Chapter 1: The Letter from the Past
A letter arrived, addressed to me—but it was written centuries before I was born.
That’s where it all started. A single letter, neatly folded in an envelope made of thick, yellowed paper. The kind that crinkled under your fingers, with faded ink written in a hand so elegant it felt like I was looking at a work of art. My name was on it, spelled out perfectly—Elena Greyson —even though it had no business being there.
I had no idea what I was holding at first, but my pulse quickened. Who would send me something like this? It was impossible. I mean, a letter that looked this old? And the strangest thing was, the postmark was from Paris. But not the Paris I knew. No, this stamp was dated July 15th, 1914.
The day before the world fell into war.
My apartment was quiet, except for the ticking of a small clock in the kitchen. I sat there for what felt like hours, staring at that date, as if it held some kind of hidden power. It felt like the room was shrinking, as if the walls were pushing in on me. I shook myself out of it and gingerly opened the envelope.
Inside, I found a single sheet of parchment, and as I unfolded it, the scent of old ink and parchment filled the air. The handwriting matched the one on the envelope—delicate, yet firm— and though the words looked foreign, I understood every line as though they were written just for me:
“To Elena,
Time is fragile, more fragile than you know. But in your hands, it will bend. You will soon find the key to your past and your future. Trust the path before you, but beware—there are others who seek what you will soon discover.
Your journey begins now. Travel wisely, for love and loss are intertwined in ways you have yet to understand.
Seek the artifact. It will lead you through the doors of time.
Sincerely, G.”
The last letter shimmered, like it was more than just ink, but something alive, something filled with mystery.
“G?” I whispered, rolling the letter around in my hands, trying to decipher what it meant. I didn’t know anyone who signed their name with just a single letter. And yet, something in my chest tightened, like the name was familiar in a way I couldn’t quite place.
Before I could think about it further, my phone buzzed. A message from Claire, my best friend, lit up the screen: Hey, still on for dinner?
I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. Claire. Dinner. Normal things. I quickly texted back:
Yeah, be there soon.
***
Later, at the small café around the corner from my apartment, Claire leaned over her coffee, studying me with that all-too-familiar concerned look. “You’re distracted, El.”
I hesitated, debating whether to tell her about the letter. But what would I even say? That I got a letter from someone who apparently lived over a century ago? That I had a gut feeling it was connected to something far bigger than me?
“Just… work stuff,” I said, shrugging. “You know how it is.”
Claire narrowed her eyes but let it drop. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She leaned back in her chair, eyeing me knowingly. “You always do.”
I smiled weakly, but her words felt hollow. I didn’t feel like someone who had things figured out. My life had felt stagnant for months—years, maybe. A series of wrong choices, missed opportunities. I wasn’t even sure what I was waiting for anymore.
Maybe that’s why the letter rattled me so much. It felt like the universe was finally shoving me in some direction, giving me a sign. But what kind of sign was it? And why did I feel this strange pull, like I was being drawn into something I couldn’t escape?
As we walked out of the café, the cool evening air kissed my cheeks, and I felt a sudden urge to go back home, to look at the letter again. Something about it felt urgent, like a ticking clock I couldn’t ignore.
***
Back in my apartment, the letter lay on my desk where I’d left it. I picked it up, tracing the edges with my finger, feeling the weight of it. But then something strange happened. A flicker of light caught my eye from the far corner of the room.
It was faint at first—just a shimmer in the air, like heat rising from the pavement on a hot day. But it grew stronger, and before I could blink, a glowing circle began to form, hovering in midair, swirling with a soft, ethereal light.
I stepped back, my heart hammering in my chest. “What… is this?”
The portal—because that’s what it was, a portal, like something out of a dream—expanded until it was large enough for me to step through. And in the middle of the swirling light, I could see… something. A shadowy figure, tall and dark-haired, standing on the other side.
It felt like my heart skipped a beat.
Without thinking, I moved closer, drawn by some invisible force. And that’s when I saw him.
A man, standing in the middle of the light, with eyes that held centuries of secrets. He looked at me like he’d been waiting for me, his face a mixture of longing and sadness. And though he said nothing, I could feel the weight of his gaze pulling me toward him.
It was him. The one who had written the letter.
“G,” I whispered, though I didn’t know how I knew his name.
Our eyes locked, and for a moment, time stood still. There was a magnetic pull between us, something undeniable, like we had known each other before. My hand lifted, as if to reach for him through the glowing portal, and for a heartbeat, it felt like our fingers might actually touch.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the portal flickered, the light dimming. “Wait!” I shouted, but the words were swallowed by the swirling energy.
And then, with a soft pop, the portal closed, leaving nothing but the faint scent of jasmine in the air.
***
I stood there, breathless, staring at the space where the portal had been. My mind was racing. The letter. The portal. The man—G. He was real. Somehow, impossibly, he was real.
But as I stood in the silence of my apartment, trying to piece it all together, a strange feeling crept over me. Something—or someone—was watching.
I turned, my breath catching in my throat.
A shadow moved in the corner of the room, just out of reach of the light. I wasn’t alone.
***
As I stared into the darkness, the floor beneath me seemed to shift, the walls bending and twisting, like the very fabric of time was unraveling. And from the shadows, a voice—soft, almost a whisper—said, “You’re not the only one who received a letter, Elena.”