The early morning light filtered softly through the thin, cotton curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the small room. The gentle chirping of birds outside the window signaled the start of a new day, but for Elara, the peaceful atmosphere felt surreal—like the fragile remnants of a dream on the verge of shattering.
She bolted upright in bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands—small, delicate, unscarred—clutched the simple blanket, her knuckles turning white. These hands should have been calloused, weathered by years of battle. Her heart raced as she looked around, eyes wide with disbelief.
The room was familiar, achingly so. The wooden floors, the worn rug, the small bookshelf crammed with children's stories—it was the bedroom she had known as a child. Everything was exactly as she remembered, down to the faint smell of lavender from the dried flowers her mother used to place on the windowsill.
Elara's pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the tranquil sounds of morning. Her mind raced, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the memories that still burned vividly in her mind. The battlefield, her comrades—Isolde, Alistair, Kael..—the Demon Lord, the agonizing pain of that final blow…
Her hand flew to her chest, expecting to feel the fatal wound that had ended her life mere moments ago. But there was nothing. No blood, no injury, just the steady thump of her heart, beating faster than she'd ever known it to. Slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her small feet touching the cool wooden floor. It felt so real, so vivid.
She crossed the room, almost stumbling in her haste, and caught sight of herself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. The reflection that stared back at her was that of a young girl, no more than eight years old. Her long, silver hair fell in unruly waves around her face, and her wide, amber eyes which glowed like jade in the morning light were filled with a mix of fear, confusion, and something else—something much older than a child should possess.
Elara raised a trembling hand to her face, touching the smooth, unmarked skin. "How…?" she whispered, her voice small and uncertain, so different from the commanding tone she had grown accustomed to.
She backed away from the mirror, her mind swirling with questions. This was impossible. She had died. She had seen her life end, felt the darkness closing in. And yet, here she was, alive and whole, in a time and place she had long since left behind.
A soft knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. "Elara, breakfast is ready," a familiar voice called—a voice she hadn't heard in years.
Her mother.
The door creaked open, and her mother stepped inside, a warm smile on her face. "You're up early," she said, a note of surprise in her voice. "Did you have a bad dream?"
Elara stared at her mother, her heart aching with a longing she hadn't felt in so long. Tears welled up in her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she ran to her mother and wrapped her small arms around her waist, burying her face in the soft fabric of her dress.
Her mother chuckled softly, smoothing down Elara's hair. "There, there," she soothed, mistaking Elara's tears for the remnants of a nightmare. "It's all right, my little warrior. There's nothing to be afraid of."
But Elara knew better. There was everything to be afraid of.
She clung to her mother, feeling the warmth and safety of her embrace, but her mind was already racing ahead. She had been given a second chance—a chance to change the future, to save those she had lost. But she was just a child again, with none of the strength or skills she had relied on before.
How could she possibly prepare for the battles to come?
Elara pulled back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She looked up at her mother, her gaze steady despite the fear gnawing at her heart. "I'm fine, Mother," she said, her voice firmer now, more resolved. Within herself, she knew there was a lot to work towards. She couldn't make the stubborn mistakes she made in the past.
Elara's mother, Elana, took her hand and led her gently down the wooden stairs. The warm scent of cooking sausage links and rich, Yorba eggs filled the air, making Elara's stomach rumble. It was an old family recipe, one she hadn't tasted in what felt like a lifetime. The thought of such simple pleasures brought a bittersweet smile to her face.
In the kitchen, the sunlight spilled through the open window, casting a golden glow on the wooden countertops and simple copper pans. Elana hummed softly to herself as she set the skillet on the stove. "Elara, would you help me with the eggs?" her mother asked, breaking the comforting silence.
Elara nodded, her small hands now deftly cracking eggs into a bowl. The pale yolks of the Yorba eggs glistened in the morning light, their deep amber color a sharp contrast to the bright white shells. As she whisked them together, she felt the warmth of the moment—a fleeting sense of normalcy. Her mother's movements were fluid and precise, placing the sausage links into the sizzling pan, the fragrant meat crackling in the hot oil.
The familiar sounds of breakfast cooking filled the room, and Elara's senses were heightened by the memories of a time long lost. But there was something new this time—a quiet determination brewing inside her. She couldn't afford to let moments like these slip by unnoticed anymore.
Once the food was ready, they sat at the simple wooden table, the plates steaming with the morning meal. Elana smiled warmly at her daughter as they ate in companionable silence. The food was delicious, just as Elara remembered—savory sausage with soft, fluffy eggs, each bite filling her with warmth. For a brief moment, Elara allowed herself to relax, savoring the taste and the rare, precious tranquility.
After breakfast, Elara followed her mother outside, the cool morning air brushing against her skin. The village was just waking up, with soft sunlight draping the landscape in soft gold. They strolled down the cobblestone streets, passing by fields of flowers that swayed gently in the breeze. Vibrant hues of lavender, bluebells, and golden poppies filled the air with their delicate fragrance.
