She wants to know his secret. He doesn’t know what it is yet. Lydia watched Michael from her favorite café, intrigued by his quiet demeanor and the way he scribbled furiously in his notebook.

One day, curiosity got the best of her. She approached him with a trembling smile. “Hi, I’m Lydia. I’ve always wondered what you write about.”

Michael looked up, bewildered. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I just... write.”

She tilted her head. “But you’re so passionate. There must be a reason.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “That’s just it. I pour my thoughts onto the paper to discover what’s inside me. It's like a journey.”

Lydia’s heart raced. “It sounds beautiful. Can I read some?”

Michael hesitated, then handed her the notebook. Lydia flipped through the pages, finding poems, stories, and reflections. Every word resonated with a hidden truth.

She looked at Michael, her eyes shining. “Your secret is your soul, and it’s magnificent.”

Michael smiled for the first time, realizing she was right. Together, they found joy in each other’s discoveries, sharing secrets that even they hadn’t known existed.

[read Rewinding Time: Burning At The Stake (PT 1, 2 & 3)]

As we navigated the chaos of the Civil War battlefield, our senses were assaulted by the sights and sounds of conflict. Smoke billowed from the cannonades, and the ground beneath our feet shook with each distant explosion. The air was thick with tension and the cries of wounded soldiers.

Mearle led the way, his eyes sharp and his staff glowing faintly, guiding us through the turmoil. The other witches and warlocks stayed close, their presence a steadying force against the backdrop of chaos. We knew our mission was to find the next piece of the puzzle, but the battlefield seemed an unlikely place to uncover ancient secrets.

As the device pulsed with its newfound energy, we were suddenly snapped back to the harsh reality of our surroundings. The clamoring sounds of distant battle intensified, and through the swirling mist, a figure emerged—an armed soldier from the Confederacy. His uniform was tattered, and his eyes were filled with suspicion and wariness.

"Halt! Who goes there?" he demanded, raising his rifle and eyeing our group with obvious distrust.

Before we could respond, he reached for a bugle hanging from his belt and blew a sharp, urgent blast. The sound echoed ominously across the battlefield, signaling an alert to his comrades.

"Run!" Mearle shouted, but it was too late. From the shadows, more soldiers emerged, surrounding us with weapons drawn. The hostile tension was palpable, and there was no escape.

"Drop your staff! Hands where I can see them!" the commanding officer barked, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Reluctantly, Mearle lowered his staff, the glow fading as it touched the ground. We were quickly disarmed and forced into a makeshift cell within a dilapidated barn nearby. The soldiers secured the door with a heavy iron lock, leaving us in the dim, murky confines of our prison.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with defeat and uncertainty. The musty smell of hay and damp earth filled the air. The light from the device had dimmed, hidden beneath my tattered cloak to avoid detection.

Elara’s face was etched with concern as she whispered, "We must find a way out. We can't be held here; our mission is too important."

Mearle nodded, his eyes scanning our surroundings for any potential means of escape. "These soldiers are desperate and suspicious. We need to be cautious, but... we also need to be quick."

As we strategized, the reality of our situation sank deeper. The soldiers outside were Confederate, and we were far from home, deep within a warzone where any perceived threat was dealt with harshly. But giving up was not an option. With the ancient device in our possession and the knowledge we had gained, the fate of our mission lay in the balance.

I tightened my grip on the hidden device, determination flaring within me. We had to escape, not just for ourselves, but for the future that depended on us. Our next move could very well dictate the course of our journey, and failure was not an option.

With a shared nod of resolve, we began searching our cell for any opportunity, any weakness in our confinement, that could lead us to freedom. The night outside pressed heavily upon us, each minute ticking away like a drumbeat of fate.

But we would not be deterred. Together, we were stronger—bound by purpose and the unyielding belief that we could change the course of history. And with that belief as our guide, we prepared ourselves for whatever came next.

Inside the cramped cell, desperation flickered in our eyes. We couldn't afford to stay trapped while the fate of our mission hung in the balance. As we scoured the dim confines of the barn, Mearle's eyes suddenly gleamed with an idea.

"There's a weak spot over here," he whispered, pointing to a section of the wall where aging wood had started to deteriorate.

The group rallied quickly, quietly working to pry open the slats. Elara used a minor spell to soften the wood, allowing us to create a small opening just large enough to slip through. One by one, we squeezed out, emerging into the cool night air, the sounds of distant battle still echoing around us.

Freedom beckoned, but it was not without danger. As soon as we stepped out, an alarmed shout rang through the night. "There they are! Stop them!"

The Confederate soldiers, alerted by our escape, charged towards us, their weapons glinting menacingly in the moonlight. We sprinted away, adrenaline coursing through our veins, the urgency driving our every step.

Suddenly, the ancient device in my hands began to vibrate, the patterns glowing once more. Before I could comprehend what was happening, a portal shimmered into existence right in our path—a swirling vortex of colors and light, different from anything we had seen before.

"Quickly, through the portal!" Mearle shouted, his voice ringing with a mixture of awe and urgency.

Without hesitation, we dove into the portal, the soldiers' shouts fading behind us as the vortex enveloped us. The journey through the portal was disorienting, a whirlwind of sensations and colors.

When we emerged, the world around us had changed. We found ourselves standing in the bustling streets of New York City, but it was still the Civil War era. The clamor of urban life filled our senses—the clattering of horse-drawn carriages, the chatter of pedestrians, and the distant hum of industry.

We stood there, catching our breaths, taking in the unfamiliar yet historical surroundings. The portal closed behind us with a soft whoosh, leaving us momentarily stunned.

"Did... did the device do that?" I asked, holding up the ancient device that had been our guide.

Mearle examined the device, nodding thoughtfully. "It must have been the object we found on the battlefield," he said. "It seems to have unlocked new capabilities in the device, allowing it to create portals through time and space."

Elara's eyes widened with understanding. "This changes everything. We have a powerful tool at our disposal now, but we must use it wisely."

As the realization sank in, the weight of our mission felt both heavier and more hopeful. We had new capabilities and new challenges, but with this newfound power, our chances of success had never been greater.

Gathering our resolve, we prepared to navigate this new environment and continue our quest. The ancient device, now more potent than ever, was our beacon in the dark, guiding us through the trials and uncertainties ahead.

Our journey through time was far from over, but together, we would face whatever came our way—armed with knowledge, determination, and the unshakable belief that we could change the course of history.

We stood amidst the bustling energy of 1860s New York City, our breaths still heavy from the mad dash and unexpected journey. The contrast between the chaos of the battlefield and the bustling streets was striking. The city was alive with activity—vendors calling out their wares, newspapers boys shouting headlines, and horse-drawn carriages clattering along cobblestone streets.

"We need a place to regroup and figure out our next move," Elara stated, her voice firm yet cautious.

Mearle glanced around, spotting an inn with a modest sign hanging above its door: The Liberty Hotel. "Over there," he said, pointing. "That should provide us some shelter."

We made our way through the crowd, trying to blend in despite our unconventional attire and the ancient device still clutched tightly in my grip. Entering the lobby of The Liberty Hotel, we were met with the warm glow of gas lamps and the comforting hum of conversation. The decor was simple but cozy, with worn but well-kept furniture and a roaring fireplace that offered a respite from the nighttime chill.

The innkeeper, a stout man with a bushy mustache, looked up as we approached the front desk. His eyes lingered on our group, curiosity piqued. "What can I do for you folks?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

Mearle stepped forward, his British accent making him sound particularly distinguished. "Good evening. We require a room for the night, and perhaps some discretion."

