The sound of morning birds drifted gently through the open wooden window. The soft light of dawn painted golden streaks across the rough stone walls of the small house. Kael Varenth stirred in his bed, his breath sharp as if he'd just been pulled from the depths of a nightmare.
But it wasn't fear in his eyes. It was disbelief.
He sat up slowly, running a trembling hand through his thick, black hair. The sunlight warmed his skin, but his heart beat as though it were still trapped in the cold, dark halls of the Hollow Sanctum. He looked down at his hands—young, unscarred, not yet stained by shadow or blood.
"This can't be real…" he whispered.
The air smelled like wild herbs, hay, and morning dew—the unmistakable scent of Serindale, his village. The room was familiar. His bed, the wooden shelf with the hand-carved toy sword, the dusty old cloak hanging by the door. All untouched by time.
He flung himself out of bed and pushed open the door. A breeze kissed his face, carrying the distant chime of the village bell.
Children were laughing in the distance. Farmers walked the dirt paths carrying baskets. The temple tower stood beyond the village like a quiet sentinel, its white stone gleaming.
Kael staggered back, tears welling in his eyes.
"Am I… alive?"
No answer came, but in his heart, he knew. This wasn't a dream. This was before everything—before the prison, before the crown, before her sword pierced his chest.
This was the day before the Ceremony.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the village, Elya Serinheart gasped and jolted upright from her bed, drenched in sweat. Her breath came in short, broken bursts.
She felt like she had been drowning in sorrow only moments ago.
Her room was exactly as it had been—simple, bright, and warm. The lavender she hung by the window was still fresh. Her sword was gone. Her armor was gone.
Only the past remained.
She stumbled to the mirror. Her reflection was not the knight-general known across the land. No golden armor, no tired eyes, no battle scars. She was sixteen again.
Tears streamed down her face.
"No… it worked," she said, her voice breaking. "Kael… you did it."
Her knees gave way, and she sank to the floor, covering her mouth to muffle the sobs. The weight of memory crashed over her—his eyes, the blood, the ruined throne room, the mask falling to the floor, the final smile on his lips.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her hands shaking. "I should have looked for you. I should have questioned them."
Her eyes hardened. This time, she wouldn't make the same mistake.
She stood up, grabbed her cloak, and raced out of the house.
---
Kael was already running through the village when he saw her—blonde hair like sunlight, her eyes wide with emotion. She stopped in the middle of the dirt path, her chest heaving, her lips trembling.
"Kael," she breathed.
"Elya…"
He didn't think. He ran to her. And she to him.
They collided in a tight embrace, both laughing and crying at the same time.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered.
"I thought I'd never see you again," he replied, voice cracking.
They stood like that for a long time, holding each other beneath the rising sun, while the village around them woke to a day it thought was ordinary.
Finally, they pulled back. Kael looked into her eyes, a faint grin forming. "So... time travel, huh?"
Elya chuckled, wiping her tears. "Your doing, not mine. Before you died... you gave me your power."
"I remember now," he said softly. "I wanted us to have a chance. Not to fight. Not to lead. Just... to live."
She smiled. "Then we live."
They sat on the old bench near the well, fingers intertwined.
"We have one day before the Ceremony," Kael said. "Before everything begins again."
Elya nodded. "This time, we'll make our own choices."
Kael looked toward the temple in the distance, its tower cutting into the morning sky.
"This time," he said, voice steady, "no one decides our fate but us."
And with that vow, the threads of fate began to twist anew.