Thirteen

When she entered the room, it was silent, untouched.

The curtains were still drawn, golden light spilling across the floor in broad, careless strokes that defied the heaviness anchoring her chest. The air hung still, thick with memory.

The room was flooded with color, each hue a reflection of the countless moments spent inside, alive with memories. Little sprouts of green spilled everywhere—the soft sage of the embroidered cushions she'd practiced conjuring, the deep forest of leaves scattered across the floor, the creeping vines she'd once thought would die in the corner but had thrived instead, curling up the walls as if they, too, refused to let go.

For the first time, she tried to see the room through his eyes.

What had he seen when he stood here, all those moments etched into the air? Had he ever noticed the way the light shifted across the room at dusk, how it made everything look like it was fading? What had he imagined when he sat in his frame, letting his thoughts wander? Did he notice the remnants of her in every charred piece of wood, every rumpled cushion, every forgotten book left behind?

She stepped further in, the floor creaking faintly beneath her feet. Every object in the room pulsed. Waiting. Bracing for the silence to shatter.

And then, her gaze fell on the portrait.

It hung where it always had, half-shrouded in shadow and mystery. But now—now she knew.

Her breath caught. She took another step.

She stopped just before the painting, met by his gaze—already waiting.

She opened her mouth, struggling to find the right words. She knew she should speak first, was willing to talk it through, but her throat kept catching, swallowing words she wasn’t even sure she could say.

He seemed to understand. His eyes were distant. Guarded. But he waited, giving her the space to collect herself.

Her tongue felt thick and dry, a bead of sweat slipping down her face. Her pulse raced, but she forced her mouth open and let out a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me,” she said, her voice wavering. “But I won’t apologize for what I said last time.”

His shoulders tensed, eyes shifting to a point just beyond her. The silence stretched between them, taut and pressing.

Her hands gripped the edges of her sleeves as she braced herself. “I know who you are, Rovin.”

He clenched his eyes shut, his breath caught for a heartbeat, before he opened them, locking onto hers with a quiet acceptance in the depths of his gaze.

“You’re Rovin Artten, rightful heir to the sixth noble house, master of time, and the one who follows the threads of fate.”

He exhaled slowly, the sound thick with the burden of it all.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“You’re a Timekeeper,” she confirmed.

“I was a Timekeeper,” he corrected, his voice edged with something darker—regret, perhaps, or a loss too heavy to place.

She frowned, confusion flickering across her features. “You’re not anymore?”

He shook his head, a grim resignation in his eyes. “I’m not sure. I haven’t had access to my powers ever since I got here.”

Her brow furrowed. “So you really are a sixth noble.”

He nodded, his expression tired, as though the weight of his title, his history, pressed down on his bones.

“There was a time when my family ruled the throne,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a quiet reverence for the past. “I am the son of Renil Artten and Direne Mane, heir to the Artten family, master of time, like you said.”

He faltered, as though searching for the right words, unsure how to continue. “Our powers are… delicate. Tricky. As Keepers of Time, it is our duty to safeguard the timeline, ensuring its stability. Through us, the timeline begins, ends, then begins again. Over and over. And it went on like that for years. Centuries.

“But…” he paused, his gaze flickering between her eyes. “There’s always a risk—a cost—when we use our powers to maintain it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes wide with disbelief. “So,” she said slowly, “it’s the same timeline, from start to finish?”

He shook his head, the words slipping past his lips with effort.

“Not exactly.”

He glanced away, fingers twitching as if to grasp at something he couldn’t reach. “Some choices leave a mark,” he murmured, voice low. “If it’s significant enough—that mark—it carries over. Spreads through each new version of the timeline, until it becomes something fixed. Something that can’t be undone.”

He hesitated, lips pressing together as he considered his next words. “But most of the time…” His eyes flicked to hers, searching for something. “Most of the time, those choices are too small. Too fleeting to alter the original course.”

“So, your family,” she asked, her voice steady but sharp, “you’re not adopted?” Her words came quickly, laced with confusion, her gaze expectant.

He took a slow breath, his eyes unfocused, as if lost in a distant memory. His hands clenched into fists, the muscles in his arms coiled tight.

“No,” he rasped. “In the last timeline, that’s where everything fractured. We knew our family’s rule would be taken from us. I was separated from my parents to… ‘fix’ the timeline, by joining the family who would eventually steal the throne.”

Her expression softened as the truth settled. “The Verons.”

He nodded. “In the original timeline, they didn’t have the best reputation. No matter how hard they tried to be good, distrust always lingered. It was hard for people to trust them when their thoughts were never truly their own, when it could always be heard by a Veron.

