The world felt wrong in its perfection.
Every colour was too sharp, every scent too pure, every heartbeat too loud. It was as if creation itself had been scrubbed clean, the edges of reality too bright, too flawless, like a painting redrawn to hide the blood beneath.
Elara moved through the Academy courtyard with careful steps. Laughter echoed from marble corridors. Students in crisp uniforms dashed past her, carrying books, charms and the kind of dreams she once believed in. None of them noticed her standing still amid the flow of life, trembling as if she were the only ghost among the living.
Her pulse refused to steady. She knew this place, its patterns, its rhythm, even the crack on the northern stair that tripped careless feet. This was before everything. Before the first seal broke. Before the war. Before Lucien's name became a curse whispered over graves.
And yet… she was here.
She clenched her fists, grounding herself.
If this was a second chance, she would not waste it.
"Elara?"
The voice was light, curious, achingly familiar. She turned, and her breath caught.
A girl with sunlit hair and freckled cheeks approached, grinning wide enough to outshine the morning itself. Lyra Halden. Her roommate. Her best friend. The first to die when the sky bled red.
Elara's throat closed. "Lyra…"
Lyra tilted her head. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Overslept again? You missed morning lectures."
The words hit like a cruel joke. Elara managed a nod, her smile brittle. "I—I guess I did."
"Lucky you," Lyra teased, looping her arm through Elara's. "You missed Professor Dalen's rant on spell geometry. I swear, that man could bore the gods."
Elara let herself be led toward the main hall, every step surreal. Lyra's warmth, her laughter, the way her hair caught the light, it was all real. Too real. The universe had rewound itself, and somehow, she had been dragged with it.
But why her? Why now?
Her thoughts tangled, unraveling like the fabric of time itself. The air around her thrummed faintly with residual magic, familiar, heavy and wrong. She recognized it instantly. Temporal dissonance. A remnant of the apocalypse that should not exist in this time.
And beneath it all, faint but constant, she could feel him.
Lucien Ashfall.
She glanced across the courtyard, where he now sat beneath the great oak tree. A book rested in his lap, his dark hair ruffled by the wind. The sunlight caught on the silver in his eyes, making them gleam like tempered glass. He was younger, so much younger, but the same quiet intensity radiated from him. The same dangerous calm.
The boy who would become the man who destroyed the world.
Her heart twisted.
She had to know when it began, when he began to change. The Council archives had blamed corruption from the Void Rifts, but what if it was something else? Something human? Something she could still stop?
"Elara, you're staring," Lyra whispered, following her gaze and smirking. "Please tell me you're not crushing on Ashfall again. You know he barely talks to anyone."
"I'm not," Elara said quickly, too quickly.
Lyra's grin only widened. "Uh-huh. Sure. That explains why you look like you're watching fate unfold."
Elara tore her eyes away, heat prickling her neck. Fate. The word stung. If only Lyra knew how literal that was.
They entered the lecture hall just as the bells quieted. Rows of students filled the marble chamber, spell diagrams shimmering faintly on the walls. Elara took her seat, still trying to calm the storm inside her. Around her, chalk scratched, pages turned, voices murmured. All so ordinary. All so heartbreakingly temporary.
She could almost forget, until the door opened.
Lucien stepped inside.
The room hushed. Even here, even now, his presence pulled attention without effort. Not arrogance, not dominance, just quiet gravity, as if the world itself paused for him. He gave a polite nod to the instructor and took a seat two rows ahead. The same seat he had always chosen.
Elara's pulse skipped. Every detail, every gesture matched her memory perfectly. It was like watching history breathe again, except she already knew the ending.
As the lesson began, her mind drifted. She traced the edges of the desk, recalling the future she had seen: the same boy standing amid flames, the same eyes staring through the ruin of reality. She remembered his voice, soft and breaking, I did it for them.
But who were they?
Her hand trembled around her quill. Maybe this time she could find out.
When the lecture ended, she waited until the room emptied. Lucien lingered behind, gathering his notes. She hesitated only a moment before crossing the aisle toward him.
"Lucien," she said.
He looked up, startled. His eyes were bright, open, nothing like the haunted void she remembered. "Yes?"
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to speak.
This was him, but not him.
The man who had destroyed the world hadn't yet been born.
"I just—" She swallowed hard. "I wanted to thank you. For helping me with my runes last term."
A lie. But it would do.
Lucien blinked, then smiled faintly. "You're welcome, though I don't remember doing much."
"You did enough," she murmured. The words trembled between them, carrying more weight than he could ever understand.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You talk like we've met before."
Elara froze. "What do you mean?"
"Your eyes," he said quietly. "You look at me like you already know me."
For a second, the air itself seemed to still.
He couldn't remember, not yet, but something deep in his soul did.
She forced a laugh, light, practiced. "Maybe you just have one of those faces."
He smiled, uncertain, but the moment lingered, electric, fragile. Then he nodded politely and left, the scent of old paper and ozone trailing faintly behind him.
Elara stood there long after he was gone, her hands trembling at her sides. The world was giving her a chance. Maybe to save it. Maybe to damn it all over again.
Either way, she would not fail this time.
Above the academy, clouds drifted lazily across the flawless blue. The same sky that had once forgotten its color.
And somewhere deep in her bones, Elara felt it again, the whisper of inevitability, soft and cruel.
The end had already begun.
Only this time, it was smiling back at her.