The moon hung high above the Pavilion, its pale light spilling across the tiled rooftops like liquid silver. Yet Lianna could not sleep.
She lay in her chamber, eyes wide open, the feather clutched tightly in her hand. Every time her eyelids fluttered closed, visions assaulted her—flashes of battles she had never fought, cries of names she did not know, and always the same pair of golden eyes staring into hers. Amara. That name echoed like a curse and a prayer all at once.
Her heart raced, her palms damp. She sat up, gasping for air, as though the very walls of her chamber pressed in to suffocate her. The feather pulsed faintly in her grip, soft as a heartbeat.
She whispered into the silence, "Why me? Why now?"
The answer did not come in words, but in a ripple through her bond—the same deep, commanding presence she had felt since the night of the storm. A presence that was not her own.
---
Whispers of the Pavilion
Unable to endure the restlessness, Lianna rose and paced her chamber. Through the latticed window, she glimpsed lanterns still glowing in the Pavilion courtyard. Voices drifted on the night air.
She crept to the balcony and leaned closer. Two servants whispered near the fountain.
"They say the rift stirs again," one murmured.
"And that the girl is tied to it," the other replied, her voice trembling. "Bound by fate, they say. A dangerous omen."
Lianna's stomach twisted. Her grip on the feather tightened until her knuckles went white.
Dangerous. Omen. Words that always followed her, wherever she went.
She turned away before the servants could see her listening. The council had tried to keep her ignorant, but the Pavilion was alive with whispers. Secrets pressed on all sides, and she was the last to be told anything.
Her chest ached with frustration. She could no longer wait for answers to be handed to her.
---
The Silent Decision
When the bells struck midnight, Lianna slipped from her chamber. The corridors were hushed, shadows long and still. Every footstep felt like betrayal, but she pressed on, her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders.
The feather glowed faintly, guiding her as though it knew where she must go.
At the Pavilion's edge, she paused at the stone archway. Beyond lay the forest, dark and restless under the moonlight. The wind sighed through the trees, carrying the faint scent of iron and ash.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Once she stepped beyond this threshold, she defied every order the council had placed upon her. But she thought of the whispers, of the golden-eyed figure in her dreams, and of the burning ache inside her chest that never let her rest.
She crossed the threshold.
---
The Forest's Grip
The deeper she walked, the heavier the air became. Branches clawed at her cloak. Roots seemed to writhe beneath her boots, tripping her as if warning her back. Owls called, then fell silent, their voices cut short by a presence that swallowed sound.
Her bond grew stronger with every step, the pressure mounting until her head throbbed. Shadows twisted at the edge of her vision, forming shapes—faces—then dissolving into mist.
She stopped, gasping, clutching her temples. "Stop it… please…"
The forest did not answer. But the feather pulsed again, brighter now, its glow pushing back the shadows enough for her to continue.
---
The Rift Revealed
At last, she stumbled into a clearing.
And there it was.
The rift split the air like a wound in the world itself, jagged and glowing with violet light. It hovered above the ground, tendrils of shadow writhing from its edges, lashing at the earth. The trees closest to it had withered into black husks, their branches brittle and lifeless.
The sight stole the breath from her lungs. No words could describe it. It was not simply a tear in reality—it was hunger. It pulled at her hair, her cloak, even her breath, as though it sought to drag her inside.
Her knees weakened, but she forced herself upright. She had come too far to turn back.
The feather in her hand blazed, its silver light clashing against the rift's violet glow. The two forces strained against one another, and in that clash, Lianna heard it—
"Amara."
The voice. Deep, achingly familiar. Not from the rift, but from within her. From the bond.
Her lips parted in a trembling whisper. "You… you're real."
The rift flared violently, as if enraged by her recognition. Violet tendrils lashed outward, striking the ground around her. Sparks and shadows erupted as earth scorched beneath the force.
Lianna stumbled back, but her eyes never left the rift.
Whatever lay beyond it—whatever voice called her Amara—was waiting.
And she could not turn away.
---
The rift pulsed like a dying star, its light erratic and furious. Violet arcs leapt into the air, clawing at the night sky, while the earth shuddered beneath its weight.
Lianna braced herself, her boots sliding against scorched soil. The feather blazed in her hand, but even its silver glow seemed fragile compared to the storm of shadows before her.
And then she heard it again.
"Amara."
The voice split through the chaos—deep, resonant, raw. It was not sound but vibration, threading through her veins, lodging in her bones. She gasped, nearly falling to her knees.
Her heart thrashed wildly. "Who are you?" she shouted into the howling wind. "Why do you keep calling me that?"
The answer came not in words but in images.
---
Visions of the Past
The world around her dissolved.
