Mira had always felt a strange pull toward the temple ruins. It was an ancient structure, long abandoned, swallowed by time and the creeping embrace of the forest. Yet, it stood defiant—its stone walls weathered but unyielding, its foundations buried deep in the earth like the roots of a forgotten past.
She had visited the place many times as a child, but it had always been just that—a curiosity, a place to play, to imagine. Now, standing at its threshold as an adult, something was different. The air shimmered with an energy she couldn’t explain, as if the ruins were whispering, calling to her in a language just beyond her understanding.
It had started with the dreams. For weeks, she had been waking in the dead of night, breathless, her heart racing. Always the same vision—flames dancing upon stone, voices chanting in a forgotten tongue, a heavy weight pressing upon her chest as if something unseen was waiting. Watching.
At first, she dismissed it. A trick of the mind, a consequence of exhaustion. But then the signs began appearing in the waking world—a shadow flitting at the edge of her vision, a chill passing through her even in the warmth of the sun, whispers in the wind that carried her name.
It was not fear she felt. It was something far more dangerous–recognition.
And so, she had come.
Mira stepped across the threshold, her fingers trailing along the crumbling stones. The scent of damp earth and moss filled her lungs, grounding her in the present. The temple’s once-grand entrance stood before her, its heavy doors long fallen, the carvings along its frame worn and fading. She traced a symbol absentmindedly—a sun enclosed in a spiral. A flicker of memory stirred in the back of her mind, but it was gone before she could grasp it.
A gust of wind howled through the ruins, carrying with it a voice, low and insistent.
“Mira…”
She froze. The sound was not imagined. It was real. And it was waiting.
The dream was no longer just a dream.
The past was waking.