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow but nodded. "We've got one room available. Two beds and a bit of space on the floor if need be." He glanced at the ancient device partially hidden beneath my cloak but said nothing. "Payment upfront."

Mearle reached into his robes, producing a few coins from a hidden pocket. The innkeeper nodded in satisfaction, sliding a key across the worn counter. "Room 3, up the stairs. Enjoy your stay."

We climbed the narrow, creaky staircase to the second floor, finding our room at the end of the hall. Once inside, we locked the door and collectively exhaled, the sense of temporary safety a palpable relief. The room was simple, with two wooden beds, a threadbare carpet, and a small table by the window offering a view of the busy street below.

"We need to figure out our next steps," Mearle said, placing his staff gently against the wall and turning to face us.

Elara nodded, looking thoughtful. "The object we found has unlocked new abilities in the device. We must understand it better before we use it again. And we need to determine our next destination—how to continue piecing together the puzzle left by Sage Bishop."

I sat down on one of the beds, the weight of the device heavy in my hands. "This... this is all so much," I admitted, the enormity of our task threatening to overwhelm me.

Mearle sat beside me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Remember, you're not alone in this. We are here with you, and together, we'll see this through."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. "Thank you. Let's figure this out."

As the night deepened, we gathered around the small table, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows. We studied the device, discussing its potential and planning our next moves. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Mearle, Elara, and the coven by my side, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

Our journey through time was fraught with danger, but our mission had never been clearer. We would uncover the secrets of the ancient device, outwit our pursuers, and continue our quest to save our future—one step at a time.

[read Rewinding Time: Burning At The Stake (PT 1 & 2)]

As I continued to flee, the narrow village streets gave way to a dense forest, the canopy overhead blocking out most of the moonlight. The air grew cooler, and an eerie mist began to settle around me, swirling at my feet as I navigated the uneven, root-laden path.

My breaths were shallow, my mind racing with the urgency of my escape. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move—a shadow that seemed to slither and grow within the fog.

I came to an abrupt stop, my heart pounding as the shape materialized into a grotesque form. The creature was unlike anything I had ever seen: dark, scaled skin glistening with malevolence, eyes like burning coals, and bared, razor-sharp teeth. It let out a low, guttural growl, its stare locked onto me.

With no other choice, I broke into a run, my feet pounding against the damp forest floor as the creature's snarl grew louder, closer. Fear propelled me forward, but every step felt heavier, the mist thickening around me.

Just as I thought my lungs would give out, I burst into a small clearing. There, illuminated by soft, magical light, stood a young man—no older than 21. He wore robes that shimmered with mystic runes, and his eyes sparkled with uncanny wisdom. In his hand, he held a staff, glowing with an ethereal blue light.

He turned sharply, his expression shifting from curious to determined as he saw me rushing toward him. "Over here!" he called out, his voice steady and reassuring.

Without hesitation, I sprinted towards him, trusting my instincts. The creature leaped from the fog, its terrifying form breaking through the mist. But before it could reach me, the young man raised his staff, chanting in an ancient language. A barrier of shimmering light erupted between us and the creature, repelling it with a hiss of frustration and rage.

I stumbled, breathless, to his side. "Thank you," I gasped, clutching the device tightly against my chest. "That thing... It was going to kill me."

The young man nodded, his gaze never leaving the creature as it retreated into the darkness. "You're safe now. I'm Mearle Barley, a wizard," he said, his tone calm but tinged with concern. "And you are?"

"Runa. Runa Mahogany," I managed to reply, still catching my breath. "I need help... The villagers... They're after me."

Mearle's eyes softened as he lowered his staff, the magical barrier dissipating. "I know. Word of the witch trials has spread far and wide." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Come with me. I have a safe place not far from here."

Grateful but wary, I followed him through the forest, the path now illuminated by the soft glow of his staff. The mist began to thin, and my tension eased ever so slightly. "Why are you helping me?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

Mearle glanced back at me, a small smile playing on his lips. "Because I know what it means to be hunted for who you are. And because I sense a greater purpose in you. One that could change everything."

As we walked, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. I had found an ally in this strange, perilous time—a wizard who might just be the key to unlocking not only the code but the future we so desperately needed to save.

As we continued through the forest, the mist gradually gave way to a clearer path, illuminated by the steady glow of Mearle's staff. The tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a burgeoning curiosity about this enigmatic wizard who had come to my aid.

"So, you’re a wizard?" I asked, trying to make conversation as we navigated the winding trail.

Mearle nodded, his accent unmistakably British. "Indeed. Born and raised in England, though I've found myself in these parts of late. Fate has a funny way of steering us to where we need to be."

His words carried a certain weight, as if he knew more about our intertwined destinies than he was letting on. Before I could probe further, the path opened up to reveal a modest cabin nestled among the trees. It was quaint yet robust, emitting an inviting warmth through its windows.

"We're here," Mearle announced, leading me to the heavy wooden door engraved with protective runes. He pushed it open, revealing a bustling interior filled with the hum of conversation and the scent of herbs and potions.

Inside the cabin, several witches and warlocks turned to look at us, the air filled with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The room was lit by floating lanterns casting a gentle luminescence over the eclectic group.

"Everyone, this is Runa Mahogany," Mearle introduced me. "She needs our help."

A tall woman with raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes stepped forward. "I'm Lilith," she said, her voice smooth but commanding. "What brings you here, Runa?"

I took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of the room on me. "I’m from the future, sent back to find a code held by my ancestor, Sage Bishop... to save my world," I explained, holding up the ancient device. "But now the villagers are after me, and my brother—"

"Say no more," interrupted a white-haired man, his aura of wisdom undeniable. "You are welcome here, Runa. We will do what we can to protect you."

Mearle led me to a seat by the fire, the warmth soothing my frayed nerves. "This is a sanctuary for those like us," he said, gesturing around the room. "We're a community—united by our abilities and our desire to live freely despite the dangers."

A young witch handed me a cup of herbal tea, the fragrance calming my anxious mind. "Thank you," I murmured, taking a grateful sip.

As I looked around the room, I realized I was among kindred spirits—people who understood the perilous balance of power and fear, who also fought for survival in a world that often misunderstood them. For the first time since arriving in this time, I felt a sense of belonging.

Mearle settled beside me, his eyes earnest. "We'll help you, Runa. But you must promise to share everything you know about this mission. Our fates may be more intertwined than you think."

I nodded, determination hardening within me. "I promise. Together, we can find a way to save both our times."

With Mearle and this newfound group of allies, I felt a renewed strength. Though the path ahead was still fraught with danger, I no longer faced it alone. Together, we would uncover the secrets of the past and forge a way forward—towards hope, redemption, and a future worth fighting for.

As I finished explaining my mission, the room fell into a deep, contemplative silence. The witches and warlocks exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of concern and resolve.

Elara stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with determination. "KALISTAR, you say? That is indeed a powerful word."

Mearle nodded, his tone thoughtful. "We must help her. Not just for her sake, but for the future of all."

Elara addressed the coven with a resolute expression. "Then it's decided. We will protect and aid Runa in her quest."

As murmurs of agreement filled the room, I felt a surge of relief and gratitude. My mission was far from over, but I was no longer alone. With this group of witches and warlocks by my side, I had a fighting chance to uncover the secrets and save our future.

Back in the village, the atmosphere was thick with anger and fear. The villagers, fueled by Reverend Carlton’s fervent zeal, scoured every corner in search of the perceived agents of darkness.

