Chapter 3: Fragments of the Forgotten
1302 Words
Elin stared at her name inked on the ancient scroll, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It wasn’t some historian’s note scribbled centuries ago. It was proof—undeniable proof—that she had been here before. That she had lived this before.
She clenched her fists, trying to suppress the overwhelming dread curling in her stomach.
“How long has this loop been going on?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Syra exhaled, rolling the scroll back up. “We don’t know.”
Elin forced herself to meet Syra’s gaze. “But you do know something. You wouldn’t have brought me here otherwise.”
The other woman hesitated before finally nodding. She crossed the chamber, pulling an old, leather-bound tome from the shelves. Unlike the other scrolls and books, this one had a metal clasp, inscribed with symbols Elin vaguely recognized—protective glyphs.
Syra held it up. “This is The Rift Codex—the last surviving record of our Order’s knowledge of time’s anomalies.”
Elin watched as Syra carefully undid the clasp. The moment the book was opened, the glyphs pulsed with a faint, golden glow before dimming into nothingness.
“This codex details cases where individuals have been trapped in time loops, just like you,” Syra said, flipping through the pages. “It’s rare—dangerously so. Only a handful of people in history have ever suffered from a Rift Loop. Most of them…” She trailed off.
“Most of them what?” Elin pressed.
Syra met her eyes, unflinching. “They never made it out.”
Elin swallowed. “And the ones who did?”
Syra’s fingers grazed a page before she turned the book around.
Elin leaned in, reading aloud the inked words:
“The only way to break the Rift Loop is to uncover the moment the loop was first formed—what the traveler first altered. The point of origin.”
She frowned. “So I have to find out what I did to trigger this?”
Syra nodded. “Yes. Whatever decision you made in the past set this cycle in motion. If you don’t fix it, history will keep resetting, and you’ll remain trapped.”
Elin’s grip on the diary tightened. “Then that means I’ve left clues for myself. I wouldn’t have written this,” she lifted the book slightly, “if I didn’t think I could escape.”
Syra’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe. Or maybe you were already too late.”
Elin inhaled sharply. She refused to believe that.
There had to be an answer.
There had to be a way out.
Echoes of the Past
Before Elin could speak, a low rumble reverberated through the chamber. The candles flickered. Dust cascaded from the ceiling.
Syra’s posture stiffened. “They found us.”
Elin’s heartbeat stuttered. “The Echoes?”
Syra nodded grimly and reached into her cloak, withdrawing a small, circular device covered in the same ancient glyphs as the codex. She pressed it into Elin’s palm.
“Take this,” she ordered.
Elin studied it, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What is it?”
“A Rift Stabilizer. If the Echoes get too close, activate it. It won’t stop them, but it’ll slow them down.”
A sudden crash echoed from above. The tunnel trembled.
“We have to move,” Syra hissed.
Without another word, they sprinted down the corridor.
Behind them, the chamber’s entrance shattered as the Echoes poured in.
Elin didn’t dare look back, but she could hear them—their distorted whispers, the way the air around them bent unnaturally. The deeper they ran, the narrower the tunnel became, until they reached a rusted iron door embedded into the stone.
Syra slammed her palm against it.
A mechanism clicked, and the door creaked open.
They slipped through just as the shadows of the Echoes stretched unnaturally long down the corridor.
Syra locked the door behind them. “That won’t hold them for long,” she muttered.
Elin turned, her breath catching as she took in their surroundings.
They stood inside what looked like a ruined temple, its walls lined with broken statues and faded murals. But at its center, directly in front of them—
A massive, circular mirror.
Except it wasn’t a mirror at all.
The surface rippled like liquid, swirling with shifting images of time itself. Fragments of history flickered across it—scenes of Arcadia’s past, flashes of unfamiliar events, and then—
Elin froze.
It was her.
Standing in the same spot. Wearing the same clothes. But different.
In the reflection, her face was etched with exhaustion, her eyes dull with despair. And then, just before the image dissolved, she saw her reflection whisper something.
Elin’s blood ran cold.
The words were silent, but she didn’t need to hear them.
She had read them before.
“The timeline is collapsing.”
She stumbled back, her breath unsteady.
“What is this?” she asked hoarsely.
Syra’s expression was grim. “The Rift Mirror. It reveals glimpses of other cycles. Other versions of you who have tried and failed.”
Elin felt a hollow pit form in her stomach. “Then… I’ve been here before.”
Syra nodded. “Yes.”
Elin inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. “What do I need to do?”
Syra stepped toward the mirror. “We find your point of origin. The moment you first changed history.”
She gestured toward the swirling images.
“Touch it,” she instructed. “Let it show you what you need to see.”
Elin hesitated.
Then, taking a deep breath, she reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the surface—
The world fractured.
The First Fracture
Elin was no longer in the ruined temple.
She stood in a grand hall, its marble floors gleaming beneath flickering chandeliers. Nobles in flowing robes murmured to one another, their voices low and urgent.
She recognized this place.
It was the Arcadian Council Chamber—the heart of the city’s governance.
Her head swam. She wasn’t just seeing the past.
She was in it.
“Elin?”
The voice jolted her.
She turned—and her breath caught.
A man stood before her, his sharp blue eyes filled with recognition. He was tall, his posture rigid with tension. But what shocked her most wasn’t his presence.
It was that she knew him.
His name hovered on the edge of her memory.
“Cairon,” she breathed.
The moment she said it, something clicked.
A rush of fragmented memories slammed into her—
A conversation in the dead of night.
A desperate plan to rewrite history.
A warning.
And then—
Betrayal.
Elin staggered back, gripping her head.
The pieces were falling into place.
This was it.
This was the moment.
The decision that had started it all.
Cairon’s expression shifted, concern flickering across his face. “Elin, are you—?”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “No. No, I know what happens next.”
Cairon tensed. “What are you talking about?”
Her breathing was unsteady.
This was it.
This was the point of origin.
And she had a choice.
She could let history play out the way it had before—make the same mistake, reset the loop—
Or she could do something different.
Break the cycle.
End it, once and for all.
She looked up, meeting Cairon’s gaze.
“I remember now,” she whispered.
His expression darkened. “Elin—”
But she didn’t let him finish.
Because this time—this loop—
She would not make the same mistake again.
This time, she would rewrite fate itself.
And end the Rift.
- Writer