“So, the Verons stopped trying to be trusted. They changed. Soon, they were feared—known for their deceit, able to mask both truth and lies. Their powers began to shift, growing darker, more dangerous.”

“How did it shift?” Arrella asked, a chill creeping up her body, dread settling deep.

He stared at her, his gaze intense. “They could conceal other powers.”

Her legs buckled, and she crumpled to the floor.

“Did you know?” she choked out, her voice trembling. “That my powers were hidden from me?”

“Yes.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising as she drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, a dull throb pounding in her head.

“They can also hide other truths,” he continued, cautiously, his tone measured. She could feel his gaze on her, unwavering. “They draw people in by masking their worries with other emotions. Reassurance. Peace. Kinship. It’s how the king has controlled the court all this time.”

She lifted her face, her gaze sharp. “It’s falling apart now, though. The rebellion is growing.”

He shook his head, his expression tense. “No, the rebellion has always been part of the timeline. It was why I was sent to be part of the Veron family.”

Her eyes narrowed, shadowed with confusion as she leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you find it strange that the timeline always resets at the same point?” His voice was low, eyes sharp, as if expecting her to piece together something elusive.

She shifted, a flicker of unease in her expression. “I suppose, but every timeline must have an end, right?”

His posture sagged, but his eyes stayed fixed, resolute. “Not exactly. There’s always a beginning, but the true timeline, the original one before all the shifts, never stopped existing. It’s still there, even now.”

He crouched down, his words settling between them, heavy with meaning.

“The world we’re in is just an extension of that timeline—one that changed so completely when someone discovered how to limit its reach. They found a way to preserve their memories with each reset and manipulate the timeline to maintain their keep themselves in power.”

Arrella’s breath caught as the pieces fell into place, her hands pressed against the floor, the cold biting into her skin.

"The Verons—" She stopped, eyes wide with dawning horror. "They didn't just conceal the truth, they used their powers to protect their memories from the resets. Every time the timeline shifted, they remembered. And twisted each version to keep themselves in power."

He nodded grimly.

“How many times has this timeline repeated itself?” she asked, her words sharp.

“Three.”

She gasped. “So you’ve already met me three times?”

He smiled sadly, the sorrow in his eyes deeper than she’d ever seen.

“I’ve met you in all the timelines.”

Her chest tightened, head spinning. The images bloomed in her mind—alternate lives where they met young, fell hopelessly in love, wandered the familiar castle halls, and lay together beneath the grand oak tree, untouched by the outside world.

“We met when we were fourteen,” he said, his voice carrying a bittersweet nostalgia.

A soft smile tugged at her lips, tinged with sorrow.

“You were such a brat,” he added.

She laughed, the sound light despite the heavy air. She was mesmerized by the playful twinkle in his eyes, even as sadness lingered there.

“But I was an even bigger one,” he said, a sweet smile ghosting his lips. His voice dipped, barely rising above a breath, like the words might slip away if he held them too long.

“Always yanking on your curls, trying to get your attention, the only way I knew how.”

His eyes turned wistful, voice thickening as he continued, “Then one day, I made you cry. It hurt me so badly, all I wanted was to rip my heart out and offer it to you—fragile, foolish, beating only for your forgiveness. Anything to undo what I had done.

“I hated myself, so so much, for being the one who put those tears in your eyes.”

His intense gaze faded to something more vulnerable.

“I was a huge idiot,” he murmured. “Immature. Young but in love with the most beautiful girl, with the kindest soul, and didn’t know how to tell her.” He gave a crooked smile, a little sheepish. “You didn’t talk to me for a month. To someone so hopelessly in love, it was torture.”

His laugh was soft, eyes crinkling, breathing in a moment only he could still see.

“But I kept trying,” he said. “Kept trying to apologize, to make it right. I was a fool, but I was a determined one.” He huffed a small, rueful laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I was lucky enough to get a chance when you agreed to be my date for Aiden and Jan’s coming-of-age celebration.”

His eyes sparkled with a mix of fondness and mischief. “I was the luckiest man alive. All evening, we danced and talked and laughed—until the whole night felt like it belonged to us. And then, in that little alcove by the stairs, I finally kissed you.”

She couldn't help but smile at the memory, her heart fluttering at the thought. She imagined his face, covered in darkness, illuminated only by the dusky glow of silver light seeping through the tiny window, wearing that familiar goofy grin—wide, unabashed, and full of warmth. Their first kiss would have been so clumsy. Awkward. But then would kiss again. And again. And each one would have been steadier, more sure, with a deeper tenderness. Small promises—silent vows whispered between them—of something more, something unspoken but understood.

