The village felt lifeless, but something tugged at Freya's instincts a quiet pull toward the moss-covered statue at the center square. It was cracked and weathered, yet somehow untouched by the decay that gnawed at every corner of the village. The small boy, drawn by something unseen, slipped from her side and approached the statue with hesitant steps. As his fingers grazed the base, a soft pulse of light rippled through the ground. Stones shifted beneath their feet, and the air grew thick with age-old magic. The ground trembled, and before them, a hidden staircase unfurled, spiraling into the earth like a secret long forgotten.
Lady Virelle gasped, her eyes widening. "This… this wasn't in any records. It's not just a ruin." Carved along the walls of the revealed passage were ancient glyphs glowing faintly, whispering the name of the first queen: Elaria the Silent Flame. Freya's gaze locked on a mural farther in her own face staring back at her in golden paint, cloaked in a crown of thorns and fire. Her breath caught. "That's not possible…" she murmured, heart pounding as a chill raced down her spine. The boy turned to her with quiet certainty. "It's always been you."
Freya looked at the small boy as if he were a key to everything like a transparent thread connecting the pieces of her past. Suddenly, the strange creatures she had seen began to make sense. Ever since she was little, she had suffered from terrible headaches, and over time, her dreams grew more vivid so real it felt like she was living them. Her young body was far too fragile to handle the side effects of those visions. Sometimes, she'd fall into a coma, only to wake up having forgotten everything until recently, when the dreams returned, stronger than ever, pulling her back into the world she thought she'd left behind.
She remembered now how her drawings from childhood were never truly imagined. Castles, shadowy beasts, the red-eyed man cloaked in midnight… all of it had come from somewhere real. Her mother once whispered that Freya was "touched by the veil," but at the time, she thought it was just a poetic way of describing her nightmares. Now, as she held the boy's hand and felt that old, forgotten warmth return, a deep part of her stirred. The line between dreams and memory blurred, and Freya realized with quiet fear: she had been here before. This wasn't just a journey through time.
The village looked dry and lifeless, with dead plants and worn-out houses. But there was another part of the village, one that belonged to the nobles who had worked hard to build a better life. Every town has two sides the poor and the rich. This noble side was full of life, with people moving around, shops open, and laughter in the air. It felt like a whole different kingdom.
Even though the Queen had forgotten this place, there was one noble family the villagers looked up to. They had everything wealth, beauty, and power. People in the village treated them like royalty.
A young girl lay flat on the ground, like someone had crushed her. Standing over her was a large woman, her round face shiny with sweat even though the weather wasn't hot.
"You foolish peasant girl," the woman said, panting between her words. "I feed you... give you a place to stay... and all I ask is for you to work hard, so you can live better. But this…this is how you repay me? By stealing?"
The girl didn't move or even flinch. Instead, she stood up slowly and the fat woman stumbled back, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. For a moment, she was too shocked to speak.
Then, after a long pause, she screamed. Her family rushed out.
"What's going on here, Naya?" a man asked. Naya looked down, silent.
The man grew annoyed and walked over to his wife, who was still on the ground, struggling to sit up. After a few tries, she gave up and just lay there, panting.
He looked at her…her red, sweating face and wrinkled his nose. Then he turned to Naya. Her skin glowed under the fading sun, her frame slim, her posture calm. Something stirred in him. He sighed, long and low. Not just out of frustration but from a wish he'd never say out loud.
His wife saw that look, she always saw it. That's why she gave Naya the hardest chores. Why she yelled louder, punished quicker. Not because the girl deserved it but because she reminded her of everything she no longer was.
And everything her husband secretly wanted.
That evening, everything seemed forgotten; Naya finished her chores and was locking up the shop when she suddenly felt a presence behind her. Her whole body shuddered in disgust. She didn't need to look she could already tell by the strong smell of paint and old sweat. It was her boss's husband.
He leaned in, sniffing her hair down to her neck. "You smell... sweet," he muttered. "Not like sweat and boiled food." Naya stepped forward quickly, trying to get away. He had been trying this for a while now. Lucky for her, Madam always appeared just in time without even knowing what she was saving her from.
"Sir, please... don't do this," she whispered, her head bowed.
He grinned, mistaking her silence for shyness. The way she lowered her head, to him, it meant she liked the attention just pretending she didn't. He thought she was playing hard to get.
But Naya wasn't shy; she bowed to hide her face. To hide her rage.
And the red glow building in her eyes.