The trees thickened around me as I walked, but I didn't feel lost. Something deep within me—older than memory, deeper than blood—was stirring. The feather pulsed faintly in my hand, its warmth seeping through my skin and into my bones.
The air shifted.
It wasn't just the wind anymore. It was the veil—the boundary between times, between realms. I paused, standing in a small clearing where the moonlight spilled like silver silk across the forest floor. My heart beat slower, heavier, as if the world was holding its breath.
And then… I felt it.
A tug in my chest. Not from sorrow, not from fear, but from something calling me. A current, threading through my soul. I raised the feather without thinking, and it responded to me—not as a relic, but as a key.
The pendant I had offered to the spirits may have vanished, but the magic—the bond—it left behind remained. The feather shimmered, rising from my palm, spinning faster and faster until sparks of light burst from its tip. They danced in the air, forming a spiral of silver and blue.
The ground beneath my feet vibrated gently as light formed a ring in front of me—an archway etched with ancient runes that glowed with the same pulse as my heartbeat.
A portal.
I stared at it, lips parting. This was it. My time. The moment to return to where it all began. Where I belonged. Where things had broken—and where, maybe, I could finally begin to put them back together.
I stepped toward it slowly, the air humming as the portal stabilized. I didn't look back. Not this time.
"I'm not running," I whispered to the magic. "I'm choosing."
The portal flared in response, inviting.
With Mary's peace in my heart, and the strength I had forged in pain, I stepped through the veil—into the current of time that waited to carry me home.
And just like that… I was gone.
The moment I stepped through the portal, the world shifted.
I felt it first in my bones—time folding inward, pressing against my skin like water through silk. The forest around me dissolved in light, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but soundless space… and then, impact.
My boots landed on stone. Cold. Familiar.
I opened my eyes.
It was dusk again, but not the sacred twilight of the spirit grove. This light was dimmer, harsher—tinged with the smoke and dust of a land scarred by battle and time. The air tasted different. Heavier. Charged.
I stood at the edge of a once-thriving village—my village—now broken and quiet. The stone paths were cracked, the houses worn and empty. Wild vines crept along the rooftops, and the old watchtower stood half-collapsed in the distance.
A sharp wind carried ashes through the streets.
The war I had escaped, the chaos I had been flung away from when time first fractured—it hadn't ended. If anything, it had grown worse in my absence.
But beneath the destruction, I could still feel it: echoes of laughter, of firelight, of the home I had once fought so hard to protect. The bones of memory, still rooted in the land.
Then I noticed something strange—markings on the walls, symbols drawn in chalk and ash. My symbols. The ones I had left behind when I vanished. Messages. Warnings. Or maybe… hope.
Someone had been waiting for me.
A rush of purpose filled my chest. I wasn't just here to return. I was here to reclaim what had been lost—to face what had broken, and to make it whole.
The wind shifted, and I heard something faint—a child's voice echoing in the distance, or perhaps a whisper through the ruins:
"She's come back."
I tightened my grip around the feather and stepped forward.
Time hadn't forgotten me.And I hadn't come back empty-handed.
The wind stirred again, curling around the broken stone and shattered wood, carrying with it the sound I thought I had imagined.
A whisper.
Faint. Soft. But unmistakably real.
"Anna…"
I froze.
My name—spoken like a secret between leaves. My heart pounded as I turned in place, searching the shadows of the crumbling village. The sun had nearly set, casting long fingers of twilight across the ruins, and in the distance, just beyond the hollow frame of a collapsed barn, I saw a flicker of movement.
A small figure stood there. A child—no older than seven. Barefoot. Thin. Draped in worn fabric that shifted like mist. Their face was partially hidden beneath tangled hair, but their eyes…
Their eyes glowed—pale blue like the spirits I had just left behind.
I took a cautious step forward. "Who are you?"
The child tilted their head, smiling faintly—not like a person, but like something older wearing the shape of one.
"You came back… just in time."
My breath caught. "Just in time for what?"
The child turned and began walking away, barefoot against stone without a sound. Before they vanished behind a broken archway, they whispered again:
"They've been waiting, Anna. But not all of them remember who you are."
"You'll have to remind them."
Then they were gone. Not vanished into the ruins—but into thin air, like mist caught in morning sun.
I stood still, heart heavy, pulse racing.
Whatever I had returned to, it wasn't just my past.
It was a world that had forgotten me. A world I was meant to wake up
Back to Kai when Anna left through the Portal:
Kai had followed, but at a distance.
Not close enough to stop her. Not close enough to make her turn.
Just close enough to watch.
Through the trees, he saw her step into a clearing bathed in silver light. The glow of the feather pulsed in her hand, and then—out of nowhere—it ignited the air with power. Spirals of light spun around her, ancient symbols rising from the earth like something answering a call older than language itself.
And then… the portal formed.
He staggered forward instinctively, heart slamming in his chest. "Anna…"
She didn't hear him—or if she did, she didn't turn.
He saw her pause at the edge of the glowing threshold. She stood tall, her back straight, but he knew her well enough to see the truth in her stillness: she was scared. Brave—but scared.