A group of townsfolk, armed with torches and makeshift weapons, treaded cautiously through the forest on the path we had taken. Their faces were set with grim determination, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs heightening their alertness.

"She couldn't have gotten far," muttered one of the men, his grip tightening around the handle of his pitchfork.

Another villager, a burly man with a lantern, pointed to a strip of cloth caught on a low branch. His eyes widened with recognition. "Look here! A piece of her dress."

The group huddled around the discovery, their confidence bolstered by the evidence. "She must be near," the burly man declared, raising his lantern higher to cast its light further into the forest.

Reverend Carlton, who had joined the search party, narrowed his eyes at the trail. "The witch cannot hide from God's judgment. We will find her, and those who aid her will face the same fate."

The villagers continued their relentless pursuit, pushing deeper into the woods. Unbeknownst to them, they were drawing ever closer to Mearle’s cabin, where I now sought refuge with my newfound allies.

Every step they took brushed dangerously close to our hidden sanctuary. The crackling of their footsteps on fallen leaves echoed through the forest, a haunting reminder of the peril lurking just beyond our safe haven's walls.

The villagers pressed onward, their makeshift weapons gleaming ominously in the flickering light of their torches. As they pushed through the dense underbrush, they spotted a faint glow emanating from deeper within the forest.

"There, up ahead!" one of the villagers hissed, pointing towards the source of the light.

Reverend Carlton's eyes narrowed with determination. "We have found their lair. Prepare yourselves."

They moved swiftly, their hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and righteous fury. The cabin came into view, its inviting warmth standing in stark contrast to the chilling night. With a shared nod, the villagers advanced, ready to deliver their judgment upon the perceived agents of darkness.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was tense yet resolute. As we regrouped and planned our next move, the sound of footsteps and muffled voices reached us, signaling the arrival of the villagers. Fear gnawed at the edges of my resolve, but there was no time to falter.

Elara's expression grew grave. "We are discovered. We must act swiftly."

Mearle nodded, stepping forward with his staff in hand. "Runa, we have one last chance. The device you carry—it can be used to transport us through time. But we must hurry."

The members of the coven formed a circle around me, their faces etched with determination and urgency. Mearle began chanting in the ancient language, his staff glowing brighter with each word. The pulsating light of the device in my hands synchronized with his incantation, casting a protective cocoon around us.

Just as the villagers burst through the door, brandishing their torches and pitchforks, the air around us shimmered and twisted. The room dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, and a familiar vertigo overtook me.

When the world reformed, we found ourselves standing on a misty battlefield, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air. The Civil War era spread out before us, wounded soldiers lying in the mud, the distant sound of cannon fire echoing through the air. The atmosphere was charged with both dread and determination, mirroring the feelings within me.

Mearle steadied me with a firm hand. "We're here," he said, his voice calm despite the chaos around us. "We must find the next piece of the puzzle. Be on your guard."

As we made our way through the war-torn landscape, the urgency of our mission weighed heavily upon us. We had escaped the villagers for now, but our journey was far from over. Challenges lay ahead, each step fraught with danger, but the bond forged with Mearle and the coven gave me hope.

Through the fog of war and the uncertainty of our path, one thing remained clear: we were bound by a purpose greater than ourselves. And together, we would face whatever the passing days held, forging a future worth fighting for.

[read Rewinding Time: Burning At The Stake (PT1)]

As the tension in the square reached its peak, Sage Bishop, bound and facing the unjust trial, suddenly screamed out a single word, "KALISTAR!" Her voice echoed through the square, sending a shiver down our spines. It was a word imbued with power, her defiant last stand. The crowd gasped, and a hush fell over the scene as the significance of her cry lingered in the charged air.

As the tension in the square reached its peak, Sage Bishop, bound and facing the unjust trial, suddenly screamed out a single word, "KALISTAR!" Her voice echoed through the air, shattering the oppressive silence. For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to halt, and every person in the square stood frozen in awe and fear.

Instantly, Tobias and I knew—that was the code. Our mission had led us to this precise moment. Sage's defiant cry wasn't just a plea; it was the key we'd traveled back in time to find. "Kalistar," I whispered, the word sending a shiver down my spine.

Before I could process what to do next, a shout rang out from behind us. "There! Those children! They're not from around here!" A burly townsman pointed directly at us, his face twisted with suspicion and anger.

My heart hammered against my ribs as we turned to run, the crowd parting like a disturbed hive of bees. Tobias grabbed my hand, and we sprinted through the chaos, dodging outstretched arms and furious faces.

"Stop them! They're allies of the witch!" Reverend Carlton's voice boomed, and the mob surged after us with newfound fury.

We darted down a narrow alley, but our pursuers were relentless. Tobias took a sharp turn, leading us through a labyrinth of twisting lanes and shadowed backstreets. But it was no use; the townsfolk knew the area far better than we did.

As we skidded around another corner, our path was suddenly blocked by a group of stern-faced men. They grabbed us roughly, dragging us back to the square. "Let us go!" Tobias yelled, struggling against their iron grip.

When we were thrust back into the square, the crowd erupted in jeers and accusations, their eyes burning with hatred. Reverend Carlton stepped forward, his expression one of grim satisfaction. "It seems we have discovered more agents of darkness," he declared, turning to the crowd. "These children are in league with the witch!"

I looked up at Sage, her green eyes filled with both sorrow and unwavering resolve as she met my gaze. "Remember," she mouthed, the word "Kalistar" silently forming on her lips.

My heart sank as the reality of our situation closed in around us. We had the code, but now we were caught in the same trap meant for Sage. The stakes had never been higher, and our mission never more perilous. The fate of both our worlds depended on our next move—if we could find a way to make it.

As the crowd closed in around us, the shouts and jeers growing louder, my mind raced to find a way out. The wooden platform, the scaffold, the ropes and barrels nearby—it all blurred together in a frantic search for an escape route.

My eyes locked onto a stack of crates near the edge of the square, partially obscured by a large canvas. "Tobias," I whispered urgently, "we need to get to those crates. Follow my lead."

Mustering all my courage, I elbowed one of our captors in the ribs with surprising force. He staggered back, giving Tobias and me just enough room to break free. We sprinted towards the crates, weaving through the frenzied throng. But the townsfolk were hot on our heels, their accusations ringing in our ears.

"We're almost there!" I called out to Tobias, reaching for the canvas. I pulled it down on top of us, using it as cover as we squeezed through the small gap between the crates and a nearby building.

Just as we thought we were in the clear, a sharp cry pierced the air behind us. I turned to see Tobias clutching his side, a dagger protruding from between his ribs. My breath caught in my throat, a cold dread washing over me.

"Tobias!" I screamed, rushing to his side. His face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of pain and fear.

"Go," he managed to gasp, blood seeping through his fingers. "You have to make it."

"No, not without you!" I cried, tears blurring my vision. But the angry shouts of the villagers grew closer, and I knew we had no time.

Tobias's hand trembled as he reached into his backpack, pulling out the ancient device. "Take it," he insisted, pressing it into my hands. "Get the code back. Save our future."

His strength was waning, but his resolve was as unbreakable as ever. With a heavy heart, I nodded, knowing it was what he wanted—what we needed to do.

"I'll come back for you," I promised, my voice cracking.

Tobias gave me a weak smile. "I know you will. Now go!"

Clutching the device and the precious code it held, I scrambled out from under the canvas and raced through the labyrinthine alleys. The grief and fear pushed away by sheer determination. Each step carried me further from the chaos but closer to the desperate hope that our mission would succeed.