“That became our kissing spot.”

She laughed, blushing as she met his mischievous gaze.

“We were happy, young, and in love.” His voice softened. “I asked you to marry me.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “And I said yes,” she guessed, breathless.

He nodded, his eyes glistening, a sad smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “We married at my coronation, the day you were named Head Counselor.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing as she looked down at the ground, fingers brushing against the rough stone floor. That was just like this timeline, she thought, except she was engaged to Aiden, not Rovin.

She exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing in confusion. "And then the timeline would reset?"

His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers twitching slightly, a sharp sadness darkening his expression. "That's the end."

She blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. "That’s it?"

"Sort of," he said, laughing bitterly. "Sometimes, we made it past the coronation, a few years after.”

He paused, his mouth pulled tight. “But then it would reset, as if nothing had ever happened.”

The air was thick with melancholy, wrapping around them like a heavy veil that couldn’t be lifted.

“It was weird, but I didn’t mind it at first,” he continued, his voice distant as he traced the edge of his cuffs. “I mean, I got to fall in love with you over and over again. And it was the best feeling in the world. Our powers…we don’t remember anything until our sixteenth birthday, so, until then, everything was new to me.”

He clenched his jaw, face hardening. “But then it grew tiring. I wanted more. I wanted to live an entire life with you. My whole life. The rest of my life. Not just for five short years. I wanted to have a family. Have children. See my grandchildren.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, dark with resolve. “It wasn’t enough. I started looking into the cause. What was the mark that made the timeline reset every time—on my coronation, on your induction? On our wedding?”

“It was because of the Verons.”

“Not quite. It was Eero Veron.”

She blinked rapidly, confusion masking her surprise. “Not Aiden?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly, the weight of the words heavy on his tongue. “Aiden is just as much of a pawn as we are. Eero, though... he’s a power-hungry noble, haunted by his past, his reputation. He wanted to control his fate, take the power that wasn’t his.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening as he recalled the memories. “He killed my parents enough times that, eventually, it became a permanent shift. In the last timeline, we never even met—you and I—and that’s because I was adopted by the Verons. It was the first time I tried to stop him.

“We grew up like a real family. But once my memories returned, I still ended up as king.” He paused, his voice tightening. “He disappeared for a while—left on Aiden’s birthday—and I never heard from him again. Not until my coronation.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “He’d been leading a rebellion, claiming my family’s power—my power—was something to fear. And on the day I was crowned... he killed me.”

Arrella sat in silence, tears slipping down her cheeks, silent as falling ash. She didn’t wipe them away.

“That was the first time I felt myself die.”

She flinched, sucking in a breath. “You’ve died… many times?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Because you saved me—every time after.”

She blinked, voice barely audible. “How?”

“Always using your powers to heal me, bring me back when I should’ve been gone, to twist fate in our favor. But you know the price for something like that.”

She had. It had been drilled into her since childhood—a lesson carved deep, long before she ever had powers to use.

“A life for a life.”

Rovin nodded, sorrow in his eyes. “Once I found out, I tried to stop it. In some timelines, I told you everything—about the end, about what was coming. We planned, tried everything we could to change it.”

He paused, eyes lowering. “But it was never enough to leave a mark.”

Arrella closed her eyes, her heart sinking deeper with each word, feeling as though the ground beneath her was slipping away.

“But then something shifted.” His voice faltered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“When the time came, instead of healing my wounds, you used your power for something else—something more powerful. A small mercy, I suppose, because for a brief moment, I forgot I was even alive. Forgot I was human. That I had a past.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes distant as he relived it. “Living in a loop with you was always beautiful—a gift. But the end… the end was always the most painful.”

His hands clenched slightly. “I grew a little mad towards it all. You saw that. You saw what it was doing to me—wanted to save me from myself this time.”

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears, but bright and clear as understanding settled in.

“I turned you into a painting,” she breathed. “I sealed you inside your portrait—the one of your coming-of-age.”

He dipped his chin. “But it backfired. Because there was no sixth noble family, no heir to ever take the throne. Eero was finally king.”

The room felt heavy, the silence stiff with a sense of hopelessness. Rovin shifted uneasily, eyes cast downward for a moment before meeting her gaze again.

"It didn’t last." He quickly continued, voice tight. "In the first version of the new timeline, you found me on your 18th birthday, and I told you everything. You joined the rebellion and overthrew the king.

