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.