It was the grandest wedding Arya has ever seen. The palace, which was once a gray slab of stone with windows, burst with colors. Woven banners streamed from the spires, arcing downward to the lesser ones. Flowers of every color lined the roofs, the sills, and the cobbled paths in the courtyard.

Carriages pulled inside, dropping off richly dressed people, each more sparkly than the last. Arya sifted through the crowd, having been brought directly into the midst of bodies and garlands. The carpet on the floor didn't sink under her footsteps, telling her enough about her presence in this dreamworld. She glided through the masses, noting the wide smiles, the excited bounce in most of the people's steps, and the beaming sparkle seemingly scattered in the air.

Just after showing her a gruesome death of a friend, this joyous occasion felt out of place. Good job on that, dreamworld.

Arya's heart wrenched at the thought of Eury's death. Even in sleep, it wasn't ebbing away from her memory, not when her brain was as active as this.

There must be a reason why Arya saw this particular scene on this particular day. The dreams warned her about Eury. It confirmed something she had only speculated for so long. Against all odds, Arya was connected to the girl in her dream. They have the same red hair, the same eyes, the same fate. They met the same people, lost the same ones too. As much as Arya was scared to admit it, this girl could only be her past life. Against all rational belief and logic, Arya was a fae's reincarnation, a figment of old in another place, in another time.

So, why in Ouine's Socks was everything happening again? If Arya looked at it, everything had been going the same way since she met Norren. She met Norren, ended up caring about him more than she ever thought it would, and now...what's next? Would she marry Norren and become part of the elite class? No way in hell. That's why she broke it off with him in the first place.

Arya paused. She broke it off with him. She did something different. They're not together and getting married would be the last thing on their heads after that. So that raised the question: would it proceed the same way now that she was away from Norren as much as possible?

Her thoughts flew back to Eury. The circumstances had been different but the outcome was the same. Perhaps, she and Norren wouldn't end up together like how the girl and the prince did but there was something else that's common with them. Something that Arya seemed to be missing.

Hence the dream. Hence the need to know how it ended. Perhaps through that, she would also find out why she was chosen to be the next life. Maybe.

Arya tore off her attention on the guests and wandered away from the ballroom the dream dropped her into. The smaller corridors blurred in her memory as they shifted and glitched. This dreamworld made sense as much as it didn't anyway.

What other thing tied her and Norren into this whole madness? The wedding. Something about the wedding. It clicked. Of course, it's the wedding. This was the Old Kingdom, right? Fae weren't treated as people in this era. These were the times filled with violence against anyone who wasn't human. Fae killings were normal. Owning fae slaves were allowed. What has changed? What had happened for the whole empire to suddenly welcome a fae in their midst, much less be married to their prince?

Prince...

Arya must have been distracted at how he looked so much like Norren she forgot she didn't know what his name was. If she could just figure out which bloodline he belonged to, perhaps she could find it in the history records. Then again, most information about the Old Kingdom was either written by the Palendral or the New Civils Council. Both weren't exactly pure or trustworthy in keeping facts straight.

So, next step to the plan: figure out the time period of this debacle.

She hadn't an inkling on how she was to proceed with that, though.

A shadow slithered in her periphery. She turned to find a dim corridor bending away from the present one she was in. It wasn't anywhere she had been but something pulled her into it. When she glided there, she came upon a congregation of robed men and women, each one bent over piles of papers. Their mouths moved, their brows creased, and their arms waved in frantic gestures. All of this was happening on the same day as the wedding? Arya didn't think so. This might be one of the many nights leading to it, though. Replaying over and over, trying to get through Arya.

She burst through the door, grateful for the muted silence of the dream and her virtual presence in it. The room was small, almost like a wine cellar. Light only came through the small window in one of the walls. The stables were visible from there. A meeting done in secret, in a place where no one would dare look through. This was what it was.

The people inside the cellar now argued about something the papers said but no words reached Arya's ears. Dreams might be visual but it sure lucked out on the auditory department. So, she pushed through the quarreling bodies and glanced down at the table. As expected, the information on the paper was gibberish, either in a lost script from the time period or because this was a dream and dreams were known for having zero sense.

Still, one inked headline caught her eye. One of the people tapped a finger against it as if pointing it out to her. When she looked over, she could read it. But that didn't mean she liked what it said.

Charter for the Civil Rights of Fae.

Civil Rights and Fae should never be found in the same sentence but here it was. On an Old Kingdom edict. No wonder these people were angry. Then...it all clicked.

Of course. This was the Old Kingdom, meaning the fae weren't treated citizens of any empire just yet. They shared borders with Lezeris Empire, a kingdom built by human hands, so this must have been in Rosewall, its capital city and seat of power. And if it was in Rosewall, then...

It was anywhere near the bloodline of at least three monarchs. Arya cursed herself for not paying much attention during history class back in secondary school. Who were those Kings who paid closer attention to the fae? Uh....there was the le Marxion bloodline and the den Fürshter dynasty. But there was another. Something about...

If she could gasp in dreams, she would have. The je Clair bloodline. The last King of Lezeris. So that means this whole thing was in the time of Raien je Clair's reign. And if she's remembering correctly, the prince at that time was...

Eliott je Clair.

This must be the Court, the one responsible in passing such edicts. Arya wasn't huge on politics but they must have been driven to a corner for them to act out like this. Meeting in secret, planning something while the rest of the kingdom was preparing for the wedding.

Arya's thoughts screeched into a halt when they latched to that particular thread. The wedding. It was such a monumental event considering it marked the first time a fae was set to become the future Queen of the human empire. It was easy to think of it as sacrilege. Humans were prideful creatures, more so then than now. They wouldn't let this pass.

