Elara hit the ground hard.
Stone slammed into her spine, knocking the air from her lungs in a sharp, humiliating gasp. Pain flared white-hot before settling into a deep, throbbing ache that reminded her—too clearly—that she was still alive.
Still human.
Still breakable.
The silence was wrong.
Not peaceful. Not calm.
Empty.
She pushed herself up, heart hammering, fingers scrabbling against cold stone slick with moss. The air smelled different here—older, heavier, threaded with something metallic and sharp, like blood soaked into soil centuries ago.
"Kaelen?" she called.
Her voice echoed.
Once.
Twice.
Then vanished.
Panic clawed up her throat.
No. No—this isn't how it happens.
She staggered to her feet, ignoring the dizziness. The Echo Stone burned against her chest, no longer a warning—now a beacon. It pulsed violently, reacting to something beneath the ground itself.
Elara spun slowly, taking in her surroundings.
The crypt was gone.
In its place stood a vast cavern carved from obsidian-black stone, its walls etched with symbols she didn't recognize—but somehow understood. Ancient runes glowed faintly gold and crimson, their light flickering like dying stars.
This wasn't Havenwood.
This wasn't now.
Her breath hitched.
We've been scattered.
"Lyra?" she tried. Louder. "Oberon?!"
Nothing answered.
Except the Stone.
It throbbed again—harder—and with it came a surge of images not her own.
Fire.
Roots winding through bone.
A woman standing barefoot in blood-soaked earth, her hands raised as the sky itself tore open.
Elara cried out, clutching her head.
Get out—
The vision shattered as abruptly as it came.
She dropped to her knees, trembling.
That wasn't the King.
That realization terrified her more than anything else.
Kaelen regained consciousness mid-fall.
His instincts screamed before his mind caught up.
He twisted in the air, shadows exploding outward as he slammed into the ground feet-first, cracking stone beneath him. Power rippled violently from his body, uncontrolled, raw.
Too raw.
He staggered, breath ragged, fighting the familiar surge—the one that came when fear sharpened into something feral.
"Elara!"
His shout echoed through a ruined city.
A city.
That was wrong.
Kaelen froze.
Around him rose the skeletal remains of massive stone structures—arches shattered, towers collapsed, streets choked with ash and vines. The architecture was ancient Fae, but distorted, corrupted by something darker.
Time hummed here.
Not flowing.
Pressing.
His chest tightened.
She's not here.
The realization hit harder than any blow.
Control slipped.
Shadows lashed outward, tearing through rubble as Kaelen turned in a slow circle, scanning, searching, senses stretched thin.
Nothing.
No heartbeat.
No familiar pull.
Only silence—and the distant echo of screams long turned to memory.
This is how it starts, a voice whispered inside him. You lose her. And then you lose yourself.
Kaelen clenched his fists until stone crumbled beneath his fingers.
"No," he growled.
But fear was already coiling in his gut.
Not fear of death.
Fear of what he would become if she didn't survive this.
Lyra landed in water.
Cold.
Black.
It swallowed her whole.
She surfaced with a gasp, claws bursting free as instinct took over. She hauled herself onto the riverbank, soaked and snarling, eyes blazing gold.
"This is bad," she muttered, scanning the dark forest around her.
The trees here were wrong—twisted, their bark carved with ritual scars. The moon overhead burned red.
Lyra sniffed the air.
Old magic.
Predatory magic.
And no sign of the others.
"Great," she said flatly. "Temporal prison. Separate cells."
She cracked her neck.
"Well. Whoever did this is about to regret it."
Oberon arrived last.
And he arrived screaming.
Time folded around him like broken glass, slamming him into a ring of standing stones humming with power so ancient it made his teeth ache. He collapsed to one knee, breathing hard, glamour flickering uncontrollably.
When he looked up, his blood ran cold.
"Oh," he whispered.
The stones bore a crest he hadn't seen in centuries.
A symbol outlawed even among the Fae.
"A Thorne sanctum," he breathed. "Impossible."
Unless—
His gaze snapped skyward.
"Elara," he murmured.
Back in the cavern, Elara stood slowly.
The Echo Stone no longer burned.
It answered.
A low hum resonated through the chamber, vibrating in her bones. The runes on the walls flared brighter as she approached, reacting not to the Stone—but to her.
Her.
She reached out hesitantly.
The moment her fingers brushed the nearest rune, the cavern erupted in light.
Pain lanced through her veins—hot, ancient, awakening.
She screamed as knowledge flooded her mind.
Not spells.
Not words.
Memory.
The Thornes were never just guardians.
They were anchors.
Wardens of fractured time.
