Chapter 6. Traveling Back Through Time

The fall began from within.

First came a sharp spasm in her temples, as if invisible fingers were squeezing her skull. Then the world lurched, the floor crumbled under her feet, and Sumarel crashed to her knees. Her body arched like a bow, muscles seized by convulsions. The epileptic fit crashed over her in waves, driving the air from her lungs, forcing her to thrash on the cold floor.

But worst of all was what happened in her mind. Reality cracked as if struck by a hammer, and through the fractures poured images—bright, unbearably real, overlapping in a maddening weave. Familiar yet warped, twisted by something:

She stood before a vast chasm. Pleasant music played while a young man held her hands, gently caressing them. His face was a mess of red and black, as if someone had smeared paint across a canvas.

"Mediocrity. I’m not interested in you."

Her body jerked. A burning desire flared in her mind—to prove herself, to show her worth, to respond with even greater passion.

"I like you too," the words escaped unbidden.

Something black crept rapidly up her arms like snakes beneath the skin, heading for her throat. She cried out, shoved him away, and plummeted into the abyss.

The image shifted.

A cluttered room. She sat on the floor, examining a white figurine—covered in intricate lines, every detail precise, perfected.

"This is a masterpiece. You're a genius," her voice sounded unusually tender.

"Your compliments don't count," Laltar lowered his eyes. "You love me, so you always praise me. It's not that good."

She pouted in displeasure.

"What do you mean? It's beautiful!"

"No, there's still so much work to do..." a barely perceptible smile flickered across his lips.

Sumarel jerked. The figurine slipped from her hands, shattering. The fragments pulsed with black light.

"Such a shame. You'll never be able to shine."

A new image.

Bound in a darkened room. Three figures loomed before her—their faces twisted in monstrous distortion.

"Where's your pride now, ice queen?" the painfully familiar voice came from a fourth person standing apart in the shadows.

Her heart pounded like crazy. Her mind was empty, unable to form a single thought, her body covered in cold sweat.

"That's how life goes. It breaks you," he approached, taking her by the throat.

Suddenly Sumarel's eyes rolled back, as if in a seizure—and in the next moment, her pupils, seemingly drained of life's light, reflected the young man who moments before had glowed with anticipation, now frozen in horror at her gaze.

"Pride is the domain of the dead," a strange smile bloomed on her face. "Undefined, possessing either motion or position..." she turned her head as if he weren't holding her throat at all. "Die."

Pain shot through her—from the back of her skull down her spine, spreading like liquid fire through her nerves. Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ground together. Foam appeared at the corners of her mouth. Her consciousness thrashed between reality and visions, unable to grasp either.

The seizure released her as suddenly as it began. Sumarel lay curled on the floor in a fetal position. Thoughts vanished, leaving only basic sensations—the floor's cold, the taste of blood in her mouth, trembling limbs. Instinctively, she pressed her back against the wall, seeking support in something solid and unchanging.

"Sumarel, open the door!" sharp knocking cut through the haze of stupor. "Don't you run away!"

Her mother's voice. But not as she remembered it—younger, full of life, though tinged with exhaustion and irritation.

"Nightmare?" the thought struck like lightning. Sumarel jerked her head up, surveying the room. A tiny space with bunk beds and a mattress on the floor. A collection of pebbles on the windowsill, clearly a child's treasure. A rag doll with a torn arm lay in the corner. On the wall, a charcoal drawing—their first creation: three figures holding hands.

She looked at her hands. Thin, small, with barely visible calluses. The skin was beginning to roughen from work but still retained some softness. As if remembering her body existed, she felt the full spectrum of physical sensations—wildly beating heart, an itch in her right eye, unpleasant tingling in her leg.

Lifting her skirt, she saw fresh cuts on her skinny legs. Thin red lines wept blood. A glass shard lay nearby, sticky with blood. Kicking it under the bed, she began wiping the wounds, wincing—tiny shards embedded in the cuts.

"Definitely not a dream—time travel," her heart beat even faster, thoughts whirling. "Something happened. Someone sent me to the past. Was it him?"

The beautiful face of a young man with delicate, almost feminine features appeared in her mind's eye. Then came the memory of her own reflection, and fear gripped her so tightly her heart seemed to skip a beat.

"Time travel... It's impossible. I don't have the necessary knowledge, but even for all-powerful mages, this is too much," she wasn't stupid and understood the consequences perfectly. If this were possible, the world would have long ago descended into chaos from temporal wars between mages.

"Sumarel, please, not you too..." her mother's voice beyond the door cracked, ready to give up.

"The day of the fight with my father. The day he left," the realization pierced her, but her body was already moving on its own. Her fingers unlocked the door, flinging it open. Behind it stood her mother—years younger, with reddened eyes ready to spill tears.

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"Everything will be fine, don't worry," Sumarel hugged her, feeling her mother's body jerk in surprise.

"Sumarel, has a spirit possessed you?" her mother pulled back, staring at her daughter in amazement.

"Your motto is to keep your chin up, right?" Sumarel smiled, holding her mother's hands. "You're not alone, and the rebels will be brought to try our favorite cake. So you have lots to do, don't get distracted."

She released her mother's hands, pretending not to notice the bewilderment on her face.

"I'll be back soon," she called over her shoulder, darting out the door.

"Last time on this day, I drew a line between us. That's when she broke. But not this time. Now everything will be different."

Sumarel burst onto the street. There was almost no sunlight—only the pathetic bioluminescence of fungi on building walls gave off a ghostly glow.

"I need magic. Without it, I possess no power to change anything. I'm eighteen now, Auriel is thirteen, Laltar is twelve. At twenty-five, my sister's gift will awaken, and the mages will find her. Execute her."

She stopped, raising her hand—the same one that had struck her mother in her past life.