I turned back one last time, my heart breaking as I saw Tobias's figure growing smaller, surrounded by the furious mob. "Stay strong, Toby," I whispered, steeling myself for what lay ahead. I had to survive, for him, for Sage, for our world. And so, I ran, the weight of the future pressing heavily on my shoulders, but the spark of hope burning brightly within me.

As I fled through the chaotic maze of the village, the sound of angry voices and heavy footsteps echoed behind me. My heart pounded in my chest, not just from the exertion but from the emotional turmoil tearing me apart. The weight of the ancient device in my hands made every step feel all the more urgent.

I stumbled into a dark, narrow alleyway, the walls closing in around me. With no clear path forward, panic began to rise. That's when I saw it: a small, weathered wooden door slightly ajar, leading into what looked like an abandoned house.

Without a second thought, I slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind me as quietly as possible. My breath came in ragged gasps, the darkness around me only amplifying my sense of dread.

The room was dimly lit by a solitary candle on a rickety table, casting flickering shadows on the rough wooden walls. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a figure slumped against the far wall—an elderly woman, her eyes filled with a resigned sorrow. Her wrists were bound, a clear victim of the witch hunts.

"Who are you?" she asked weakly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'm... I'm no one," I stammered, the weight of my situation crashing down on me. "I just need to hide."

As I moved closer, the woman's frail frame and tired eyes told a story of hardship and despair. I couldn't just leave her here, a helpless victim of the same injustice that had put Sage on trial. But helping her would attract attention, jeopardizing my mission, and put both of us at risk.

"I can untie you," I whispered, swallowing my fear. "But you have to promise to stay quiet."

The woman nodded slowly, tears of gratitude welling up in her eyes. As I worked at the knots, a muffled cry from outside reached my ears. The mob was close, and they were searching every house. Time was slipping away, and I had to make a choice.

A sudden cold realization hit me. The only way to truly avoid attracting attention was to make it look like I’d never been here—that she was alone. My stomach churned at the thought, an overwhelming sense of revulsion washing over me. But there was no other option.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice trembling as I tied a piece of cloth around her mouth, muffling her ability to speak. “I’ll come back for you, I promise."

Her eyes widened in panic, but there was understanding there too, a sad acceptance of her reality. I moved a crate in front of her, hoping it would be enough to shield her from immediate discovery, but my actions felt like a betrayal of my conscience.

With a heavy heart, I crept back towards the door, every fiber of my being screaming at me to do more, to be better. But the mission came first—and that truth tore at me more viciously than the villagers’ daggers ever could.

As I slipped out into the open air again, the guilt gnawed at me, lingering like a shadow. Yet Tobias’s last words echoed in my mind, urging me forward. I had to succeed, even if it meant leaving behind parts of myself in the process.

The path ahead was uncertain and perilous, but there was no turning back. I carried the hope of two worlds with me, and the promise of redemption for those I left behind.

I felt the grass beneath my bare feet as the soft breeze drifted through my ginger locks. Then, my father called me in.

I gazed across the endless expanse of the White House lawn, the setting sun casting long, golden shadows. It was a rare moment of peace in the chaos that had engulfed our lives. Just as I was about to lie down and let the serenity wash over me, my father's voice echoed from the grand entrance. "Runa! Tobias! Come inside, now!"

I turned to see my younger brother, Tobias, already sprinting towards the house, his usual burst of energy evident in his every step. I sighed and followed, my thoughts clouded with unease. Ever since society turned against the fundamental framework of man and woman, tension hung thick around the White House.

Inside, the atmosphere was even more stifling, making the grandeur of the surroundings feel like a cage. My father, Vice President Mahogany, stood tall but weary, with dark circles under his eyes. Next to him stood Blaise Elsher, a mysterious and stoic figure who had appeared a few weeks ago with promises of a solution.

"Runa, Tobias," my father began, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. "The situation has become untenable. The hope for our society, for our future, rests in you two."

I exchanged a bewildered glance with Tobias. "What do you mean, Dad?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Blaise stepped forward, his eyes piercing through the dim light. "We have uncovered an ancient method, a way to turn back time. You need to find Sage Bishop, your ancestor. She holds the key—a code that can restore balance."

Tobias, ever the curious one, could barely contain his excitement. "Turn back time? Like... actual time travel?"

My father nodded. "Yes. You must travel back to the Salem Witch Trials, find Sage, and bring the code back to us. It's the only way to save our nation."

The enormity of the task ahead weighed heavily on us, but beneath the fear was a flicker of hope. We were about to embark on an extraordinary journey, one that would change our lives—and perhaps the fate of the entire country—forever. With a determined nod, I took Tobias's hand.

Before we could fully process the monumental task laid before us, a deafening explosion shook the ground beneath us. The walls trembled and the chandelier above us swayed violently. Panic surged through the halls of the White House as alarms blared and security personnel sprang into action.

"The White House has been bombed!" someone screamed, adding to the chaos.

My father grabbed us by the shoulders, his eyes filled with an urgency I had never seen before. "There's no time," he said, his voice as steady as he could muster despite the pandemonium around us. "The device you need is in my room, in the closet. The combination is ‘113023’—Runa, you must remember this."

A second explosion rocked the building, closer this time. The walls cracked, and a cloud of dust filled the air. Tobias squeezed my hand tighter, his eyes wide with fear but also with understanding. We knew what we had to do.

"Go, now!" my father urged, pushing us towards the grand staircase.

We tore through the maze of hallways, dodging fallen portraits and broken furniture. The once majestic corridors were now scenes of destruction, with smoke and debris blending into the opulence. Tobias led the way, his smaller frame allowing him to maneuver quickly. I followed closely, the numbers “113023” echoing in my mind with every step.

The air grew thicker with smoke, and shouts of desperation rang through the halls. But we couldn't let anything distract us. Reaching the master bedroom, we found the door ajar, hanging precariously from its hinges. We rushed inside.

The room was in shambles, a stark contrast to its usual pristine condition. The massive bed was overturned, and shattered glass from the grand windows crunched underfoot. We made our way to the walk-in closet, our breaths shallow from the exertion and the suffocating smoke.

"There," Tobias pointed to a reinforced door embedded into the back wall of the closet. It was a safe, the kind you see in spy movies, almost surreal in its presence.

I took a deep breath and entered the combination, my fingers trembling. “1-1-3-0-2-3.”

The lock clicked open, revealing a small, intricately designed device nestled inside. Its polished surface and glowing inscriptions hinted at its ancient origins, yet it emitted a sense of power and purpose.

"We've got it," I whispered, half in awe, half in fear.

Tobias wrapped it carefully in a piece of cloth and tucked it into his backpack. "Now what?"

"Now we get out of here and find Sage," I said, as determined as ever. The weight of our mission bore down on me, but it was also exhilarating. We had a chance to rewrite history, to restore hope.

With one last glance at the wreckage of our home, we set off through the smoke-filled corridors, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The future of our world depended on us, and failure was not an option.

We dashed into the walk-in closet just in time. With a thunderous crash, the ceiling of the bedroom caved in behind us, sending a cloud of dust and splinters into the air. The closet door slammed shut, muffling the chaos outside, turning our immediate surroundings into a dark, enclosed sanctuary.

I could hear Tobias's frantic breathing close to me. "Are you okay?" I managed to ask, my own voice strained from the panic.

"Yeah," he replied, his grip on my hand reassuring yet trembling. "But what now?"

The device in his backpack suddenly pulsated with a faint, otherworldly glow. It was as if it knew our task and was eager to complete it. Before either of us could react, the light enveloped us, warping the walls of the closet into a swirling vortex of colors and shapes.