Suddenly, she was no longer in the clearing but on a battlefield. Smoke blackened the sky. Fires raged across shattered towers. The clash of steel and the cries of the dying filled her ears.
And there he was.
A man cloaked in darkness, tall and unyielding, his golden eyes blazing like suns. His hand reached for her—Amara—and she ran to him, breathless with desperation. But just as her fingers brushed his, a blade of light pierced through his chest. Blood spilled across the ground, and his roar of anguish shook the world.
Lianna cried out, stumbling backward as the vision shattered. She fell to her knees in the clearing, trembling violently, her nails digging into the earth.
"That… that was me. That was Amara," she whispered. Her throat tightened with the certainty that those memories weren't dreams. They were fragments of a truth she had lived before.
The bond inside her pulsed harder, as though confirming it.
---
The Guardian Appears
The forest shifted. Branches snapped, roots curled, and a shadow peeled away from the treeline.
Lianna's breath caught.
A figure emerged—taller than any man, its body cloaked in ragged veils of darkness. Its steps made no sound. Its face was hidden, but two crimson eyes glowed through the void, burning with hunger and command.
The guardian of the rift.
It raised a hand of shadow, long claws dripping like ink, and pointed at her. When it spoke, the voice was not one but many—layered whispers and screams merging into a single, grinding tone.
"You should not have come, child of memory."
Lianna forced herself to stand, though her knees trembled. "What am I?" she demanded. "Who was Amara?"
The guardian's eyes narrowed. "You are a fracture. A soul cut apart. You carry what should have been destroyed."
Her breath came sharp, uneven. "Then why do I feel him? Why do I see him?"
The guardian's voice rumbled, heavy with disdain. "Because bonds cannot be severed. Not even by time, not even by death. And yours will end all things."
---
Clash of Shadow and Feather
The guardian moved without warning.
Its shadowy arm stretched, claws sweeping for her chest. Lianna lifted the feather instinctively, and silver light erupted, clashing against the darkness. The impact exploded outward, a wave that toppled trees at the clearing's edge.
The guardian staggered back, its cloak hissing where the light seared it.
Lianna's arm shook violently, pain surging through her veins as the feather drained her strength. But she held it firm.
"If the bond can't be severed," she shouted through clenched teeth, "then I'll find the truth myself!"
The guardian lunged again. Shadows lashed the air like whips, tearing trenches in the soil. Lianna countered with bursts of silver light, each strike brighter but heavier, as though every spark pulled a piece of her life away.
Sweat streamed down her brow. Her chest burned with each breath.
Yet she refused to yield.
---
The Face Beneath the Shadow
At last, the guardian faltered. Lianna struck with the feather, and its cloak of darkness ripped open.
For the first time, she glimpsed the form beneath.
Chains bound its arms and chest, glowing with runes of suppression. Armor cracked and bloodied clung to its body. And behind the shadows, a face—sharp, scarred, agonized.
But the eyes—
Golden.
Her heart stopped.
The guardian wasn't just a creature. It was him. The man from her visions. The one who called her Amara.
"No…" Lianna whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "It can't be…"
The guardian froze, its claws hovering inches from her throat. The crimson glow in its eyes flickered, shifting to molten gold.
And then, softly, brokenly, it rasped, "Amara."
The sound shattered her. It wasn't malice. It wasn't hunger. It was recognition.
For the briefest heartbeat, the bond inside her throbbed in perfect harmony with his.
---
The Rift's Wrath
The rift howled. Its tendrils surged outward, wrapping around the guardian, yanking him back. The crimson glow returned, smothering the golden light. The chains tightened, dragging him deeper into the abyss.
"No!" Lianna screamed, rushing forward. She reached out, desperate, her fingers trembling inches from his. "Don't disappear again!"
The guardian's body writhed in agony, shadows devouring him. But his voice carried through, fractured yet fierce.
"Find me… before they bind you."
And then he was gone. Swallowed by the rift.
---
The Aftermath
The clearing fell silent, save for Lianna's ragged breaths. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, the feather dimming in her hand.
Tears streamed down her face as she pressed the feather to her chest. Her bond still pulsed, weak but insistent, echoing with his lingering presence.
She wasn't cursed. She wasn't delusional.
She was bound.
Bound to him—the man sealed within the rift, the guardian, the one who still remembered her as Amara.
And now, more than ever, she knew: no matter the Pavilion's secrets, no matter the council's fear, she would uncover everything.
Because he wasn't just a stranger.
He was hers.
---
❓️❓️❓️❓️❓️
If you discovered the one person you're bound to—across lives and time—is also the world's greatest danger, would you fight to save them, or let them be lost forever?