The ring pulsed once as I slipped it on.
Cold at first—then warm. Like recognition.
I staggered slightly. Alaira caught my arm. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Just… dizzy." But the truth was stranger than that.
For a brief moment, the world blinked. Like a skipped frame in a film. And then—
Memories that weren't mine flooded in.
A ballroom burning.
A coronation I never attended.
Alaira dying in my arms.
And in all of them—this ring. Always on my finger.
"This is a relic," I whispered. "A memory anchor. It's from another timeline."
Alaira nodded. "I found it in a vault no one remembered building. I didn't know why I kept it, but now…"
"It's proof we've lived this story before."
She stared into the distance, voice low. "And failed."
Before we could speak further, the floor beneath us shifted—like the palace was breathing. A corridor opened where none had existed before.
Not built.
Formed.
The author had written again.
But this time… I felt it. The tug in my chest. The script trying to force me forward.
I resisted.
And the pull weakened.
Alaira noticed. "You're fighting it."
"I think the ring's letting me."
A soft bell echoed—not the palace chime, but a fainter one. Somewhere deeper in the fabric of the story.
A warning.
The ring wasn't just a relic.
It was a key.
And the door it belonged to… was almost unlocked.