The night air was heavy, thick with a silence that felt almost alive. Elena barely slept after that strange encounter with Lysander. His words haunted her, circling in her mind like a riddle she couldn't solve. "You should not have come back." Back from where? From what? The idea gnawed at her, leaving her restless as the clock ticked past midnight.
By dawn, the city of Aurielle was already stirring, the light of the twin suns bleeding across the horizon in hues of amber and crimson. Elena sat by the window of her rented loft, her notebook open but empty. Her pen hovered above the page, unmoving. For someone who had spent her whole life putting words together, she suddenly felt stripped of language. How could she write when her own story seemed tangled in shadows?
It wasn't just curiosity anymore—it was a pull, an invisible thread tugging her toward the stranger she met the night before. And that terrified her.
---
She found herself walking back to the library courtyard where she had first encountered him. The marble pillars stood tall, etched with forgotten runes that no scholar had successfully translated. Some said the library was older than the city itself, a relic from a civilization erased from memory. Elena had always loved this place, but today it felt different—charged, as if the air hummed with secrets.
And there he was. Lysander.
He leaned against one of the pillars, arms crossed, his gaze dark and unreadable. His presence commanded the space, as if the shadows themselves bent to him.
"You came back," he said simply, his voice low, carrying that same unsettling certainty.
"I didn't come for you," Elena replied, though the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her.
His lips curved into a faint smirk. "No, you came because you can't stay away. The thread pulls at you, doesn't it?"
Her heart skipped. Thread. The word stirred something deep in her—a memory, maybe, or the echo of one. She shook her head, trying to push it away.
"You talk in riddles," she snapped. "If you know something, tell me plainly."
Lysander pushed off the pillar and stepped closer, his eyes catching the sunlight for the first time. They weren't just dark; they shimmered faintly, like liquid obsidian streaked with silver. "Plainly?" he whispered. "You don't belong here, Elena. Not entirely. This world is not your first, nor your last. You've crossed before."
Her breath caught. Crossed? Rebirth. The word she had scribbled into her journal a hundred times since arriving in Aurielle. She wanted to demand answers, but before she could speak, a sudden chill swept through the courtyard.
The shadows moved.
Elena froze as the air thickened, the temperature plummeting. Figures slipped out from the corners of the ancient stone walls—cloaked, faceless, their forms flickering as if half-real.
Lysander's expression hardened instantly. "Stay behind me."
"What are they?" she whispered, panic lacing her voice.
"Remnants," he muttered. His hand lifted, and to her shock, light flared at his palm, forming a blade of shimmering energy. "They've found you faster than I expected."
The creatures hissed, their forms writhing like smoke. One lunged. Lysander moved with inhuman speed, cutting it down, the blade scattering the shadow into nothingness.
Elena stumbled back, her mind racing. None of this was possible. None of this belonged to the ordinary world she thought she knew.
One of the figures broke past him and lunged for her. Before she could scream, Lysander pulled her against him, their bodies colliding, his arm shielding her as the creature dissolved against his blade. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the heat of his body pressed to hers.
"Why are they after me?" she gasped.
His jaw tightened. "Because you're not just anyone. You carry something they want."
"What?"
He hesitated, and in his silence, she saw something flicker in his eyes—pain. Regret. And maybe… guilt.
But before he could answer, the last of the Remnants vanished, leaving the courtyard eerily quiet again. Lysander lowered his blade, which dissolved into mist.
Elena tore herself from his hold, her body trembling. "You're going to start explaining. Now."
---
They sat inside the library, hidden between towering shelves of ancient tomes. Lysander stood at the window, his posture tense, while Elena paced.
"You can't just throw me into this madness and expect me to accept it," she said.
"You already know, deep down." His voice was softer now, less guarded. "You've dreamed of other lives, haven't you? Seen faces you shouldn't know? Places you've never been?"
Elena froze. Her journal. The dreams she had recorded. The flashes of fire, of a child's cry, of blood staining white stone. "How could you possibly—"
"Because I've seen them too," he cut in.
Her eyes snapped to him.
"Elena," Lysander said, his gaze locking on hers, "we are bound. Not just in this life. In every life. Do you think last night was chance? That this thread between us is coincidence? No. We've lived and died together a hundred times. And every time, it ends the same way—"
"With death," she whispered, finishing his sentence without knowing how she knew.
Silence fell between them. Heavy, suffocating.
---
The truth pressed down on her chest, but before she could process it, a soft whisper echoed through the shelves.
"Elena…"
She spun around. No one was there.
The voice came again, clearer this time, as if a child was calling her name. She clutched her head, the sound splitting through her thoughts.
"Elena!"
Images crashed through her mind—a child's small hand gripping hers, eyes wide with fear. A promise whispered in the dark: I'll find you again, no matter the cost.
When the vision broke, she was gasping, clutching the table for balance. Lysander was at her side in an instant, his hands steadying her.
"What did you see?" he demanded.
She swallowed hard, her voice breaking. "A child… I saw a child. My child."
Lysander's expression faltered, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. He looked away. "It's starting sooner than I thought."
"What is?"
"The prophecy," he said bitterly. "The one that binds us. And the betrayal that always follows."
Her blood ran cold.
"Betrayal?" she echoed.
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped back, retreating into the shadows between the shelves. "You need to decide, Elena. Do you want the truth? Or do you want the safety of ignorance? Because once I tell you, there's no going back."
Her heart pounded in her chest. Truth or ignorance. Love or fear. Destiny or freedom.
And though every part of her screamed to run, she heard herself whisper:
"Tell me."
---
To be continued…