"Should I?..." her fingers clenched into a fist. "I'll do everything possible. Even if I have to turn the whole city upside down."

She knew the history and key events of the coming years only superficially. Being at the very bottom of the social ladder, cut off from truly valuable information, she couldn't fully exploit her knowledge of the future.

"In my past life, I had no magical abilities," she looked at her hand. An energy line pulsed beneath the skin, churning with power. "But aren't magical abilities child's play compared to time travel?"

Her lips curved into a smile. She ran toward the ruined bar where her brother and sister should be hiding.

Before reaching the building, she heard noise and crashes.

"Not good."

Grabbing a metal pipe lying nearby, she rushed to the entrance. The voices became distinct:

"You're taking on too much, Jeremiah! Playing hero or something?"

"Shut up, Ulfric! I told you in plain language—this is my territory. Come here again and I'll break your legs."

"What, getting cocky? There's three of us, you're alone!"

"So what? There were five of you last time. Where are they now?"

"You've gone too far, Jeremiah. Time to clip your wings."

Sumarel listened to the argument, and a sad smile appeared on her lips. Jeremiah—in the past, their friend and protector. In the future—her rapist, completely unhinged. Just like her once: strong on the outside, broken within. A soul full of cracks through which corruption seeped.

"Can't approach slowly—my friends will give me away with surprised looks." She gripped the metal bar. "Speed and aggression it is."

Backing up for momentum, she charged inside. Three opponents.

The first didn't even have time to react—the pipe whistled through the air, striking his temple. The young man collapsed like a felled tree.

The second lunged at her, but Sumarel hurled the pipe at his face. Instinctively raising his hands to protect himself, he left himself open, and her foot slammed between his legs. Howling, he doubled over.

The third managed to close in, swinging his fist. Time slowed. "Just need to hit the right spot," flashed through her mind. She dodged the blow, turning her body, and on the pivot drove her fist precisely into his chin. His head snapped back, eyes rolling up. He fell without a sound.

The shocked spectators—her brother, sister, and Jeremiah—stared in disbelief.

"Has an evil spirit possessed you?" Jeremiah anxiously shifted his gaze from the fallen to Sumarel.

"Standing out too much. Will my actions affect the timeline? Will the mages take interest?" thoughts raced through her mind. "No idea what detection abilities they have. Need to be more careful."

"Hey, you better tell me..." Jeremiah demonstratively spread his arms, shielding the younger ones.

"You're always watching Emma from the roof, secretly leaving her gifts. Also, you're an idiot," she blurted out in one breath. "Enough?"

Her gaze slid to the wall where a drawing would appear in the future. "Moon and Sun..." She looked at her sister—shy and timid on the outside, but with fire within. She knew what Auriel was capable of when her gift awakened.

"Home. Now," her gaze turned stern. She flexed her bruised knuckles.

"Need help?" Jeremiah approached, smiling.

"Hiding your shame?" she shot back.

"Well, I could've handled it myself, you know..." he looked slightly embarrassed but tried to appear confident.

"I don't."

"Come on. Let me walk you home."

"No!" she looked him straight in the eye, not looking away. "Go home."

Confused by such a sharp change in the usually quiet girl, Jeremiah froze, not knowing what to say.

Taking her brother and sister, they headed home.

"You're not hiding your face," Auriel suddenly said in her angelic voice.

"And you're holding brother's hand," she continued. "You keep glancing at me," the girl stopped, looking into her sister's eyes. "You're not the Sumarel I know."

Stopping, Sumarel met her gaze.

"Auriel, do you trust me?"

Surprised by the question, the girl nodded.

"Yes."

"In the future, no matter what happens—don't trust people."

The little girl didn't flinch.

"Not even you?"

"Especially not me."

Sumarel looked away, but her sister continued staring, lost in thought. Walking ahead with their brother's hand in hers, she turned back.

"Come on."

"But without trust, how can you connect with others?" Auriel asked.

"Start by connecting with yourself. Don't get lost in the whirlpool of others' passions."

Returning home, the whole family, as if knocked off their usual track by Sumarel's anomalous behavior, began making a pie.

"Laltar, get the flour from the top shelf," Sumarel commanded, kneading dough. "Careful, don't drop it."

The boy reached for the shelf, and she noticed how difficult the simple movement was for him. In the future, after his illness, his immune system would fail completely. Bone tuberculosis would start with a slight limp, then constant fatigue. His spine would begin to curve, non-healing sores would appear on his body. In the end, he wouldn't even be able to get out of bed, his bones crumbling at the slightest touch.

"Auriel, beat the eggs. No, not like that—the movements need to be sharper," she demonstrated the proper technique. "Mom, check the oven. Remember how it burned last time?"

Her mother looked at her daughter in surprise but silently went to the oven.

"Laltar, are you tired? Sit down, rest. I'll finish mixing."

"I'm not tired!" the boy protested, but Sumarel had already taken the bowl from him.

Work bustled. The kitchen filled with warmth and the aroma of baking. Even their mother relaxed, forgetting the morning's quarrel.

When the pie was ready, they sat around the table. But Sumarel, despite seeming engaged, continued planning.

"Father said I have no magical abilities. But he could have lied. Besides, after rebirth, everything might change."

She knew—getting an official scan for magical abilities was impossible. It cost money the family didn't have. Everything related to magic was tightly controlled by the aristocracy protecting their position. During the future war, restrictions would loosen, but the threshold would still remain high.

She went through dozens of options. Only one remained—Empire's dogs.

"Sister!" Auriel's voice rang out insistently.

"Of course, she was always too observant," the thought flashed through Sumarel's mind. Ready to keep her face emotionless, she turned to her sister.

An unshakeable smile didn't leave Auriel's face when she asked with a spark in her eyes: "Are you in love?"