Chapter 1: The Name of the Wind
“She never believed in legends until she stumbled upon an ancient book that spoke of time bending at the whisper of a name.”
It was raining in Berlin that day, the kind of cold, steady rain that seems to seep into your bones, making you feel heavy and tired no matter how warm your coat is. I had been working at the old bookstore for months now, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. The store had once been grand, but it had faded with time, just like its owner, Mr. Werner, who now rarely left his back office.
That day, I was cleaning the shelves when something caught my eye—a small, weathered book that I’d never noticed before. Its cover was cracked and the title almost illegible, written in an unfamiliar script. I pulled it out carefully, wiping the dust away with my sleeve. The pages inside were yellowed and brittle, filled with strange symbols and words that felt like they belonged to a different time.
One passage stood out to me, written in perfect, elegant German: “The name of the wind is a key. Speak it, and time will listen.” I traced the letters with my finger, feeling an odd chill. It was ridiculous, I knew. Time travel didn’t exist, and legends like these were nothing more than stories to entertain curious minds. But there was something about that phrase that lingered.
The bell over the door jingled, snapping me back to reality. A couple walked in, damp from the rain and chatting softly. I slipped the book into my coat pocket, deciding I’d read more of it later when the store was empty.
I glanced outside. The streets of Berlin were as gray and lifeless as always. Since I moved here, I’d found the city strange—half stuck in its old ways, half yearning for something new. A city of secrets, some hidden so well you could almost feel them beneath your feet.
I hadn’t always lived like this. There had been a time when I was someone else—someone braver, someone who believed in the future. But that was before I made mistakes. Before the guilt settled into my bones like an old wound that refused to heal. I thought a new city would help me forget, but the regrets always found their way back. Maybe that’s why the idea of time bending caught my attention. What would I change if I could go back?
I closed the store early that day. The rain had picked up, and no one would be coming in. I headed home, the old book still hidden in my coat pocket, its weight pressing against my side like a secret.
***
My apartment was small, a single room with a view of nothing in particular. I dropped my coat by the door, placed the book on the table, and made myself a cup of tea. As I sat in the dim light
of the kitchen, I opened the book again, flipping through the pages until I found the passage about the wind.
“Speak the name of the wind, and time will bend.” Below the text, a single name was written: “Vraios.”
I stared at it for a long moment. It felt absurd, but I couldn’t help myself. What if, just for a second, I let myself believe in the impossible? Maybe it was the rain, the loneliness of the night, or the weight of all the memories I tried so hard to forget. Whatever it was, I whispered the name.
“Vraios.”
The room was still. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the air shifted—soft, almost imperceptible, like the first stirrings of a breeze. I looked around, half expecting the walls to melt or the floor to open up beneath me. But nothing changed.
I let out a nervous laugh, feeling foolish. Of course nothing happened. I stood up to close the window when I saw it—something outside, just beyond the glass. It wasn’t the rain, or the familiar outline of the city. It was something… else. The streets below looked different. Older. The cars, the buildings—they weren’t the Berlin I knew.
I felt a tremor in my chest. Stepping closer to the window, I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. The streets were lined with soldiers, their uniforms stark and crisp, not the casual uniforms of today but something older. People moved hurriedly, their faces tense, eyes darting from side to side.
I turned around, my heart pounding. Something had shifted, something real. The book… the name… I had spoken it, and now…
The rain outside seemed to stop all at once. The silence was deafening.
I grabbed the book, flipping through its pages wildly, trying to make sense of what I’d done. But before I could process anything, the door to my apartment burst open.
***
I spun around, startled. A tall figure stood in the doorway, soaked from the rain that had somehow returned. His sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on me. He looked both familiar and entirely foreign at once. There was something about his face—strong, yet delicate, as though it had seen too much and held too many secrets.
“Who are you?” I managed, backing away slightly, my heart still racing.
He didn’t answer at first, stepping further into the room. His presence filled the space in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. He pulled off his coat, shaking it dry, and I noticed how
effortlessly he moved, like he belonged to this strange, otherworldly moment I had somehow fallen into.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with something darker. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I could feel my pulse quicken again. “I don’t even know where ‘here’ is,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound steady.
He glanced at the open book on the table, then back at me. For a moment, his expression softened, and I saw something unexpected—a flicker of recognition, or perhaps pity. His eyes, deep and shadowed, seemed to hold entire stories I would never know.
“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to ground myself in something tangible.
He hesitated for a heartbeat too long. “Viktor,” he finally said. “And you… You should have never said that name.”
Our eyes locked, and for a second, the tension melted away. There was something between us, an invisible thread pulling us closer, as though we’d known each other in another life. The rain outside was forgotten, the uncertainty of the moment slipping away, leaving only the two of us in this impossibly quiet room. I could feel the air between us tighten, drawing me in as if he were the answer to all the questions I hadn’t even asked yet.
But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment shattered. His expression hardened, and the warmth disappeared from his eyes.
“You need to come with me,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”
***
Before I could respond, the world around me flickered. The city outside the window blurred, shifting like a dream on the edge of waking. The rain had stopped, the silence more unsettling than before.
And then I realized—this wasn’t just a shift. I had slipped through time. But there was no going back now.