a fantasy novel. Before her stretched a bustling city, but not one she'd ever seen in her world. Men clad in gleaming armor moved through the streets, their swords glinting under the strange sunlight. To one side, groups of young people were intensely practicing sword fighting, their blades clashing with sharp, rhythmic sounds. On the other side, children, barely older than ten, were mastering the art of horse riding, their small figures guiding the powerful animals with surprising skill.

It was an entire city, alive with energy and purpose, but so foreign and extraordinary that she could hardly process it. Every detail—every stone, every building, every person—felt like it had been pulled from the pages of some fantastical story. This couldn't be real. Yet, here she was, standing in the middle of it, her heart pounding as the realization sunk in.

This wasn't her world.

…..

Her head began to spin as she took in the impossible sight before her. This couldn't be real. Was she dreaming? Was this some vivid hallucination? The thought crossed her mind—maybe she was in a coma, trapped in some strange, lucid fantasy. She knew, deep down, that none of this was possible. The rational part of her screamed that what she was seeing couldn't exist.

Without thinking, Zara's instincts kicked in. Panic gripped her, and she broke into a sprint, her legs still shaky but fueled by desperation. In the distance, she spotted a massive gate, towering and solid, like the entrance to some grand fortress. Her heart pounded in her chest as she ran, hoping that if she could just reach it, she might find an exit, or wake up from whatever strange dream this was.

The world blurred around her as her feet pounded against the unfamiliar ground, her only focus on reaching that gate and escaping this bewildering, unreal world.

Just as her fingers grazed the handle, ready to push the massive door open, something caught her eye.

A symbol—etched into the surface of the door—made her heart stop. Her hand froze in mid-air as her eyes focused on it.

It was an emblem of twin bloody moons, beautifully crafted, almost radiating a mystical aura. The design was intricate and powerful, but it wasn't the elegance or the craftsmanship that made her pause. It was the overwhelming sense of familiarity. She knew this emblem—knew it all too well.

"Now way! It can't be!" She whispered for no one. her hands began to shake due to the shock.

Her hand, still gripping the door handle, trembled. She couldn't move, couldn't force herself to go any further. The emblem alone was enough to root her to the spot, The realization hit her like a thunderclap.

She was inside her own Written book!

Where she was about to die!!