Chapter 2: The Order of the Rift
1177 Words
Elin’s instincts screamed at her to run. The stranger’s presence, the eerie knowledge of her name—it all pointed to one thing: she wasn’t in control of this situation.
But fleeing blind in an unfamiliar timeline wasn’t an option. She needed information.
She tightened her grip on the diary and forced herself to remain calm. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
The hooded figure didn’t answer immediately. Instead, they reached into their cloak and withdrew a small metal insignia, the same symbol embroidered on their chest—a spiral-like rift with an eye at its center.
“The past is not a story to be rewritten carelessly,” the figure said. “And yet, here you are, wielding stolen time as if it belongs to you.”
Elin’s pulse quickened. “I didn’t steal anything,” she shot back. “I was trying to prevent something—”
“The catastrophe,” the stranger interrupted. “Yes. We know.”
Elin stiffened.
Something about the way they said it sent a shiver down her spine.
“You knew I was coming,” she said slowly. “How?”
At this, the figure finally pulled back their hood.
Beneath it was a woman—sharp features, piercing gray eyes, and a face that looked oddly familiar. Not someone Elin knew personally, but someone she had seen in sketches and historical records.
Her breath caught.
“You’re part of the Order of the Rift,” she whispered.
The woman gave a slight nod. “My name is Syra Vale. And yes, we are the keepers of time’s balance.”
Elin had studied the Order in her research, but very little was known about them. They were believed to have vanished when Arcadia fell, their knowledge lost to history. Yet now, standing before her, was a living member of that very group.
Her mind raced. If they were real, then that meant—
“Tell me something, historian,” Syra interrupted her thoughts. “In your timeline, how does the world remember Arcadia?”
Elin hesitated. “It doesn’t. Arcadia vanished. No one knows why.”
Syra exhaled, almost as if she had expected that answer but still hated hearing it. “Then we failed.”
The words sent a chill through Elin.
Before she could ask what she meant, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Syra stiffened, her expression hardening.
“We need to move,” she said. “Now.”
Elin glanced over her shoulder and saw movement in the shadows—more cloaked figures emerging from the alleyways, but something was different about them. The way they moved, the way their eyes glowed faintly in the darkness—
Something was very wrong.
Syra grabbed her wrist. “If you value your life, don’t let them touch you.”
That was all the warning she got before they started running.
The Hunters of Time
Elin’s lungs burned as she sprinted after Syra through the winding streets. Behind them, the pursuers closed in, their footsteps eerily silent despite their speed.
“What are they?” she managed to gasp.
“Echoes,” Syra said without turning. “Fragments of those who tampered with time one too many times. They don’t belong anywhere anymore—so they hunt those who do.”
The thought sent a fresh wave of fear through Elin.
They rounded a corner, and Syra suddenly yanked her to the side, pressing her against the stone wall of a narrow alley. She gestured for silence.
The Echoes rushed past them, their figures flickering in and out of focus, like shadows that didn’t quite belong in this world.
Elin held her breath.
For a moment, it seemed like they would pass.
Then—
One of them stopped.
Elin’s heartbeat pounded in her ears as the Echo turned its head, sniffing the air like a predator scenting prey.
Syra’s grip on her wrist tightened.
Then, in a single motion, she pulled out a small device from her cloak—a metallic cylinder inscribed with intricate symbols. She twisted it sharply, and a pulse of energy rippled outward.
The Echo recoiled as if struck, letting out a distorted, inhuman sound before vanishing into the shadows.
Elin exhaled shakily. “What—”
“No time,” Syra cut her off. “We need to get somewhere safe.”
She didn’t argue.
A Hidden Truth
Syra led her through a maze of underground tunnels beneath Arcadia, the air damp and thick with the scent of earth and old stone. Finally, they arrived at a hidden chamber—an ancient archive filled with scrolls and books that looked far older than anything Elin had ever seen.
She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This… this is incredible.”
Syra shut the door behind them and folded her arms. “Start talking.”
Elin swallowed.
She had spent so long trying to understand the mystery in her diary, but now that she was here, the weight of it all felt crushing.
“I found this.” She held up the diary. “It’s written in my own handwriting, but I don’t remember writing it. It warned me about a catastrophe two days from now. I didn’t know what it meant, but if time travel is real—” She looked up at Syra. “Then that means I must have come back before. Maybe even multiple times.”
Syra studied her carefully. “And you have no memory of it?”
Elin shook her head.
Syra let out a slow breath and ran a hand through her dark hair. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”
Elin frowned. “What do you mean?”
Syra reached for one of the ancient scrolls and unrolled it. The parchment was covered in symbols that looked eerily similar to the ones on the diary.
“This isn’t just time travel,” she said. “You’re caught in a Rift Loop.”
Elin’s stomach twisted. “A what?”
“A temporal recursion,” Syra explained. “It means you’ve already done this before—maybe countless times. And each time, something resets you. Wipes your memory. That’s why you don’t remember.”
Elin’s blood turned to ice.
If that was true, then—
“How many times have I failed?” she whispered.
Syra met her gaze, her expression grim. “We don’t know. But if you left yourself this diary… it means you were desperate enough to break the loop.”
Elin swallowed hard. “Then tell me—how do I stop this? How do I break free?”
Syra hesitated.
Then she placed a hand on the scroll and pointed to a name written in ancient ink.
Elin’s breath caught.
It was her own.
“You’ve been here before, Elin. And if this prophecy is right—” Syra’s voice was steady, but there was something haunted in her eyes.
“This time might be your last chance.”
- Writer
