“Ugh…”

The lake was calm.

Serielle lay on the shallow reeds…

Her limbs felt heavy; her eyes felt foggy with fatigue.

When she forced herself to sit up, her hands trembled.

Her clothes were no longer the silk wedding dress she had worn just moments ago.

It was just her everyday dress, dull green as the shoots of a plant that had come from the ground.

Her skin was littered with dried weed leaves, but it didn’t matter.

She was still alive…

Her breath paused in her throat as her memories came back.

Blood staining the floor of the chapel, Raphael’s body lying beside her, her brother’s sword piercing through her as she screamed.

Serielle jumped forward and crawled to the edge of the lake.

The surface of the lake reflected something unfamiliar.

She was still herself, still a Fae, but there was a difference.

It was subtle but impossible to miss.

Her golden hair was darker now, more like honey than sunlight.

Her eyes—which were once so bright, like the summer sky—had turned darker.

She touched her face. A younger face, ten years before Raphael’s murder.

“I did it,” she thought. “I went back.”

A choked sound escaped her throat, but when she tried to whisper, to confirm the truth with her own voice…

There was none.

The silence was defeating…

Panic gripped around her spine like death wrapping itself around a soul.

“Guh—!”

“Heh—!”

“Uh—!”

She tried again, forcing air past her lips.

But all she produced was an aching emptiness where words should have been.

She clutched at her throat.

This wasn’t just a shock. Serielle had lost her voice…

This can’t be…

Swallowing back her frustration, she finally stood up from the ground, unstable on her feet.

If she was truly back, then she had to move. She had to find Nerys and Ellora—her fairy friends, the only ones who might understand.

She forced her feet forward, walking deeper into the forest…The silence made her want to scream, but she could no longer do so.

And then she heard it.

The clear clash of steel on steel.

She approached the sound with cautious steps.

Behind a large tree, she saw what was happening in the field between the trees.

Two young men were dueling with swords, and she knew one of them very well.

“Raphael…” Her eyes glazed over.

Raphael held his sword loosely, dark hair falling into his eyes.

His opponent was a young blond man, standing opposite him…The sword was covered in blood…

Not his own.

Raphael’s robe had been slashed at the shoulder; red stained the fabric.

“You are slow, Arden.” The young blond man was mocking, as sharp as the sword he held.

“Perhaps they should have named you Duke of Cowards instead.”

Raphael rolled his shoulders, ignoring the pain.

“And maybe they should have named you Prince Arrogant, Cedric. But I guess that would have been too obvious.”

Cedric sneered. “Is that all you can do?”

“I don’t need to do my best to deal with you.”

And then Raphael moved—fast, blurred—as his sword arced in a clean strike.

He could have gone for Cedric’s throat, but he did not.

Instead, his sword slid past Cedric’s defenses and slashed into his shoulder.

A shallow wound. It was deliberate…

Cedric paused, his breathing turning slower. Then…he smiled.

“That’s very kind of you,” Cedric murmured. “But I have no mercy like you.”

Before Raphael could respond, Cedric attacked.

His sword aimed straight for Raphael’s heart.

“No!”

Serielle did not think. She moved.

A tree branch cracked under her feet as she stepped forward.

But Cedric was already backing away, pulling out his sword at the last second.

She turned her head, only catching a glimpse of him behind the trees before he swung his horse around.

“Try not to die too soon, Arden,” Cedric called as he rode off. “It would be a shame if we missed the real fun.”

Raphael watched him disappear, his jaw hardening in anger.

Then, slowly, he turned towards the disturbance in the trees.

And saw her.

His sword was still raised, blood dripping from his shoulder. But his eyebrows, when he saw Serielle…

“Who are you?” he asked louder, demanding an answer and filled with suspicion.

Serielle opened her mouth—

Nothing.

There were no words. No voice.

She swallowed hard and stepped closer, her hand reaching out to offer.

You’re alive…It worked…It worked…she thought to herself.

She could heal him—if she still had magic.

“What are you doing?”

Serielle ignored him and came closer.

But when she reached for him, to heal his wound, there was nothing.

The magic was gone.

Raphael’s eyes darkened. “I asked you a question.”

Serielle put a hand to her chest, then pointed at him.

Raphael breathed out through his nose, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Good. You’re mute. And you appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of the forest, after the crown prince tried to kill me.”

Serielle clenched her fists.

Raphael, who had begun to falter and weaken from blood that continued to flow, observed her for a moment.

Then he shook his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

He turned, stepping toward his horse, but he twitched. The wound in his shoulder was deeper than he realized.

Serielle rushed towards him again, desperate, trying to tell him—Let me help you.

But Raphael only scoffed. “I don’t need help from a forest spirit.”

She grabbed his wrist.

His whole body went rigid, his breath coming in short gasps.

Something traveled in his gaze, like it was recognition, or something close to it.

But then he wrenched free, stumbling backward.

“Stay out of my way,” he sounded cold.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the trees.

Serielle was left alone, standing frozen to the spot like it was her brother’s magic.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs.

She had gone back in time, but nothing was the same.

Far above, hidden among the dense oak branches, three people watched silently.

Lioran. Aurenfell. Isendar.

Their eyes sparkled like fire in the darkness of the forest.

“She remembers,” Lioran murmured.

“Good,” Isendar replied, a smile slowly curving his lips. “Let her suffer so that she realizes her mistake.”

Serielle stumbled out of the forest, her breathing felt harder, her feet ached.

She was no longer a Fae, but a human…

She knew she could not return to her father’s palace.

Not like this. Not with the loss of her magic. Not with no voice.

Her father would see her as a disgrace.

And her brothers…She clenched her fists.

She had seen how they slit Raphael’s throat without hesitation.

The memory burned her heart, but she forced herself to walk forward, past the trees and into the open world beyond.

I miss this place…

The market was full of sounds and smells.

Freshly baked bread, roasting meat, the chatter of merchants selling their goods.

Serielle was almost oblivious to it all.

Her head felt light; her teary eyes blurred her vision.

This pain…Pressing her hand to her stomach, she realized that pain was tearing it apart.

She was hungry. Starving, perhaps.

Surprising, because she had never felt this way before.

She tried to take another step, but the ground felt lopsided beneath her, and the darkness swallowed her.

The last thing she heard was a loud cry of a woman, the whinny of a startled horse.

“Get out of the way! Pick her up!”

Then, there was nothing.