Keepers Of The Coven

Chapter 3: Portal To The Past

The sun hung low over the academy's sprawling courtyard, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. A hush had settled earlier than usual over the classroom in the west wing, where Elara Thorne stood behind a lecture table, her hands gripping its edge. A dozen students sat before her, quills ready, papers half-filled. But she hadn’t spoken in minutes. Her mind wasn’t there.

She tried to focus. The lesson was on pre-Purge magical architecture—a topic she usually adored. But the diagrams blurred, the names and dates forgotten. The lines of ink on the blackboard looked foreign to her own hand.

"Miss Thorne?" a student asked gently.

Elara blinked. "Y-yes?"

"Are we... continuing with the wards of the Northern Sanctum, or...?"

Elara looked at the open book in her hands, unseeing.

She couldn’t do this.

"Class dismissed early, I'm sorry everyone, I'm not feeling well," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Please review chapters six through eight for next week."

Murmurs rippled across the room. Confused glances were exchanged, but none dared question her further. The students slowly packed up their things, chairs scraping softly against the stone floor.

Louis Wren, returning from the herbal studies wing, paused in the hallway just as he saw the last student exit.

Too early.

Concern knitted his brow.

He stepped inside and saw her, alone at the front, still standing behind the desk as if rooted in place. Her shoulders slumped, eyes distant.

"Ms. Thorne," he said softly.

She didn’t look up right away. But the sound of his voice seemed to ground her.

"You let them out early," he continued, stepping closer.

She finally turned to face him, and he saw the exhaustion written deep in her eyes. Not just tiredness. Fracture.

"I can’t sleep," she admitted. "I can’t think straight. I thought maybe teaching would help, that being here would give me something to hold onto, but…"

Louis moved closer, folding his arms. "But?"

"It’s like my mind won’t stop spinning. Ever since I found that book... Ever since I saw her... I feel like I’m being pulled apart. Half of me wants to stay. The other half is already gone."

He was silent for a moment.

"What is it that you're not saying, Elara?"

She looked away.

"I hate this," she whispered. "I hate not doing what I was meant to do. All these years... my mother kept this hidden. But now, knowing who I really am, knowing what I was meant to do—I can’t ignore it. I have to complete the ritual. I have to go back."

Louis stiffened. "No. Elara, no. That ritual... it’s ancient. Untested. It's the kind of magic they buried for a reason."

She met his gaze, fierce. "And there’s a reason the coven designed it to last through centuries. A reason they made sure I would return when magic had faded. If I go back, I can stop it. I can save Lunara before she dies in the war."

Louis shook his head, voice tight. "You read the same histories I did. That war was catastrophic. Half the magical world fell into ruin. And you want to step into it? Alone?"

"Not alone," she said. "With her memories. Her knowledge. I just need to reach her before the end."

Louis stared at her.

"Elara, please. There’s still time. We can study it more. Prepare. We don’t even know if it will work."

"It will. I feel it will."

"You’re asking me to believe in something impossible."

"Then believe in me."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Louis exhaled, defeated. "You know I do."

She smiled faintly, though her eyes were rimmed with unshed tears.

"I know. That’s why I’m telling you."

That night, Louis found himself standing outside her home. Lantern light flickered in the window, and a soft wind stirred the leaves in the yard. He knocked twice.

Elara opened the door in her robe, hair loosely braided over one shoulder. They went at the cellar, behind her, the sitting room had been transformed. Candles lit every surface. Scrolls and ritual texts lay open. Chalk lines etched the floor in careful, glowing arcs.

"Come in,"

Louis stepped inside slowly.

"So it begins," he said.

Elara nodded, closing the door behind him.

"I leave at dawn. Or... whenever the veil parts."

She moved to the small table where her satchel lay open. One by one, she packed the items needed, her ancestor’s pendant, a sprig of nightshade, a lock of her own hair bound with silver thread, the sealed vial of Lunara’s memory.

Each piece was part of the path. A piece of the self. A piece of the soul.

She whispered a prayer to the stars.

Tomorrow, she would not be here.

Tomorrow, she would stand in the past—a ghost returned.

