Ren didn’t sleep.

He sat hunched over the old book, running his fingers over the cracked leather cover. The Valtheris Curse. The words felt heavy—like a chain tightening around his neck.

His father had died before he could remember. No stories, no letters, nothing left behind except a name. Now, a stranger had walked into his attic and handed him this. A book that somehow felt like a death sentence.

Outside, the town of Ashvale was beginning to stir. Horses clattered along cobblestone streets, merchants shouted their morning prices. Normal life, moving forward, unbothered by the weight pressing down on Ren’s shoulders.

He took a deep breath, then opened the book.

The first page held a single line, written in dark ink:

“The first rule of time: It does not like to be touched.”

Ren frowned. The handwriting was sharp and deliberate, but something about the ink looked… wrong. As if it hadn’t fully dried, even after years.

He turned the page.

The Curse of Valtheris

Time is not a river. It is a thread.

To pull on it is to unravel the world.

The Valtheris line has been marked by Chrono himself. Our blood resists time’s flow, but this is not a gift—it is a debt. The more we fight, the more we must pay.

And time always collects.

Ren exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Not ominous at all," he muttered.

He flipped through the pages, skimming hurried notes, diagrams of shattered timepieces, records of past bearers of the curse. His father’s name was listed—Sareth Valtheris. Next to it, a single word.

Erased.

A chill ran down Ren’s spine. He swallowed and turned the page.

The ink shifted.

Ren froze.

The words on the page moved, rearranging themselves like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. New writing bled into existence, forming a single sentence across the aged parchment.

Ren Valtheris. You are being watched.

A knock echoed through the attic.

Ren slammed the book shut.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. No one came up here unless Master Taldren needed something, and even then, he never knocked—just shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Another knock. Slow. Measured.

Ren stood, every instinct screaming at him to run. He grabbed the pocket watch and hesitated only a moment before shoving the cursed book into his satchel.

The door creaked as he opened it.

A woman stood on the other side.

She wore a hooded cloak, but the moment their eyes met, Ren knew she wasn’t just some traveler. Her gaze was sharp, focused—like she’d already decided a hundred different ways this conversation could go.

"You need to leave," she said.

Ren blinked. "Excuse me?"

"There’s no time to explain." Her eyes flicked to the satchel at his side. "You opened the book. That means they know where you are."

"Who is ‘they’?"

The woman’s jaw tightened. "No more questions. If you want to live, come with me. Now."

Behind her, in the dim morning light, the shadows beneath the bell tower twisted.

And then they moved.