Whispers Through Time

Zara Monroe had sworn she'd never cry over a man again-but here she was, sipping cheap wine from a hotel coffee mug and staring at a message that said, "I'm sorry, I'm just not ready for someone like you."

"Whatever that means," she muttered, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie.

The breakup hadn't even hurt that much. It was just... insulting. After everything-her patience, her softness, her effort-she was too much? Too ready?

She set the mug down harder than necessary and grabbed her phone. The battery blinked at 42%, and she scrolled through her playlist before tapping one called "Get Over It, Girl." A few empowering anthems later, she'd changed into leggings, tied her sneakers, and grabbed her power bank, phone, and a granola bar.

A walk would help. Or maybe a hike.

There was a trail just outside the small countryside hotel she was staying in-a spontaneous trip meant to "reset" her mind after the breakup and the burnout from work. Zara worked in fashion buying: constantly on the go, meeting deadlines, chasing trends. But lately, she'd felt like she was chasing ghosts instead.

She stuffed her essentials-phone, charger, compact flashlight, lip balm, and her multi-tool keychain-into her small crossbody bag. As a city girl, she wasn't the type to go anywhere without at least some form of backup.

The trail was empty. The kind of quiet that made her stomach twist.

Tall trees arched overhead like a cathedral, their leaves flickering gold and green as the wind danced through them. Her steps were soft against the damp soil, the occasional crunch of twigs the only sound besides the playlist humming in one earbud.

She paused when the signal dropped.

"No bars?" She raised the phone toward the sky, the flashlight swinging from her finger. "Ugh. Of course."

A low rumble stirred the air.

Zara looked up. The sky hadn't been cloudy earlier-but now a thick fog was rolling in fast, curling between the trees like fingers reaching for her.

Then everything went still. No birds. No wind. Just that strange, vibrating silence.

"Okay, time to go," she whispered, turning around.

But the path behind her...wasn't there. Just forest.

She spun in a full circle, panic clawing its way up her throat. "This-this is not funny."

The fog pulsed, then-

Crack!

A blinding flash of light burst from the ground in front of her. The forest twisted. She felt her body jerk violently forward, like someone had yanked her by an invisible rope.

And then, she was falling.

She hit the ground with a hard thud that knocked the air out of her lungs.

Grass. Dirt. Sunlight. The scent of something wild and floral filled her nose.

Zara coughed and rolled onto her side. The air was warmer. Brighter. Wrong.

She blinked up at the sky-clear blue and impossibly wide. The trees were gone. In their place stood rolling green hills and a faint outline of distant stone towers.

"What the hell..."

She sat up slowly, heart racing.

Her bag-still with her. Phone? Check. Battery low but working. Flashlight, granola bar, lip balm, multitool? All there.

She stood shakily, brushing off grass and dirt. There was no trail. No sign of a road. Just-

Thunder?

No. Hooves.

Zara turned toward the sound, just in time to see a group of riders galloping toward her across the hill. Long cloaks flapped behind them, swords at their waists. And they were fast.

She raised her hands instinctively. "Whoa-wait! I don't know what's going on, I swear, I'm not a threat-!"

"Seize her!" one of them barked.

"What?! No, hold on-!"

They surrounded her before she could run. One dismounted, grabbing her arm while another yanked the bag off her shoulder.

"Hey! That's mine!"

"She's carrying strange items," a guard muttered, turning her phone over in his hand like it was a magical artifact.

"She bears the mark," another said, pulling at her collar. Zara recoiled, confused.

"What mark?"

He pointed at the faint, sun-shaped birthmark on her shoulder blade. She'd had it since birth-never thought much of it.

Their eyes locked with something like fear. Or reverence.

"Take her to the palace," the leader ordered. "Lord Darius must see this for himself."

"Okay, who the hell is Lord-"

But they'd already thrown a heavy cloak over her shoulders and pulled her onto a horse. She gripped the saddle for dear life as they rode hard across the countryside.

---

The palace loomed on the horizon like something out of a fantasy movie. Massive stone walls. Tall towers. Flags fluttering in the wind with a golden sun emblem.

They brought her through massive wooden gates, past guards who looked at her like she was a myth come to life.

Inside, it was colder. Dim. Torches lined the halls. And everything-everything-felt real.

She was led into a chamber draped in deep red, the floor polished like glass. At the far end stood a man.

He didn't need to say a word to command the room. His presence did it for him. Dark armor. Sharpened eyes. A scar trailing just beneath his jaw. He looked like a general-and something else. Like a man who had seen too much war, and trusted no one.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Zara Monroe. I don't belong here, and I don't know what's happening, but I need help-"

"You wear the sun mark," he interrupted, voice like ice. "You carry forbidden tools. And you arrive on the eve of our kingdom's reckoning."

She stared at him, her heart thudding.

"I swear, I'm just... I was just hiking. I fell. This has to be a mistake-"

His gaze sharpened. "Perhaps. But if it's not..."

He stepped closer, towering over her.

"Then you're either a savior," he said, "or a curse we should've buried long ago."