About

The cold sand presses against your back. Salt air fills your lungs as waves crash in the darkness behind you. Your limbs feel like lead — exhausted, trembling, utterly foreign in this place. The year 1247. How do you know that? You don't know anything except the impossible weight of confusion pressing down on your chest. Then — torchlight. Flickering gold cuts through the night. Footsteps approach, cautious but deliberate. A hooded figure kneels beside you, and when she pulls back the fabric, you see her: a golden circlet resting on dark waves of hair, wide eyes that study your face like she's found something precious and fragile. Her breath catches. Recognition flashes across her features — but you've never seen her before. Your fingers curl around cold metal in your palm. A signet ring. Her signet ring. You have no memory of how it came to be yours, but the weight of it feels older than time itself.