He took one more step forward, ready to shout her name. Ready to say something—anything—to make her stay.
But then she moved.
Not running. Not hesitating.
She chose it.
She stepped into the light, and the portal flared—brilliant, beautiful, final.
And then she was gone.
The glow faded, leaving only the hush of the forest and the weight in his chest.
Kai fell to his knees.
Not from pain—but from the knowledge that he had seen something sacred… and let it pass.
He buried his face in his hands, the image of her walking into that light burned behind his eyes. "She left…"
But then a new voice echoed in his mind—faint, familiar, like the echo of the spirits she had called:
"Let her go… and find your own way."
Kai clenched his fists against the earth. He didn't know what came next. All he knew was this:
He hadn't followed.
But he hadn't lost her either.
Not yet.
The portal faded, its last shimmer dissolving into the wind. Kai remained on his knees, breath shallow, heart beating against the silence like a drum in an empty hall.
Then, without warning, it hit him.
A pulse.
Deep. Electric. Violent.
He gasped and clutched his chest as the world around him warped. The forest twisted, light bled sideways, and time bent—not forward, not backward, but inward, dragging his senses somewhere else entirely.
Then—vision.
Flashes.
He saw fire. Smoke spiraling from rooftops scorched black. The bones of buildings crumbled under the weight of ash. He saw bodies—some nameless, others he almost recognized. People crying out for help that never came.
And then he saw her.
Anna—standing at the heart of it all, blade in hand, eyes glowing with unfamiliar power. Not just grief. Not just rage. Something ancient. Something awakened.
Around her, shadows moved—figures cloaked in malice, feeding on the chaos, whispering her name like a curse and a crown.
"The last thread," one of them hissed."Cut it, and the world unravels."
And in the distance, he saw something worse:
A second portal. Not of light—but of darkness. Opening.
The vision surged again, sharper now, painful. He collapsed onto his hands, coughing, the taste of smoke in his mouth despite the quiet forest still surrounding him.
Then… silence. The vision vanished.
Kai blinked against the dark, chest heaving.
"That wasn't just her time," he whispered. "That was coming."
He stared at the empty space where the portal had been.
She's not safe.
And neither is the world she returned to.
He rose slowly, fists clenched, eyes burning with a new clarity. His pain hadn't been the end. It was the beginning. A signal. A warning.
And this time… he wouldn't wait for the world to break before he moved.
He had seen death.
And he wasn't going to let Anna face it alone.
Kai had barely regained his footing when another ripple tore through the air—not a vision this time, but something real.
A faint shimmer sparked just above the forest floor, and a golden sigil flared to life, spinning slowly in the air before snapping open like a scroll. It bore the mark of his village's high council—a direct message from the Chief.
He reached out, and as soon as his fingers touched the light, a voice echoed in his mind—firm, clipped, laced with urgency.
"Kai. You're out of time."
"The Eastern Chiefdom—once our allies—has declared war. Their elders believe the signs point to one thing: that the balance of time and power has been broken. They blame Anna. They say her return is a curse... and a prophecy fulfilled."
Kai's breath caught. His fists tightened.
"They want to destroy what remains of the Spirit-Bound bloodline. But worse… they claim that binding her—marrying her—will restore balance. They want her not just as a prisoner…"
"They want her as a bride."
The voice darkened.
"They will not ask twice. They will burn villages to the ground to get her."
"You are one of the few who has traveled close to her path. If she is in another time… you must find her. Warn her. Or everything—everyone—will fall."
The message ended in a crackle of fading light.
Kai stood in stunned silence.
Another war.
Another choice forced onto her.
Another hand reaching to claim what they didn't understand.
He looked to the sky, jaw clenched. "They think she's something to bind? To tame? They don't know her at all."
He turned back toward the center of the forest, eyes burning with purpose.
"I let her walk away once… but I won't let her walk into that alone."
And this time, he didn't hesitate.
He would find a way through time. Through fire. Through war itself.
Because if the enemy thought Anna would kneel—they hadn't seen her rise.
Back to Anna timeline where she was following the child:
That voice had carried more than words—it carried purpose. So I followed.
Through the crumbling village, past collapsed homes and charred wells, their small footsteps left no trace. Yet I felt the pull, as if the very air shifted with each direction they took.
We passed through an alley cloaked in ivy, then down a narrow stairwell hidden beneath the remains of the baker's shop. Moss and soot clung to the stone, but the path was oddly warm—like the land itself remembered me.
At the bottom, the air changed.
Cooler. Sharper. And alive with quiet breath.
The tunnel opened into a cavern beneath the village—natural stone walls illuminated by a flickering orb of light floating near the ceiling. There were beds made from straw and old cloth. Casks of water. Weapons. Maps. Candles burned low around a circle of runes drawn on the ground.
And people.
A small group—no more than ten—stood or sat around the space. Ragged. Wary. But very much alive.
The child stepped in first and turned to me with that same strange, knowing smile. "She's here."
One of the figures rose slowly—a woman maybe a few years older than me, with burn scars down one arm and a pendant around her neck shaped like a flame. Her eyes narrowed in recognition.