To rewrite fate.

To stop the war.

To become who she was always meant to be.

---

A soft hum filled the air like a secret being whispered by the world itself. Outside, the skies were still gray with dawn, shadows stretching lazily across the cobblestone streets. Inside the cellar, however, the atmosphere was anything but still.

Elara’s hands moved with purpose, flicking through old texts, drawing sigils onto parchment, and checking off items from a carefully scrawled list. She had barely slept, only managing a few restless hours before jolting awake with the same mantra echoing in her mind:

*She must go back.*

The spell would take everything—precision, strength, belief. But more than that, it would take letting go.

Elara stood in the circle she had etched into the stone floor the night before. Crystals glimmered in their proper points. Salt, chalk, feathers, and relics of old rested exactly as the diagrams from the book instructed. Her grandmother's altar had been restored, and Elara had added a silver bowl of moonwater in its center. Every step had been triple-checked. She was ready—or so she told herself.

"Elara?"

She turned, recognizing Louis’s voice. She took one last look at the setup before exiting the ritual chamber and heading upstairs.

Louis stood in the threshold, dressed simply in his work clothes—brown jacket. His hair was windswept, and in his hand, he carried a bulging denim bagpack.

"You’re really going through with it," he said, his voice somewhere between awe and anxiety.

Elara nodded. "I have to. I can’t turn back now."

Louis stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Then—here." He thrust the bag toward her. "I packed everything I could think of. Rations, a canteen with purified water, some sandwiches, chips, candies--"

"Louis-"

"Okay, okay... I packed you a charm against sickness, that herbal salve you made me last fall when I had that awful rash..."

Elara blinked, then chuckled softly.

Louis rubbed the back of his neck. "I even put in a journal. You’ll want to record what happens. And a flint striker in case you can’t start a fire with magic for some reason. Oh—and three packets of powdered cinnamon because you always say it helps you focus—"

Elara’s smile bloomed fully now, warm and bright despite the nerves that clung to her ribs like ivy. "Louis... thank you."

"I wanted to make sure you had everything. I mean—I know you’re going back into a magical war, which is probably beyond terrifying, but... maybe it’ll help to have a little bit of now with you."

She touched the satchel, fingers tracing its worn edges. "You think of everything."

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Someone has to. You were about to leave with only a crystal dagger and a half-empty inkpot."

Elara laughed, the sound bright and clear in the stillness of the house. For a fleeting moment, the tension in her chest softened.

"You always believe in me, even when I’m too caught up to believe in myself."

"Of course I do. Just... come back. Okay?"

Her smile faltered just slightly. She nodded.

Louis helped her carry the bag down to the ritual chamber. He didn't speak much, only watching as she lit the final candles, murmured the opening incantation, and placed her hand over the ancient sigil carved into the floor.

The air grew heavy.

Power rippled across the room like a pulse. The candles flared. The crystals began to glow. And then the ground beneath them thrummed with energy that felt deep and ancient and alive.

Elara stepped into the center of the circle.

Louis hesitated at the edge. "Elara—wait. One more thing."

She turned to him, eyes wide with the shimmer of magic.

He stepped forward quickly and pulled something from his coat—a silver locket. Inside was a tiny sketch of the two of them, drawn in ink and rushed strokes.

"If you forget who you are… or if it gets too dark… look at this. And remember there’s someone here who believes in you."

Elara took it, her throat tightening. She could barely whisper the words, "Thank you."

"And by the way, Louis.. about mom.. if--"

"Don't worry about her. I'll check on her from time to time."

"Thank you very much, Louis. You're really the best."

Then came the final words of the incantation., while she's holding the book.

The symbols lit with brilliant gold. The candles flickered violently before extinguishing, and in the center of the circle, a vortex of light spun open—a portal that hummed with power. Winds spiraled upward, lifting Elara’s hair, making the ritual books flutter like birds taking flight.

And there it is, the portal to the past.

Louis reached out, wanting to say something more, but the wind stole his voice.

Elara stepped forward, her eyes bright with purpose and fear and fire.

She clutched the bag to her chest. One last glance at Louis.

Then the light took her.

And she was gone.