When the dizzying sensation ceased, we found ourselves standing on solid ground, but everything had changed. Gone were the opulent surroundings of the White House and the sounds of an emergency. We were in another time entirely.

I looked down at myself in awe. Instead of my usual jeans and t-shirt, I now wore a long, black dress that covered me from neck to ankles, making me look like I had stepped out of an old portrait. My hair was pinned up in a tight bun, giving me an air of austere elegance that made me feel oddly powerful.

Tobias was equally transformed. He now donned a frock coat, breeches, and a hat with a brim, looking every bit the young gentleman from centuries past. His wide eyes met mine, both of us barely able to contain our astonishment.

"We've... we've actually traveled back in time," he whispered, as if speaking louder might somehow break the spell and send us hurtling back to our own chaotic era.

The air around us smelled crisp yet tinged with the faint scent of burning wood and candle wax. The oppressive smoke and alarms of the White House were replaced with the distant murmur of a small village, children playing, and livestock bleating.

"I guess this is it," I said, straightening my dress as best I could. "We need to find Sage Bishop and get that code."

"We're in the Salem Witch Trials era, right?" Tobias adjusted his frock coat nervously, glancing around. "We'd better be careful. People here aren't exactly welcoming to strangers."

"Or to anyone acting suspicious," I added, thinking of the witch hunts and paranoia that marked this period.

Drawing a deep breath, we stepped out into the open, the historical landscape of 1692 Salem unfurling before us. Cobblestone paths wound between simple wooden houses, and townsfolk went about their daily routines, completely unaware that two children from the future had just appeared among them.

As we walked towards the town square, every step felt imbued with the gravity of our mission. We had to find Sage Bishop, uncover the code, and return to our time—only then could we hope to save our world from its downward spiral. There was no turning back now.

As we approached the town square, we heard a gathering crowd. Pushing through the throng, we found ourselves at the edge of a harrowing scene—a wooden platform with a somber-looking judge standing tall. Reverend Carlton, stroking his graying beard, proclaimed in a deep, foreboding voice, "Sage Bishop, you stand accused of witchcraft." Gasps erupted, and our hearts pounded. Sage was right before our eyes, shackled and defiant.

Our footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestone paths as we traversed the village, heads down to avoid attracting too much attention. The air was heavy with humidity, carrying whispers of dread and superstition. The townsfolk seemed to move with a sense of underlying urgency, as if fearful of shadows unseen.

As we approached the town square, the distant hum of voices grew louder, punctuated by the occasional cheer or jeer. We turned the corner, entering the central square, only to find ourselves at the edge of a large, gathered crowd. They formed a somber semicircle around a wooden platform that towered ominously above the square.

"Look," Tobias whispered, nodding towards the raised stage. "Something's happening."

The center of the platform held a stark wooden structure—an unforgiving scaffold. Standing before it was a tall man in austere black robes, his presence commanding and severe. He held a large, weathered Bible in his hand, raising it high as he addressed the throng in a booming voice that reverberated through the air.

"That must be Reverend Carlton," I murmured to Tobias, recognizing the name from our father's briefings. "He's the one leading the witch hunts."

Reverend Carlton's voice cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with fervor. "Today, we are gathered to rid our community of the evil that lurks among us," he proclaimed, his eyes scanning the crowd with a look of righteous determination. "We stand together in judgment as we put to trial one accused of witchcraft. Let the accused step forward."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as a figure was prodded onto the stage by two stern-faced men. My breath hitched in my throat as I saw her: a woman in her thirties with striking green eyes, bound at the wrists. She stood tall, her gaze defiant yet filled with an underlining vulnerability.

"Sage Bishop," Reverend Carlton announced, his voice dripping with disdain. "You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the Devil. How do you plead?"

The name hit me like a ton of bricks. There she was—Sage Bishop, our ancestor, the one we were sent to find. My heart raced as Tobias and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. The air around us crackled with tension, the weight of history and fate settling upon our shoulders.

Sage Bishop’s voice rang clear and strong, even in the face of such dire accusations. "I plead not guilty," she declared firmly, her eyes challenging the crowd. "I am no witch."

The crowd burst into whispers, some voices filled with doubt, others with venomous certainty. Reverend Carlton raised his hand for silence, his expression unwavering. "We shall see," he intoned ominously. "We shall see."

As the tension in the square reached its peak, Sage Bishop, bound and facing the unjust trial, suddenly screamed out a single word, "KALISTAR!" Her voice echoed through the square, sending a shiver down our spines. It was a word imbued with power, her defiant last stand. The crowd gasped, and a hush fell over the scene as the significance of her cry lingered in the charged air.

Instantly, we knew that was the code.

“What the hell happened?” I muttered to myself as I stepped out the gate, feeling astonished just looking at the scene in front of me. Dilapidated and abandoned buildings, police sirens flooding through the air and not to mention the stench of pollution filling my nostrils as the clouds of smoke and gas filled upon the air, covering the sun and sky.

I trudged down the cracked sidewalk, the shuffle of my feet echoing against the eerie silence. People passed by in tattered clothing, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow, avoiding all eye contact. The stark contrast between their lifeless expressions and the vibrant ones I cherished from my past was jarring. It felt like stepping into a nightmare, one that I couldn't wake up from.

The streets were littered with trash, and the stench of decay was suffocating. Potholes, more like craters, turned simple walks into obstacle courses. And the disease—there was an ever-present murmur of coughs and wheezing, a grim reminder of the plagues that swept through the city during my incarceration. The billboards advertised medicines and masks instead of the latest gadgets and movies.

Crime was an unspoken yet undeniable king here. In broad daylight, I witnessed a gang of masked figures looting a corner store, while the shopkeeper lay defeated on the ground. Authorities seemed like relics of the past, their presence replaced by the lawlessness that governed the streets.

As I made my way through this desolate cityscape, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. My crime, my punishment—it all seemed trivial in the grand scheme of this dystopia. Did my actions contribute to this downfall? Or was this unavoidable, a consequence of a world spiraling out of control?

I needed answers. I needed to understand how we ended up here. More importantly, I needed to find a way to survive, to reclaim a sliver of hope in this sea of despair. As I looked around at the broken souls and crumbling city, one thing was clear: the fight for survival had begun anew, and this time, it was against a far more formidable enemy—our own decayed society.

And yet, as if on cue, the huge jumbotron illuminated the dull city as a paunchy man with clean hair and pale skin came on. “Hello, citizens of Kalistar!” he said with a devilish smile, revealing his pearly whites. “I’m President Erix, and I have wonderful news!” The crowd that had gathered around me paused, their eyes fixed on the screen with a mix of dread and resignation.

“In light of recent events,” he continued, his voice seeping with insincerity, “we are introducing a new mandatory curfew to ensure your safety and well-being. Anyone found outside after dark will be...dealt with.” He chuckled softly, as if amused by his own twisted joke.

Murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd. President Erix's announcements were never good; they were veiled threats wrapped in false concern. “Additionally,” he said, raising a manicured finger, “we are increasing the tax rate by 15% to fund our ongoing efforts to maintain order. Sacrifices must be made, after all.”

The screen panned out to show his lavish office, a stark contrast to the crumbling city around us. It was opulent, filled with exotic artifacts and fine furniture—symbols of the wealth that he hoarded while we withered away.

“But fret not,” he added with another malicious grin, “we are also initiating a new initiative—Compulsory Labor Camps. Those who fail to meet their tax obligations will have the opportunity to 'contribute' to our society through hard work. After all, everyone must do their part.”

