—When memory becomes prophecy
The study felt heavier than before.
Shawn sat motionless, his grandfather's words pressing down on him.
"Lucy was… remarkable," Elias said softly, his gaze distant, as though peering through the folds of memory.
"And to some, dangerous."
He leaned back, fingers absently tracing the rim of his untouched teacup.
"She wasn't meant to exist. Not like that."
Shawn narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Elias didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached for the book in Shawn's lap—the one on Meta I Ching Research—and turned its delicate pages until he stopped at a particular passage. He turned the book toward Shawn.
Shawn read aloud:
"When the unseen is glimpsed, the loop shifts. That which was lost begins again. The Riftborn must awaken."
A chill spread through him.
"What does this have to do with Lucy?"
Elias tapped the passage.
"In the turning of time, there are echoes," he said. "And some people… can hear them."
He paused, his voice steady but low.
"She didn't think it was metaphor. She believed it was real."
Shawn felt his throat tighten. "You mean… she was one of them?"
Elias's expression darkened, eyes unfocused, as if seeing something far beyond the present.
"She was the first I ever met."
Eighteen Years Earlier.
The memory came rushing back to Elias in vivid color, as if it had never left.
He'd been a young researcher then, part of the Meta Origin Society—an independent think tank studying the crossroads between ancient metaphysics and modern science.
Then, one evening, Lucy arrived.
No letter. No credentials. Just a quiet request to speak with the senior scholars.
But she carried a symbol.
Not just any mark—one burned into their memory forever: a V enclosed in a circle.
It pulsed faintly in the candlelight, as though drinking in the shadows around it.
At first, they dismissed her. Just another mystic. Maybe a harmless eccentric.
But Lucy didn't argue. She waited.
And then she said something they couldn't ignore.
She made a prediction.
A week later, a fire broke out in one of the archive rooms. Critical documents were lost.
But Lucy had warned them in advance—down to the exact shelf number and the sharp, chemical scent of the smoke.
That was when they began to listen.
Elias had stood in the back then, watching as the senior members bombarded her with questions.
Where did you learn this? How did you know?
Her answer never changed.
"Because I remember."
Back in the present, Elias exhaled slowly and rubbed his temple, as if the truth still pressed behind his eyes.
"Shawn, you have to understand… what she claimed should've been impossible."
Shawn's hands clenched on his knees. "What exactly did she say?"
"She spoke of things before they happened. Not just once—again and again. Then she told us something even harder to believe."
Elias lowered his voice.
"She said she had lived two lives."
Shawn blinked, unease flickering across his face.
"You mean… she thought she came from another timeline?"
Elias nodded slightly.
"A version of reality where she'd already lived it all."
Shawn parted his lips, but no words came.
"Sounds crazy, right?" Elias said gently.
Shawn hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"That's what everyone else thought?"
A faint smile touched Elias's lips. "But I didn't."
"Why?"
Elias leaned in, his voice softer now.
"Because it made a strange kind of sense. I'd felt it too—that pressure, like some unfinished thread tugging at my life. And because Lucy knew things about me no one could have known."
Shawn stiffened.
"Like what?"
Elias met his gaze.
"She knew the exact words my grandfather whispered to me as he died. Words I've never said aloud. Not to anyone."
A jolt shot through Shawn. Lucy had known.
Over time, Elias and Lucy had grown close.
He saw it in her eyes—she wasn't inventing stories.
She was remembering.
Reliving.
But the more she remembered, the more it seemed to weigh on her.
Then one night, she came to him with a warning.
"The loop is breaking."
She looked almost breathless—lit from within by something more than fear.
"Something's different this time," she said. "I don't know how or why. But I won't make it past this loop."
Elias refused to believe it. Told her she was wrong—had to be wrong.
But on April 24, 2013, she vanished.
No note.
No phone call.
No trace.
Shawn sat bolt upright.
"April 24?"
Elias nodded grimly.
"It was your birthday."
The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in.
The clock on the wall ticked louder—each second precise, deliberate.
Too exact.
Too intentional.
Could she have known? Chosen that day on purpose?
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
After a long silence, Elias reached into the old book with trembling fingers and drew out a outdated slip of parchment.
Shawn froze.
It was almost identical to the one his grandfather had once given him—
Same texture. Same age-softened weight.
But this one held no symbols. Only a poem:
Thread through silence, deep and wide,
Names forgotten, souls abide.
Not by blood, nor wound of time,
But Soul Kin stir to read the sign.
Nine the steps, and nine the Core—
Shadow flares where light burned before.
At Rift's Bridge, the Loop shall end—
Call my name, and time shall bend.
—Lucy
Shawn's breath caught.
He stared at the parchment, afraid it might vanish like a dream if he blinked.
Lucy.
The name meant nothing to him—yet it carried weight.
A strange, haunting gravity.
As if he should remember.As if it had been waiting for him.
The words stirred something deep—something buried.
"Not by blood, nor wound of time, but Soul Kin stir to read the sign…"
Soul Kin.
The term echoed in his mind like a half-remembered lullaby.
His eyes drifted to another verse:
"Nine the steps, and nine the Core—Shadow flares where light burned before."
Nine steps. Nine… Core?
A flicker of unease passed through him.
Were there nine Elemental Cores?
Was this poem a call to find them?
The verses offered no answers.
He read the final lines again:
"At Rift's Bridge, the Loop shall end—Call my name, and time shall bend."
Rift.
That word again.
It couldn't be coincidence.
This wasn't just poetry.
It was a message.
Elias's voice fell to a whisper as he looked at Shawn.
"She left this for you, Shawn. Not for me."
Shawn struggled to speak.
"But… why me?"
"I wish I knew," Elias said with a slow, weary exhale. "All I can say is—Lucy believed this moment would come. She said the next Riftborn would be born under a broken loop. And that you'd need to understand."
Shawn frowned. "Riftborn? What does that even mean?"
Elias hesitated.
Then, quietly:
"Someone who didn't just live inside the loop… but came from outside it."
Shawn looked down at the poem again.
The words swam before his eyes as a single thought gripped him:
If Lucy had seen the future…
Then she'd known this conversation would happen.
She'd left something behind.
For him.
A message.
A beginning.
A purpose.
Shawn looked up, a new resolve burning behind his eyes.
"What if she's still out there?"
Elias didn't respond immediately. He drew a sharp breath, caught off guard.
Shawn's thoughts surged.
If Lucy truly understood time—
Then maybe…she'd simply stepped outside the loop.