Alyra woke up after a long drugged sleep. The kind of sleep that came from pharmaceutical intervention rather than natural rest. The kind of awakening that was disorienting, confusion-filled, her consciousness emerging slowly from depths of darkness.

Her eyes fluttered open to unfamiliar surroundings. The ceiling above her was ornate, decorated with frescoes that suggested centuries of history. The light filtering through the windows was the golden light of late afternoon in Italy, completely different from the Seoul sunlight she was accustomed to.