Darkness. Endless footsteps echoing in a void. The air was cold, damp, and heavy. Nyra could barely feel herself breathing. A shadow shifted within the mist, and then a faint whisper brushed past her ear."Time is with you… but you are timeless."
Her heart raced. The shadow grew, the light within the mist flickered, and then everything shattered — sound, breath, and thought.
She gasped. Warm sunlight spilled across her face. Her heart still pounded with the echo of that voice. For a few seconds, she just stared at the cracked ceiling above her. The familiar smell of dust and the distant chirping of birds filled the orphanage room."It was just a dream," she whispered, though the unease inside her didn't fade. It hadn't felt like a dream. It had felt real.
She sat up, straightened her bed, and walked to the window. Morning light bathed the courtyard outside. Everything looked ordinary, still, and safe — yet the uneasy feeling deep inside her refused to go.
Voices echoed from the hallway. Her friend Lira hurried toward her, clutching a plate."Nyra! Did you see it this morning? That shadow… that dark feeling?" She hesitated, eyes wide with fear. "I felt it too."
Nyra didn't answer. She only nodded slightly, though Lira's words triggered the memory of the whisper from her dream: "Time is with you…"
Later, the headmistress called her."Nyra, go tidy up the back room. It hasn't been opened in years," she said, her voice cold but measured.
The room smelled of mold and dust. Old furniture lay shrouded under sheets, the air thick and still.On an old table rested a cracked mirror — and beside it, a metal box covered in strange, winding symbols, faintly glowing beneath the dust.
Nyra's pulse quickened. Something about the box drew her in. It felt alive. She barely heard the headmistress calling her from the hall. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the lid. The metal was ice-cold, burning her fingertips.And then she lifted it.
Light burst from within, swallowing the room whole. A low hum filled her ears, the air thickened, and a pressure wrapped around her like invisible hands. She tried to scream, but her voice was gone. Then — nothing.
When she opened her eyes again, the world was frozen.Her breath came out in mist. The ceiling above her was covered in cracked ice. She lay on a bed — but not her bed.
Nyra tried to move, but pain flared through her body. She looked down to see a fresh bandage around her abdomen, faintly stained with blood.Her mind reeled. The last thing she remembered was the box… the light… and now this.
Slowly, she sat up, one hand pressed against her wound. The air was silent, the room unfamiliar — metal furniture, frost-covered walls. Her stomach growled. Almost unconsciously, her eyes turned toward a refrigerator in the corner.
She stood, weakly, and staggered toward it. When she reached out and opened the door, something struck her. She knew where it was — the fridge, the furniture, even the layout of the room. But she had never seen this place before.
Her heartbeat quickened.Where was she? Why was she hurt? And why did she know this place?
Then a hum returned — this time inside her head. Her vision blurred. Sudden flashes burned behind her eyes:A frozen battlefield. Towering ice spires. A scream. The gleam of a blade. Snow stained red.
Memories — not hers — forced their way into her mind. Each image seared her thoughts like fire. She clutched her head, gasping, as pain tore through her body.
Then it stopped. Silence, almost heavier than the noise. She lifted her head. Through the frost-covered window, a white wasteland stretched into infinity. Ruined towers, falling snow, distant screams carried by the wind.
Nyra knew, in that moment, that she was no longer in her own world. The box had done something — pulled her into another body, another life. And now, that life… was hers.
The world outside was frozen, forgotten, and cruel. And she, somehow, belonged to it.
Nyra took a few cautious steps to the window, studying the frozen, ruined world outside. Snow drifted through the air, vanishing before it touched the ground. Shadows moved in the mist, shapeless and threatening. The sky was a wounded gray, clouds twisting like fingers in the wind.
A strange calm settled over her, mingled with deep unease. Her hand froze on the frosted glass. Where am I? she whispered. The sound vanished into the silence.
She slowly moved toward the door, wincing as her abdomen burned with pain. Down the hall, the floorboards creaked under her tentative steps. Flecks of dried blood led the way — a silent trail. She followed it carefully, her senses alert.
The trail ended at a door leading to a basement. Nyra hesitated, then descended the stone steps, each footstep echoing in the empty, cold air.
In the basement, she found an old table, scattered papers, a rusty knife, and a bundle wrapped in black cloth. She opened it, revealing a burned map, a name written in the corner: Fenrir Gate — and beneath it, a carved symbol of a snarling wolf's head, sharp teeth bared, as if frozen in a growl.
Nyra's fingers trembled. When she touched the symbol, a distant howl echoed in her mind, followed by a muffled whisper:
"Blood will find you…"
The flickering light of her lantern seemed to die for a moment. In the darkness, Nyra pressed herself against the wall, heart hammering. Somewhere above, a faint creak told her — something was moving in the house.