The crowd erupted in angry shouts and fearful whispers. This was no longer just a city plagued by disease and crime; it was a prison under the iron fist of a tyrant. Erix continued, seemingly unfazed by the growing unrest.

“Our vision for Kalistar is one of unity and prosperity," he proclaimed. "And together, we can achieve greatness. Remember, dissent will not be tolerated. We are watching.”The screen faded to black, plunging the city back into its grim reality.

The chaotic murmurs around me grew louder, but I needed clarity. I approached a middle-aged man standing nearby, his face etched with lines of worry and fatigue. His eyes darted nervously, scanning the surroundings as if danger lurked in every shadow.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. “How did we let it get this bad?”

He turned to me, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You're not from around here, are you?” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“I’ve been... away,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “A long time. I just got out of prison.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Ah, that explains it. I’m Jack,” he said, extending a weathered hand. “It's a long story, but I'll try to sum it up.”

We moved to the side of the street, where the noise was slightly more bearable. Jack took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “About ten years ago, the economy started to collapse. Jobs were lost, businesses shut down, and people became desperate. Then came the pandemics, one after another, like a relentless wave. The government’s response was... ineffective, to say the least.”

He sighed, the weight of the past decade evident in his demeanor. “Corruption spread like wildfire. Politicians, police, even community leaders—everyone seemed to be out for themselves. Crime skyrocketed as law enforcement crumbled. President Erix rose to power amidst the chaos, promising order and safety. But his idea of 'order' was more about control and oppression.”

Jack gestured to the jumbotron, now dark and foreboding. “Erix started with curfews, then surveillance, and finally the camps. He amassed power quickly, and anyone who opposed him was silenced. It's been a nightmare ever since.”

I absorbed his words, each detail painting a more harrowing picture, “Has anyone ever attempted to stop this dignate?” Jack grimaced at my language.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “One. She went by the name of The Illumination. Strong as an ox, she was. All went smoothly until those enforcers butt in. They shut off the entire thing and killed her in the process.” He gestured to a large charred banner showing the face of a young-aged woman with the words, ‘Beacon of Hope’ cut off.

I winced. “God...”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mixture of sorrow and determination reflected in them. “Yeah, her death was a huge blow to everyone. She was more than just a leader; she was a symbol, a reminder that we could still fight back.”

The weight of that loss sank into me like a stone. “How did it happen?”

“They ambushed us during one of her rallies,” he explained, his voice thick with memories. “We thought we were being careful, but somehow they found out. They came in force, armed to the teeth. The Illumination tried to protect the crowd, buy them time to escape, but...”

Jack trailed off, his eyes lingering on the charred banner. The girl’s face stared out at us, a haunting reminder of what we had lost. “We lost a lot of good people that day,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But her legacy lives on. People still talk about her, still draw strength from her story.”

As we departed, my eyes lingered on the banner. Luckily, tonight was the night where the new camp set in place. One of the enforcers entered an abandoned shop just beside me. I knocked him out with a mighty punch to the jaw and quickly wore his clothes, disguising myself as one of them, holding a sniper to my chest. I copied the walk of the guards carefully with sharp turns and a straight path. One wrong move and I might end up dead.

Eventually, the patrol ended. We escorted twenty people with rusted chains around their wrists, each one following another. My moves were perfectly in sync with the guards, eyeing them with precision. Soon enough, we entered the President’s mansion.

Inside, opulence and decadence clashed with the despair outside. As we reached the grand hall, President Erix's smug face greeted us. "Welcome," he sneered, eyeing our captives. But tonight was different. A quick signal to my fellow resistance members disguised as guards, and chaos erupted.

We overpowered the real guards, freeing the captives. “For The Illumination!” I shouted, igniting a storm of rebellion. We stormed through the mansion, a surge of newfound hope fueling our fight.

In the heart of Erix’s stronghold, we broadcasted a message across the city: “Kalistar, rise! The fight for our freedom has begun!” The symbol of The Illumination lit up every screen, reigniting the flicker of hope in every citizen's heart.

As Erix was dragged away, the city roared in unity. Hope was restored, and Kalistar began to heal. I walked out the balcony to see the crowd of people filled with hope and excitement. Some held banners that read, ‘Long Live The Reclaimer!’ in big bright purple letters.

“Long Live The Reclaimer!” They chanted.

The light of the TV bathed the living room in an intimate, warm glow, casting long shadows across the walls. Hyperion, his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulder, rested his head on mine as we watched the film. I snuggled closer, enjoying the comfort of his presence. The movie was a romantic comedy, perfect for a night in together. Hyperion leaned in to kiss my forehead. I closed my eyes and smiled, content in his embrace. The world outside felt so far away.

Together, we laughed at the jokes, and he held me tighter whenever a sad moment came on screen. I felt his chest rise and fall with his breath, and my breathing synced up with his. The soft glow of the TV illuminated Hyperion's face, and I couldn't help but think how I was the luckiest girl in the world to call him mine.

He was everything I had been looking for in a partner - sweet, kind, and always there for me no matter what. Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, I knew I could count on Hyperion to be my rock, my stability, my home. And as we watched the film together, snuggled up on the couch, I felt a warm sense of peace knowing I had found my person.

Suddenly, I woke up. My head was pressed against the side of the cold bus window, my mind filled with the thoughts of Hyperion. The man I loved turned out to be a hitman, but for who? That still remained a mystery.

As the bus pulled to a stop to pick up more passengers, one came to the back where I was. He was a guy, looked like my age—if not older—and had a big red duffel bag, “Mind if I sit here?” I glanced up at him, clutching my shoulder as I nodded.

The man sat next to me, “Tell me your name. Mine’s Darius.” Darius had a warm smile and apparently an English accent, noticing my bleeding shoulder. He winced and grabbed a first aid kit, gently taking off my jacket.

“Emberly.” I muttered, letting out a small hiss of pain as an alcohol prep pad pressed against my stab wound.

He nodded softly, “That’s a really pretty name.” I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “Where’re you headed, yeah?”

I shrug, “Where are you?” Darius paused his work on my shoulder and smiled.

“I’m actually here to visit some family. Wanted to surprise them before I took a trip to France.” He said, continuing the care to my shoulder, “Now let me ask you this; how did you get this nasty scar?”

My breath hitched, contemplating if I should really tell him. I didn’t so I went with some lame excuse, “I accidentally grazed my arm on a sharp pole.” I shrugged.

“You shrug an awful lot.” Darius chuckled, finishing the stitch, opening up his duffel bag, “You want some crisps?”

I squinted and looked at him as if he had three heads, making my hair swish against the window, “A what?”

“Here.” He handed me a bag of chips.

After that, we chatted for a while. I was losing the thought of Hyperion minute after minute. Darius told me some of his memories back in Camden Town. He introduced me to some other food back in his hometown. Before I could eat another piece of a chip, the bus halted to a stop, nearly launching me into the seat in front of me if it wasn’t for Darius gripping onto my hood.

“What was that?” He mouthed, looking at me as the windshield shattered against the driver.

“Where is Emberly Griffin?” The familiar warm, yet disdainful voice thundered through the bus. Everyone was looking around, they knew my name, not my face.

Hyperion slithered through the sharp glass shards still intact in the windshield, going down the bus and eyed the passengers to look for me. Eventually, he reached the back of the bus. He pulled out his gun, aiming it at my head and earned many gasps from the people.

Pressing his finger against the trigger, Darius knocked the wind out of him, making Hyperion stumble back, “Damn, dude!” I exclaimed with wide eyes and an agape mouth. I jumped over Darius’ lap and slammed Hyperion back to the ground, making him grunt.