"…It's really you," she breathed. "Anna."
The others murmured—some stunned, some suspicious, some almost afraid.
"I thought you were dead," another voice said—a boy with a torn cloak and hollow eyes. "They said you vanished when time shattered."
I stepped into the glow, holding the feather in my hand like a torch of proof.
"I didn't die," I said softly. "I was… taken. And now I'm back. But something's wrong. There's war coming—again."
The woman stepped forward. "It's already here."
She gestured to the maps on the wall—circles drawn around regions with red marks slashing through them.
"They call themselves the Ashbound," she said grimly. "A rising force from the Eastern Chiefdom. They say they want balance. But they're burning everything. They're hunting those with spirit blood… and those loyal to you."
I blinked, heart sinking. "Loyal to me? Why?"
A heavy silence fell—until the child answered, stepping beside me.
"Because they believe you are the last thread holding time together."
The woman nodded. "And their Chief… he wants you. Not just dead. Bound. They say taking you as his bride will make the timeline submit to him. That binding your blood will give him the power to rebuild time in his image."
The air seemed to close in around me.
Bound. Claimed. Used.
No.
Not again.
Not ever.
I looked around at them—all these broken survivors who had waited in shadow, hoping for someone to return.
And something deep inside me lit like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"They want a bride," I said coldly. "Then they've never met me."
The child smiled wider.
"No," they said softly. "But they will."
I hadn't even caught my breath when the murmur in the hideout began to rise—soft voices, shaking with a mixture of fear and something harder to name.
Not awe. Not hope.
Weariness.
The woman with the flame pendant took a deep breath. "There's something you need to understand, Anna. These people—what's left of them—they've lost everything. Families. Homes. Futures. Some… because they stood by your name."
I looked around again, and the faces blurred—not from magic, but from the sudden weight behind every pair of eyes. Old men. Wounded fighters. Children too quiet for their age. Mothers cradling babies who would never know peace if this war continued.
One of the older men stepped forward. His beard was grey, his hands calloused and trembling. "We don't care about bloodlines. Or ancient prophecies. We don't want glory or vengeance."
His voice cracked. "We want to live."
A young woman stood next, her eyes rimmed red from grief. "We've followed leaders. Gods. Spirits. And every time, we're the ones who bleed. The ones who burn."
Another voice rose. Then another.
"No more sacrifice."
"No more war for someone else's legacy."
"We want peace, Anna. We need peace."
Then, the words that cut the deepest:
"For once… can you do what we want?"
The cave fell silent, every word hanging heavy like a final verdict.
And I—I stood frozen.
I had spent so long fighting for what was right, for what had been taken, for her. For the future. For justice.
But had I ever stopped to ask what those around me wanted?
Not glory. Not victory.
Just an end to the bloodshed.
I looked down at the glowing feather in my hand. It pulsed slowly, as if even Mary's memory was waiting on my answer.
My throat tightened.
I stepped forward into the center of the room, raising my voice—not loud, but strong enough to be heard.
"I hear you."
I looked into every eye I could hold, even those filled with doubt. "I didn't come back to lead you into another war. I came back because I had to… but I stay because I choose to stand with you."
I held the feather high, letting its soft light wash over us.
"No more forgotten dead. No more destinies forced down our throats. We'll find another way—our way."
A long silence followed… and then, slowly, someone began to nod. Then another. Until the room began to breathe again.
The child stood near the wall, smiling quietly. "Now," they said, "you're starting to sound like her."
I turned to them. "Like who?"
They tilted their head. "The version of you that still has a future."
As the quiet hope began to settle in the room, a sudden chill swept through the cavern, snuffing out several of the candles. The floating orb flickered violently, casting long, twisting shadows against the stone walls.
I tightened my grip on the feather.
Then, before anyone could speak, a soft glow appeared at the center of the rune circle—a small, swirling orb of light that pulsed like a heartbeat. The child stepped back, eyes wide, and whispered, "A message."
The orb expanded, and images flooded my mind—visions I hadn't expected.
Flames licking at the edges of distant villages. Screams carried on the wind. Dark shapes moving like a tide of shadows beneath a blood-red sky.
And then, the enemy's chief—stern, cruel, his eyes burning with fanatic purpose—stood before a war council, pointing to a map marked with red ink.
He spoke with a voice that echoed through my soul:
"She returns. Whether by fate or by her own will, the bloodline stirs again."
"We will break her before she can unite the scattered."
"Strike swiftly. Burn their hope to ash."
The vision shattered like glass, leaving a ringing silence in my head.
I gasped, staggering back, the feather's light dimming in my hand.
The woman with the flame pendant stepped forward, her voice low but fierce. "They're coming. Soon."
I swallowed hard, the weight of choice pressing down.
They would attack—regardless of whether I fought or tried to make peace.
Because some wars are born of fear, not reason.
And some enemies care nothing for mercy.
I looked around at the faces illuminated by the flickering light—the weary, the hopeful, the broken.
"We don't have a choice," I said softly. "But how we face them… that is ours."
The child's eyes met mine, steady and sure.
"Then we prepare," they said. "For whatever comes next."