The sun bled orange over the village, casting long shadows over the military encampment. Smoke curled lazily from cooking fires, and drums echoed faintly in the distance as the evening called the villagers to rest.
Elara sat at the edge of her cot, fingers clenched in her lap. Damon had grown colder, the questions sharper. The suspicion in his eyes was no longer curious—it was dangerous. Even Ajani, who once offered her small smiles in passing, now regarded her with veiled caution.
She hadn't seen Cora since that night, but her presence was felt everywhere. People stared longer, whispered louder. Elara was becoming the outsider she feared.
That night, as darkness settled over the village, she made her move.
---
Ajani had stepped away from his usual post to answer a summons. She slipped past the guards, hugging the shadows, moving swiftly through the edge of the village where Mama Oje's hut once stood.
But Elara wasn't going to Mama Oje tonight. She was going to the edge of the forest.
A woman had sent word—a whispered message slipped into her tent by a small boy:
"Come to the shrine after sunset. Truth waits."
She didn't know what she expected.
The shrine was little more than a ring of stones beneath a gnarled baobab tree, but as she arrived, the air shifted. Heavy. Ancient. Watching.
A figure stepped from the shadows. Tall. Draped in indigo cloth. Silver hair woven into braids. Her eyes were clouded, but Elara could feel them seeing everything.
"You are far from your time, child," the old woman said.
Elara swallowed. "Who are you?"
"They call me Iyechi. I see what was, what is, and what fights to be."
Elara's breath caught. "You know… about me?"
Iyechi nodded slowly. "You were born in fire. Love torn by betrayal. Death followed you. But time is not linear for hearts that burn so fiercely."
"Why me?" Elara asked, voice cracking. "Why am I here?"
"Because the man you were meant to love—your bond—is lost. Not just to you, but to himself."
Elara blinked. "Damon?"
Iyechi looked away, as though his name was dangerous. "He has lived many lives. He chose war over peace. Duty over love. The gods took his memories. You, they spared."
Elara's head spun. "So… he's not just a soldier?"
"No," Iyechi whispered. "He is a warrior reborn. But if he does not remember, you will be lost forever. This world will consume you both."
Elara's breath hitched. "How do I make him remember?"
"There is an object. A medallion. Shaped like a wolf with a broken crown. He wore it in every life. Find it. Put it in his hands. Let the bond speak."
Elara nodded, desperate. "Where is it?"
Iyechi's voice dropped. "Locked away. In the military compound. In the armory vault."
Elara's blood turned cold. "That's suicide."
"So is forgetting who you are."
---
Back in the camp, Damon sat alone in his tent. A bottle of whisky half-empty on the table. The moonlight spilled in through the flap, washing him in silver.
He stared at an old, worn photograph. A woman—her. Not Elara, but her mirror. Elara from his time. The woman who haunted his dreams.
Ajani entered quietly. "Still awake."
Damon didn't look up. "She's hiding something."
"We all are."
"But hers could unravel everything."
Ajani paused. "Would it matter? If she's not who she says she is?"
Damon finally looked up. "It would change everything. Because I think... I think I once loved her."
Ajani gave a rare frown, sitting down across from Damon. "You were different before she came. More focused. Sharper. Now you hesitate. That makes you vulnerable."
Damon narrowed his eyes. "You sound like you're questioning my judgment."
Ajani held his gaze. "I'm questioning her effect on it."
The tension simmered between them, and yet Damon couldn't bring himself to deny it.
---
Elara crept back into camp before dawn. Her mind swirled.
She had to find that medallion. But first, she needed access.
Which meant getting closer to Damon.
The man who once loved her in another life.
The man who might be the key to her salvation—or her destruction.
She paused as she reached her tent, a flicker of movement catching her eye. Someone was inside.
Heart pounding, she ducked behind a nearby barrel and waited. The flap of her tent opened slowly, and a figure stepped out—Cora.
Elara's blood ran cold.
Cora looked around briefly, then vanished into the night. Elara gave her a head start before slipping inside. Her things had been rifled through. Her hidden sketches. Her notes. All disturbed.
So Cora knew. Or was beginning to suspect.
She straightened the mess quickly, burying her fear.
The clock was ticking.
---
Far from the village, in a dimly lit cave lined with equipment not from the 1980s, Cora met with two men dressed not in army fatigues but in foreign suits. One handed her a small, humming device. Another showed her a map.
"The window is closing," one of them said. "The longer she stays in this timeline, the harder it will be to erase her."
Cora smiled, her eyes glowing faintly. "Don't worry. I always finish what I start."
"You must make him choose you," the man said. "If his memories resurface before the bond is broken, everything will unravel."
"He won't remember," she whispered. "Not in time."
---
Elara stared into the mirror in her tent, barely recognizing the woman looking back.
"You've survived worse," she whispered. "You'll survive this too."
But deep down, she knew survival wasn't enough.
She had to fight.
For her identity. For her past. For Damon.
And for a future that was slowly slipping from her grasp.