My hand reached for the rock that shattered the windshield. I raised it above his head, ready to make a dent into his head. I did. Darius was watching the whole interaction with widened eyes.

I turned to him, “If you wanna come with me, you can.” I sighed, dropping the stone and kicked the legs of the man I loved. I hopped out the window, hauling my backpack over my shoulder and ran towards the East River. Darius quietly followed. Each and every passenger were filming us. That wasn’t awkward at all.

As we ran, a well known black van with a white hat on the sides went over the speed limit, chasing us.

“Who’s that?” Darius called out running beside me.

I glanced at him, “I’ll explain later.” I took his hand and sprinted towards a dark alley. Several men jumped out of the van in black and white suits following in pursuit.

We took sharp turns left and right before bolting into the dock of the East River. It was filled with tourists and their children wearing playful shirts and colorful ones too so the men in black and white suits were a huge contrast. There were people with rented boats and some boarding on a ferry.

“There!” Darius pointed at the last people about to board the ferry. We zoomed past the crowd awing the boat with hushed words of admiration.

I shoved past the people and tugged at Darius’ hand. I could tell his legs were about to give out, “Try running faster!” I spoke up. He tried running faster to grip my hand before the men in black and white could catch him.

I reached his hand and thrusted him toward the ferry. He tumbled on the deck, grunting as the iconic horn of the ferry blasted, signalling that it was about to leave. It parted from the dock just before I could reach it. I jumped as far as I could, losing my gun from my bag. My stomach landed against the railing as I let out a soft “oof.”

Darius helped me on and checked if I was alright. I was until a huge — really huge — purple helicopter hovered above us. A ladder dropped down, a woman with a black jumpsuit coming to the floor of the deck.

The woman smirked and held out her gloved hand toward us, “Miss me, sis?”

It was the scent of bacon that awoke me. My boyfriend, Hyperion, was cooking in the kitchen. I got off our cotton bed sheets and slipped on a pair of black crew socks. My fingers ran smoothly through my dusty blonde hair, putting a strand of hair behind my ear as I walked towards Hyperion.

“Morning,” I mumbled, still exhausted from yesterday. I snuggled my face into his back, wrapping my arms around his waist with the soft fabric of a plaid apron around my fingers. “Is that bacon?” My eyes fluttered open as I recognized the scent.

“Of course.” He chuckled, turning off the stove before meeting my eyes. His large hands wrapping around my back, pulling me in close so our chests were flushed together. The aroma of greasy bacon and eggs drifted into the room, tickling my nose and making my stomach rumble in anticipation. “Ready for breakfast?” he asked, his deep voice resonating with the sound of love and protection.

I groaned and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep from my body. “Yeah, I guess so,” I mumbled, my voice still low and tired.

Hyperion took my hand and helped me up, the scent of fresh-brewed coffee wafting into the air from the pot on the stove. Our little apartment was filled with the sounds of our shared life, and I couldn’t think of a better way to start the day. Hyperion placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns in front of me, and I eagerly began devouring the delicious fare.

As I finished my breakfast, Hyperion started cleaning up the kitchen, and I got up to help him. We worked together, washing dishes and clearing the table, and it felt like we were in complete sync. After we finished, the room was tidy and peaceful, and I hugged Hyperion from behind as we took a seat on the couch.

"I love you," I whispered into his ear, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. "Thank you for this amazing morning."

Hyperion turned his head to look at me, his eyes filled with love and adoration. "I love you too, my sweet Emberly. Thank you for always being by my side." I smiled, knowing that no matter what life may throw our way, we would always have each other. And that was enough.

A month later, I was cleaning out our closet. I ironed some of Hyperion’s polo shirts, stumbling on a folded and crumbled yellow note in one of the pockets. My curious side opened it up with scrawled writing on the messy piece of paper.

As my eyes followed the writing, they widened, ceasing my furrowed brows. My Hyperion… was a hitman? Millions of thoughts coursed through my brain. He was so kind and caring. How could he be a hitman? I thought I was the only one who knew how to shoot a gun or throw a knife. What if he was just earning my trust to get to me? Yeah, that was it…

My brain snapped out of these thoughts and continued reading the paper. He was planning to kill me and bring my body to his boss. I didn’t know he had another boss! After I finished reading the crumpled note, I quickly realized that I should pack up and go. Immediately.

I swiftly packed a backpack, filling it with some of my favorite clothes, my laptop, and a knife in case I was caught by Hyperion. I quickly slung the dark blue backpack on my shoulder, walking out the room and grabbed my car keys. I was so lucky that he wasn’t home right now. My swift eyes gazed the hallway, eyeing the pictures that we took together.

As soon as I opened the door, I was met by the face of a scowling Hyperion, “So… you’ve found out my plan?” He grumbled, gesturing to my backpack with his teeth bare.

“Get out, Perri.” His nickname left a mark on my tongue. “You played me like a goddamn fiddle.” I hissed. It felt bitter knowing he was gonna kill me. What did those seven months even mean?

He stepped foward, I took three small steps back, “Darling, you don’t know who you’re messing with.” fumed Hyperion, grabbing out a blade and swung it at my shoulder, piercing the thin fabric of my light brown jacket.

I winced and nearly fell back from the impact, but I regained my composure, “I don’t wanna hurt you—“ Hyperion cut me off by kicking my shin, sending me to lose balance and land on my butt.

“Save your words.” He cocked his pistol and aimed it at me. As his finger pressed on the trigger, almost shooting, I swooped his legs with mine, causing him to fall down. I stood up and ran for the door.

Hyperion was hot on my trail. I zoomed down the curling stairs, clutching my shoulder and let out a pained gasp everytime I would hit it against the wall. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if he was there or not. He was a staircase away. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, making me run faster.

I ran out the building and bumped into the crowd of people walking down the sidewalks, each one eyeing me weirdly. I was too fast for them to confront me. I was utterly desperate to catch the next bus, anywhere but here. Hyperion called out to me and shoved past the citizens carrying a gun through the process.

There was a bus just a few feet away from me and it looked like it was about to close. I tried running faster. One foot away. The doors were about to close and Hyperion was at arms reach. I grasped the doors and enter before he could grab the hood of my jacket.

I sat down at the back of the bus, clutching my wounded shoulder and panting as I rested my head against the window. I closed my eyes and breathed.

I had a feeling that this was just beginning.

“Mother, I don’t need,” I grunted as my lady in waiting tugged on my corset, making my waist seem smaller, “I don’t need a suitor.” I sighed, put a hand on my hip and turned around to face the queen of Eldoria in a bulky, light blue ballgown dress that was as fine as silk.

My mother, Astoria, pinched the bridge of her wrinkly nose and stepped forward, “You and your father’ve talked about this. I’m getting older by the second and your brothers are much too young, Cressida. You’re getting a suitor, end of story.” She snapped at me, steam nearly coming out of her ears.

I had three brothers, Theon, who was 16 years, Marx, 15, and Elio, 8. I was the eldest at 20 and my twenty-first birthday was on the fifteeth of August.

I grumbled and picked up my dress, running out of the castle. I sat on a granite bench in the floral garden with irises, lilies, marigolds, and roses, each flower thriving with life and color. I threw some of Theon’s blades directed at a couple of his dummies. Bullseye every time.

Before I knew it, a group of rambunctious men rode on grey horses. Rare ones, “Must be from Lunaris.” I muttered under my breath.