“But we couldn’t have our happy ending because I was stuck in a portrait. I pushed you away, afraid of wasting your years, your life, sitting in an old room talking to a painting, even if I was real. You never came back after that, and I could only imagine what happened. It was the longest the timeline’s ever stretched—maybe 30 years went by before it reset."

He paused, his fingers curling into a fist. "It was the same the next time, except I never saw you again after you joined the rebels. And in the last one, I never saw you at all. That one stung.” He exhaled a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound hollow.

She frowned, her fingers trembling as she absently traced her tear-stained face. It wasn’t like her to suddenly stop seeing him. She knew she loved him too much to let anything come between them without a reason. Something must have happened. She just couldn’t place what.

Where had she gone during those lost years? What had she been doing?

Then, it clicked. Her breath caught as the pieces fell into place, one by one. Her eyes widened, and she knew. The journal—the mysterious journal—finally made sense. It wasn’t just some random collection of thoughts. It was from her. From her previous timelines.

She tried to recall what she had read—fragments of a curse, mentions of ways to break it. It all made sense. The journal held her findings, her discoveries. Likely passed down to the next Arrella Rumore, all to help set things in motion so that, in future timelines, she might finally have a chance to save him.

“And this one?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, her heart thundering in her ears. “What about the current timeline?”

His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unwavering.

“I saw you on your 18th birthday, but you ran before I could say anything.”

She remembered how captivated she had been by him, drawn to his soft beauty. But there had also been fear—a slight terror as intense waves of emotions rushed through her, not knowing why. Now it made sense—why he felt so familiar.

“You came back so cautious, so unlike the other timelines. It had been so long, I didn’t know how to be around you anymore—how much I could reveal, if you would run away.” He paused, his fingers brushing the edge of the frame, lost in thought. “I was so happy to see you again that I didn’t even care you couldn’t use your powers. I was content with just spending our days like that—with you reading by the fire with your daisies, or practicing your charms, while I basked in your company.

“But the fire in you never left,” he said, gaze piercing but warm. “It was just concealed, waiting to be uncovered the more you used your powers.”

She spoke quietly, thoughtful, “I only started using magic when I was with you, though.”

“You know why.” His words were steady, carrying the weight of truth.

“Because my life is connected to yours.” Her reply was a faint whisper, the realization settling between them.

Rovin nodded, his smile tinged with sadness. “You imbued so much of your powers in me, trying to save me, that it left a mark. Pretty beautiful, don’t you think?”

It was. Tragic, but beautiful nevertheless. She gave a small shrug, the gesture pulling one side of her lips into a faint smile.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything more?” she asked softly.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. “I was afraid you’d stop showing up. It was selfish, but I also thought you’d be happier with Aiden. He’s a good guy, he could make you happy. It wasn’t the perfect timeline, but it was peaceful again.”

“Then why reveal it now?” she asked, her eyes tracing his features as she waited, her voice steady but quiet, almost lost in the question.

“Because I’m a selfish man,” he murmured, his face open and vulnerable, the weight of his truth nearly breaking him. “And I can't stand the thought of you marrying another, believing I didn’t love you. That I still don’t love you.”

Her breath hitched, the air thick with his confession. The pounding in her ears grew louder, her heart drowning in happiness at the weight of his words.

“I love you, Arrella,” he continued, voice cracking. “I always have, through every life, through every timeline. My love for you has never changed, never faded.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she gasped, a delighted breath escaping her. Her chest loosened, the flood of emotions she had kept buried pouring out, spilling over in a rush.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, the words escaping her, a release she hadn’t realized she needed.

He beamed, glimpses of his teeth peeking out, his smile as warm as sunlight spilling across the ocean waves. The warmth of his gaze pulled her in like the tide, relentless and gentle all at once. It was more than she could bear, yet she welcomed it, sinking into it like the embrace of the deep sea, a promise that would carry her through every storm.

She stood up on shaky knees. "Can I touch you?"

He nodded, eyes twinkling, face almost shy. She moved closer to the portrait, the roaring over her ears never fading. He extended his palm, pressing it gently against the frame. She placed hers against his, feeling the cold, slick surface of the paint through her sweaty palms, the distance between them palpable and endless. But he was there.

A sudden heat surged from her chest, sharp and burning.

She gasped, feeling the world spin around her. Then, without warning, she was falling.

He pulled back, his voice breaking as he yelled her name over and over, pounding his fists against the frame, desperate to reach her.

She tried to glimpse his face, blinking through the blur of her vision. But her sight faltered, and the world slipped into darkness.