Children ran through the streets, their laughter echoing through the village, while merchants opened their shops for the day. As Elara and Elana walked, they passed a group of adventurers returning from a mission. Their clothes were dirtied from battle, swords stained with dried blood, and across their shoulders, they carried the limp bodies of wolves—likely slain in the forests nearby.
One of the adventurers—a tall man with a gruff expression—nodded at them as he trudged by. Elara caught the sight of blood-soaked fur hanging over his shoulder and wondered if they had encountered the same wolves she had seen in her past life. Elana gave them a polite nod in return, her expression neutral, but Elara felt the familiar stir of unease in her chest. The world was always on the edge of danger, even in such quiet moments.
Their last stop was at the alchemist's shop, a small, crooked building nestled between two larger homes. The scent of herbs and strange concoctions greeted them as they stepped inside. The alchemist, a sprightly woman with sharp, green eyes and dark hair streaked with silver, greeted them with a warm smile.
"Morning, Elana," she said, stepping out from behind a cluttered table full of vials and dried herbs. "Here for the usual?"
Elana smiled. "Yes, Just the usual herbs for the house."
As the alchemist moved to gather the herbs, she paused, her gaze flicking toward Elara. Her sharp eyes narrowed as if sensing something unusual. "There's something different about you, child." She leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "I feel quite a bit of mana rolling off you—unusual for someone your age."
Elara stiffened, her heart skipping a beat. She tried to mask her surprise, but the alchemist's knowing smile widened. "Oh, don't worry, dear," she said with a wink. "It's not uncommon for young ones to show some promise."
Reaching behind the counter, the alchemist pulled out an old, worn tome. Its cover was faded, and the edges were frayed, but Elara could make out the faint symbol of snowflakes etched into the leather.
"Here," the alchemist said, handing the book to Elara. "It's an old tome on ice magic. No use for it here anymore, but maybe it'll be of interest to you." She winked again, clearly teasing, but there was a strange glint of seriousness in her eyes. Elara accepted the tome, feeling a strange sense of familiarity as she ran her fingers over the cover.
"Thank you," Elara murmured, clutching the book tightly as they left the shop.
On their way back home, the peaceful stroll through the village was suddenly interrupted. A pack of wolves, their eyes gleaming with feral hunger, darted out from the forest's edge. Elara's breath caught in her throat, and instinctively she moved to shield her mother, but before she could act, two adventurers appeared.
A swordsman—a young, lean man with dark hair—charged forward, blade gleaming as he blocked the lead wolf's attack. His strikes were strong but unrefined, swinging with raw strength rather than finesse. A mage followed closely behind him, her robes fluttering as she chanted, casting small bursts of fire and light to keep the pack at bay.
The swordsman, Kaden, gritted his teeth as he pushed the wolf back, muscles straining under the weight of his sword. "I'll hold them off—just focus on the smaller ones!" he shouted to the mage.
The mage, Lyria, nodded, her voice steady as she cast bolts of light toward the smaller wolves, stunning them just long enough for Kaden to strike. Elara watched the fight unfold, her heart pounding. Though Kaden was still learning, his raw strength was impressive, and Lyria's quick casting allowed them to make quick work of the pack.
Within moments, the threat was gone. Kaden wiped his blade clean while Lyria caught her breath, a faint smile on her lips. "Good work," she said, glancing over at Elara and Elana. "Are you two all right?"
Elana stepped forward, offering them a small package of cream-filled bread from the bakery. "Thank you both. Please, take this as a token of our gratitude."
Kaden accepted the bread with a sheepish grin. "No problem, ma'am. Probably smelled the blood from the wolves we brought into town earlier. We'll make sure to clear out the whole pack next time."
Elara watched them go, her mind spinning. The danger had been real, but somehow, it felt distant. As if the past was watching her closely, preparing her for something greater.
When they returned home, Elana helped Elara wash up, scrubbing away the dirt and sweat from the day. Her mother's gentle touch was soothing, but Elara's mind remained elsewhere—focused on the old tome the alchemist had given her.
Once she was cleaned up, Elara retired to her room and opened the book. The worn pages crackled as she flipped through the diagrams and instructions on basic ice magic. Her pulse quickened as she read the incantations. Despite its simplicity, the book stirred something deep inside her. Words of an old spell left her lips in a soft whisper, and to her surprise, a faint shimmer of frost appeared in the air.
Suddenly, a notification hovered before her eyes, glowing softly in the dim light:
--
Skill Acquired: Basic Ice Magic
Skill Acquired: Mana Control - Level 1
Skill Acquired: Mana Capacity; Basic
--
A smile crept across Elara's face as she read the notifications. It was just the beginning, but the spark had been lit.
She closed the tome and lay back in bed, the weight of the day pressing down on her. Tomorrow, she would begin her true training. Tomorrow, she would begin her journey toward strength.
And this time, she would be ready for whatever the future held.