Lunaris was our enemy kingdom. They stormed the palace when my mother had me and nearly killing my father, Thaddeus, thus leaving him with one leg. In our kingdom, Eldoria, royals are oddly sacred. Lunaris was against that.

One of the men spotted me, his group and him walking towards me, “Oi! What’s a lovely lassie like you doin’ ‘ere?” He called out, earning a chuckle or a snicker from his friends. I rolled my eyes as he towered over me. “What’s your name, yeah?” He admired my red hair.

“Cressida.” I scowled. The man smirked, letting out a dry laugh.

“Princess Cressida West? Heir to the throne of Eldoria? Aye, you’re stubborn, ain’t you?” He smiled warmly, “Hawksley. Jaxith Hawksley.” The man chuckled at my reaction.

My face faltered for a second. Jaxith Hawksley, the youngest of Lunaris. That explained his idiotic behavior… “Explains how rambunctious you are. You’re lucky that I haven’t called the guards.”

Jaxith let out a hearty laugh, “The guards?” He was definitely amused, “Oh, darling,” he leaned in over my ear, “You amuse me.” He whispered. His crew left towards the Briarwood forest with their majestic, grey horses.

My breath hitched. I wasn’t gonna tell anyone yet. Lunaris was too cowardly to act upon us. I stared in Jaxith’s direction where he winked at me. My lady in waiting, Calliope, called out to me. Tonight was the night where I found a suitor. In a month, I was to be wed.

“Coming!”I rolled my eyes at his action and joined Calliope.

Soon enough, I was at the ball, wearing a golden silk dress, representing the color of our kingdom. As I walked down the stone staircase, there were mostly men, obviously. A lot of them asked for my hand, dancing the night away. Nearly all the princes danced with me, but I was clearly uninterested. All but one, Prince Kieran of the Triston Isles.

He bowed in front of me with an oddly Prince Charming kind of vibe, without the charming, “May I have this dance, my lady?” He regally took out his hand.

My mother and father were watching. They told me that if I hadn’t accepted the second to last suitor, I had to pick the last one. That was him, a self-centered, self-obessed neanderthal. I sighed and took Kieran’s hand.

As we finished, my mother helped my father up, “My daughter has found a suitor, Prince Kieran of the Triston Isles! Let us—“ He bellowed. Suddenly, the doors bust open and there he was, Jaxith Cullen Hawksley. …I may have done some studying.

“Not yet, sir.” Jaxith called out. The whole hall gasped. I glanced at Kieran, scoffing and joining Jaxith. I offered my hand to him, “Gladly, princess.” His whole demeanor was flirtatious.

For once, I didn’t resist the dance. My moves were a tad rusty, but they were smooth. My brothers ripped me off of him, making Calliope take me to my quarters.

I sat on the bed, “Calliope, that man is wondrous!” I exclaimed.

“Are you crazy?” She hissed, putting her hand on her hip. “That man is the reason why there are rules! He’s a Hawksley.” Calliope snapped.

I rolled my eyes, “I am not taking that idiotic, self-centered neanderthal of a man!” I retorted. I was obviously talking about Kieran. Calliope didn’t have anything else to say. She went off in a huff and stormed out my room. I changed into a mint green nightgown and crept under the linen covers.

A day later, I was reading in the garden until Jaxith walked up, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” He spoke up, reciting a line from Romeo and Juliet, the book I was reading.

“You like Shakespeare?” I scoffed.

He leaned against one of the pillars that supported the gazebo in front of my eyes smirking, “What? Hard to believe it?” Jaxith teased.

I sighed and closed my book, “Well, you look like an idiotic mess of a man.” I retorted.

“Ooh, stubborn, smart, and beautiful. What else could I have?” He chuckled at his own words. He walked over to me, opening the page I was on, caressing my hands in the process. “This is one of my favorite pages. If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

I stared at his face. I kind of liked the way a strand of his brown, gelled hair fell in front of his face and how his eyes reflected against the page. I snapped out of my trance, “Did you just get broken up?” I smiled.

Jaxith chuckled, holding my chin and leaned in before hearing footsteps along the footpath, “Got to go, princess.” He kissed my hand, grabbed a rose from out of a bush and placed it in my book. I chuckled, shaking my head, staring at him as he ran out of the garden.

As evening fell, Calliope helped me with my nightgown. I read myself to sleep. Suddenly, the castle rumbled and a cloud of smoke erupted halls away from mine, disrupting my slumber. I jumped up and looked through the window, showing a destructive flood of flames and grey horses.

“My brothers!” I shrieked. Calliope’s eyes widened and exited my quarters, locking the door.

“Stay here, princess. I’ll come for you after.” She called.

My nostrils flared and my hands clenched into fists. I swiftly changed into Theon’s trousers, chuckling at the memory of me stealing them before. I was now in a corset and my brother’s trousers. I grabbed a decorative sword, prying open the door. The whole west wing of the castle was corrupted, burnt to ashes.

Jaxith turned me around and gripped my shoulders with his rough, calloused hands, “You shouldn’ be ‘ere.” He snuck a rose onto my ear before grabbing my hand and dragged myself away into the Briarwood forest.

“I’m not leaving without you.” I retorted, feeling the white rose placed on my ear.

“Stay ‘ere, lass. And don’t move.” He ordered, running off into the fiery battlegrounds.

I stayed where I was. I couldn’t believe I was falling with my family’s enemy. But somehow, someway, the thought of being in love with a Hawksley was oddly compelling. It consumed my mind.

Before I knew it, the battle was over and Jaxith limped to a nearby rock just inches in front of the forest. Luckily, I could see his torched clothing with the blaze of fire illuminating the scene. I ran towards his body, Theon and Marx pulled me back. The guards dragged Jaxith away.

“No!” I shrieked, trying to break free of my brothers’ grip. Days passed and today was the wedding day of Kieran and I. Not only that, but today was the execution of Jaxith.

As I walked down the brightly lit hall in an elegant, lacy white ballgown carrying a bouquet of red roses. I was shaking yet the public didn’t see it, they just stared at my stoic expression, wondering why I wasn’t happy.

I linked arms with Kieran, saying our vows. He was first, “Life is the magic that brought me into the world. Fate is the force that brought us together. Trust is our bond, love is our guide. I pledge to honor you, protect you, be at your side. We were two, now we are one from today until my last breath.” He sipped from the traditional golden chalice filled half-way with red wine.

After I said my vows, it was time for the execution. Kieran and I were the first to exit. There was Jaxith, standing at the gallow with a noose on his neck, hands tied with thick rope. He was nearly beaten to a pulp, barely conscious.

Kieran and I stepped on the platform in front of the gallow. He spoke up with a loud, thundering voice. There was a sword right next to me. It was on a barrel. I was silently debating if I should let him free or let him die.

I acted. I grabbed the sword, earning a gasp from the crowd as I stabbed my new husband. I slashed the ropes from Jaxith. He was still conscious enough to get himself up. I gripped the sharp sword and helped his wobbly figure down the wooden stairs.

We were quick enough to escape to the forbidden end of the Briarwood forest. I set him down on a rock, “Hey.” My voice wobbled.

“I got blood on your dress.” He muttered, still pretty weak but still consciously aware of his surroundings to crack a joke. I laughed and leaned down for a deep, passionate kiss.

Jaxith grabbed a white rose and placed it gently on my ear, like a month ago. I chuckled.

“I love you.” He mumbled. I laid beside him. And we just stayed like that. I comforted his bruised form, either staring at his grey eyes or the misty, orange clouds that enveloped the sky in something like a warm hug with a bloodied wedding dress staining the white lace.