That Night
The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that settles deep in the bones, after the laughter has faded, and the candles have burned low. Shadows stretched long across her room, cast by the moonlight that filtered through the lace curtains, soft and silver.
Zorya lay on her back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
She hadn't told anyone.
Not her father, not Vair, not even little Thalassa—who would have chirped something sweet and innocent and gone back to humming to her flowers.
But Zorya felt it. Something had shifted.
It wasn't just déjà vu. It wasn't just a memory playing tricks.
It was the same day, folded over itself like a page turned back.
The tea had tasted the same. Too sweet.
The petals of the Mirathiel tree had fallen in the same pattern. The hammering on the roof, Vair's fall, his words—every detail, exactly as she remembered.
Her heart beat softly in the dark. Not with fear, exactly. But with something like awe. And confusion.
She rolled onto her side, fingers curling in the bedsheets.
"Is this… my power?"
She whispered it aloud, just to hear it.
Her voice sounded strange in the stillness. But the question lingered in the room, coiled like smoke around her bedpost.
Was that it? Her long-awaited gift?
But what was it?
The power to loop time?
To relive?
To see the edges where the present frays?
She closed her eyes. The tree's name brushed her thoughts—Mirathiel, the tree of whispering blooms. Had it always hummed like that? Had it always sounded like a lullaby—or a warning?
What if it had something to do with her?
She clutched her pillow tighter, scarlet eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
The saints had gifted her brother metal and wind.
They had given Thalassa the blooming of life.
But what if they had given Zorya something far stranger?
Something even the world didn't yet know how to name?
Outside her window, the petals fell again—soft, violet-blue ghosts in the night air.
And in her heart, the clock ticked—backward, forward, or perhaps… nowhere at all.
The Next Morning
The scent of salt and lavender rode on the early wind, weaving through the narrow streets of Floralis. Zorya walked with slow steps, the sea calling her as it always did—softly, steadily. A lullaby for the soul.
She made her way past the market stalls, still sleepy with closed awnings and dozing cats, past the bakery where warmth clung to the windows, and down to the edge of the port.
There, the sea waited. Endless and familiar.
She stepped close to the worn stone ledge, where the waves lapped quietly below. The same place she always came to. The place where her mother had once said, "When your heart feels too full, speak to the sea. It listens better than most people."
Zorya drew in a breath.
"I think something's wrong," she whispered. "Or maybe... something's finally beginning."
But before she could say more, a voice spoke behind her.
"Talking to the sea again, starlight?"
She jumped, heart lurching—because she knew that voice.
She turned, and there he was.
Vair, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle in one arm—gears and cogs for the shop—and a curious look in his dark eyes.
"You're not usually this early," he said, stepping beside her. "Is something up?"
Zorya hesitated.
She had forgotten—in the last loop, she had met him here. She hadn't meant for it to happen again.
He glanced sideways at her, reading the quiet in her face like a familiar story.
"Well?" he asked gently.
"I think..." she began, unsure of her own words, "I think I might have awakened."
His eyes lit up.
"What? Zorya, that's amazing!"
She shook her head. "Not amazing. I—I don't know what it is. I don't know how to control it. It's not like yours or Thalassa's. It's just..." Her gaze drifted out over the waves. "Everything feels like it's repeating. Like I'm stuck inside a moment that already happened."
"Repeat?" Vair echoed, brows furrowing.
"Yes. It's like... time jumped back. I was drinking tea and then—suddenly—I was drinking tea again. The same moment. Everything the same."
Vair was quiet for a beat. Then he smiled.
"Well, that is kind of strange. But hey—you're talking to someone who awakened his powers while building a toaster."
Zorya blinked. "What?"
"I was in Papa's shop," Vair said with a laugh. "Fourteen and a half. Messing with copper coils and scrap parts. The toaster sparked, shot across the room, and the metal bent into a perfect little box. I thought I'd broken the laws of nature. Turns out—I'd awakened."
Zorya almost smiled.
"And Thalassa fell off the living room chair," he said fondly. "Smashed her chin, cried like thunder. Then the entire room turned into a wildflower jungle. Vines everywhere. Papa couldn't find the table for three days."
Zorya let out a small laugh, the weight on her chest lifting just slightly.
"So," Vair said, nudging her shoulder with his, "maybe your power's just a little... slipperier. Doesn't mean it's not real. Try things. Weird things. Dangerous things, if you have to—just don't tell Papa I said that."
Zorya looked at him.
"You really think it's... mine?"
He nodded. "You felt it, didn't you? Then it's yours."
She turned her face to the wind, letting the salt and sunlight wrap around her.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't powerless.
Maybe her magic wasn't like the others'.
Maybe it was stranger.
But it was hers.