Keepers of thresholds no one else could survive crossing.
Elara collapsed, gasping, as the truth settled into her bones.
This realm isn't reacting to the Echo Stone.
It's reacting to me.
Somewhere far away, Kaelen staggered as a violent surge rippled through the ley lines—wild, unmistakable.
"Elara," he whispered hoarsely.
Fear slammed into him, sharper than ever before.
If she awakened fully—
If this power took root—
He didn't know if he could protect her from it.
Or from himself.
The ground beneath Elara cracked open.
Light poured out.
And time itself bent toward her.
"They don't have time for a lesson, Kaelen!" Lyra shouted over the roar of collapsing stone. "It's going to swallow us whole!"
The chamber convulsed again.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor, emerald light bleeding through the fractures as the temporal distortion surged. Time itself felt unstable—jerking forward, snapping back, refusing to behave.
Kaelen planted his feet, shadows coiling violently around his arms. He could feel it now—the pressure building behind his ribs, that familiar warning that his control was slipping.
Not now. Not when she needs me.
"There is one way," Oberon said sharply, cutting through the chaos.
All eyes snapped to him.
"The chest," the fae prince continued, eyes alight with dangerous clarity. "The device within it is the anchor. The portal isn't random—it's tethered to that artifact. If Elara links with it… truly links… she can stabilize the displacement."
Elara's pulse thundered. "Stabilize how?"
Oberon hesitated—just a fraction too long.
"By steering it."
Silence crashed down between the tremors.
"Steer it where?" she pressed.
Oberon met her gaze, something almost reverent in his expression. "Across time. The chest is bound to ancient ley line convergences—fixed points that exist throughout history. If you focus, if you choose—"
"You could send us to a different era," Lyra finished, eyes widening. "Not just a different place."
Oberon nodded once. "Possibly to a time before the Echo Stone was shattered. Before the King's influence spread. Before the binding that broke everything."
Kaelen's breath caught.
His mind raced—calculating, grasping at implications.
"If the Echo Stone was whole…" he murmured. "Then its corruption could be prevented. Or the fracture avoided entirely."
Hope flickered—dangerous, fragile.
He turned to Elara. "This is a gamble," he said quietly. "If it goes wrong, we don't just die. We vanish. Or worse—we change something we can't undo."
Elara swallowed hard.
Time travel.
A past she had only known through echoes and blood memory.
Her ancestors. Their sacrifices. The truth of her lineage waiting somewhere behind the veil.
And maybe—just maybe—a Havenwood untouched by centuries of fear.
"I know," she said softly.
Then her gaze hardened.
"But standing still guarantees we lose."
The chamber screamed as a new surge of energy tore through the portal.
Shadowy forms began to emerge within it—distorted silhouettes, stretched thin by temporal flux, clawing forward as if guided by instinct alone.
"They're trying to follow," Lyra snarled.
Kaelen stepped forward, rage blazing now. "They won't."
Fangs flashed as his power surged—raw, ancient, barely restrained. He slammed his palms together, releasing a violent wave of shadow that crashed into the portal's edge, forcing the figures back into the swirling chaos.
Lyra shifted mid-motion, bone cracking as fur exploded across her skin. She lunged, massive and feral, tearing into the warped silhouettes with a roar that shook the chamber.
Oberon moved like light itself—illusions fracturing space, glamour bending perception, turning the portal into a maze of false paths and blinding brilliance.
"Now, Elara!" Kaelen shouted, voice hoarse with strain. "We can't hold this forever!"
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She turned to the chest.
The moment her hand touched its surface, the world answered.
The locket flared, heat flooding her veins as the Echo Stone resonated with the artifact. Runes ignited across the chest, spiraling outward, responding not just to the Stone—but to her.
Because this was always meant for a Thorne.
She closed her eyes.
Focused.
She pictured the Echo Stone whole—brilliant, untainted, humming with balanced power. Havenwood alive with ley lines unbroken, wards strong, the land breathing freely.
The chest trembled.
The portal screamed.
Time bent.
"Elara!" Kaelen called—fear threading his voice now.
She felt him behind her—felt his terror, his restraint fraying as he fought the urge to unleash everything and risk tearing reality apart.
I won't lose him. Not like this.
Light erupted.
The chamber began to collapse inward as the portal surged outward, swallowing sound, stone, and shadow alike.
Elara's last clear thought was Kaelen's hand finding hers—gripping tight, like an anchor in a storm.
Then time broke.
They were pulled forward.
Or backward.
Or somewhere in between.
And Havenwood disappeared behind them—its fate now bound to a past that had not yet remembered them.