And if they couldn't touch the prince, who was one of their own, then they'd touch the one person they could.

The fae.

Something flickered in Arya's periphery once more. She turned to see a lone figure slipping past the arguing people, stepping out of the room in a series of hunkered but quick steps. She tracked the figure through tight alleys and dingy backdoors. A tavern crept into view. The figure slinked into a seat and removed the hood covering his face.

A man with rugged features tumbled into view. Arya might as well have sat in front of him considering how bright his amber eyes shone and how prominent the gap between his front teeth were. From his belt, he produced a bag of coins and tossed it into the table. Meaty hands with no faces grasped at it with a greed Arya had seen all too well in bent merchants.

Information was the most likely trade. But other than that, it could be an anonymous labor force. If this man, who was a member of the Court, planned to hurt someone close to the prince, it would be best if it wouldn't be traced back to him.

Before Arya could make sense of the silent transaction, the sequence shook and shifted, bringing her back to the grand ballroom. Wait, what happened in the tavern? She had to go back there! The sound of bells tolling roared in her ears despite most of her dreams having no sound. She reached out but the dreams dragged her back to the palace. Wait—

The bland ceiling greeted her. Rumpled sheets were clenched in her hands. Sweat poured from her face, her neck, and her back. Damn. She was so damn close to finding out how that man did it. How he...

Wait, that man?

Arya racked her memory to be able to pull up an image of a man with amber eyes, rugged features, a dangerous smile, and a gap between his front teeth. Gap.

Without missing a beat, she stumbled out of bed and dashed to the living room. Cornelia, who had been busy frying an egg on a skillet, turned just in time for Arya to barrel straight into the low table.

"Blazes and Bridges, what do you think you're doing so early in the morning?" her aunt demanded as Arya began pulling out random fliers and business ads stuck on the lower rung of the table. Come on, there must be some sort of directory showing the Council members' faces. Didn't they print those out and shoved it into everyone's faces after the election?

"What, no answer for me?" Cornelia said again, bringing her smoking pan back to the gentle fire by the stove. It was a technology meant for human use and Arya still thought condensing air inside a metal canister that could explode any time was a bad idea.

Arya jumped to her feet, breathless. Her hair was probably in tatters and sleep hasn't quite left her eyes still. "Directory," she blurted, gaze darting around for any traces of the prints from her vague memory. "Council directory. Do we have one?"

Cornelia's expression morphed into a confused look. "Why in hell are you looking for that?" she said. "Just sit down and eat. You'll be late for work."

At the mention of the one place reminding her too much of Eury, Arya flinced. "I'm not going," she said. "I'll look for another job. Maybe. Council Directory. We have one. I think."

Her aunt, thankfully, didn't press. After stumbling back to the flat that day and crying until morning in Cornelia's arms, Arya was better off standing on her two feet and looking for council directories.

"If you're looking for the one they handed after the election," Cornelia said. "I think I used them in wrapping up the vegetables."

Arya had never trudged past her aunt and towards the cupboards. She began yanking at the doors, slamming them shut when they yielded jars of spices or trays of eggs. The vegetables were behind the fourth door she tried. There, the thin paper of the prints hugged the green stalks and blanketed carrots and cabbages.

Ignoring Cornelia's shouting from behind, Arya unraveled every sheet she could find and placed them flat against the kitchen counter. At least her aunt had been right. The faces of the present Council members were in full view, albeit crumpled and distorted after kissing the vegetables.

There was Norren, whose portrait looked like a watered-down version of himself. Arya forced herself to look away and search for a man with a gap on his front teeth. It was impossible to tell if he had amber eyes because of the grayscale the prints have so that's out of the options. She would have to rely on her instincts to tell which one.

On the lower right corner. There. Arya picked the torn page up, bringing the portrait closer to her face. The rugged features. The sly smile like he owned the world after merely winning a position in the Council. Her eyes widened as a gasp flitted out of her lips. The gap on the front teeth. After all these lives and years, he still hadn't figured out how to hide it.

She read the name printed below the portrait.

Hugh Grottway.

That's it. This was the man who was supposed to hurt her and Norren. Arya's heart skipped a beat. Of course. Norren. She had to tell him.

She dashed to the wirebooth, earning more confused blubbering from Cornelia. ("Why are you running around? Eat your breakfast!") She grabbed the handle and placed the speaker to her ear. The bell-shaped receiver waited a few inches from her lips. Her fingers were about to dial Norren's wire address when she paused.

What was she doing anyway? What was she supposed to tell him? That one of his colleagues was planning something and she just happened to know it? No. He's going to think of her like she had gone crazy. Besides, hasn't she resolved to never show up in front of him again? She would just need to solve this quietly without being involved with Norren. There's no need to tell him.

So, she hung the handle back into the booth and trudged back to her room. "I'm going back to sleep!" she told her aunt. Poor Cornelia's going to faint at how weird Arya must have been like to her.

The door to her room creaked shut and she threw herself back into bed. She relaxed her limbs and got comfortable. Sleep. She has to fall asleep if she was to dream once more. The dream's end—she's got to see it.

Minutes and hours passed. Arya was wide awake.

An irritated groan rumbled in her throat. She sat up, shoved her fingers into her hair, and pulled. Why couldn't she sleep? Right. Maybe because it's the middle of the day or that she missed breakfast and she was hungry.

But...how was she supposed to force herself to dream? She couldn't wait any more considering Hugh Grottway might be already moving against Norren. And that damn thing connecting her and Norren to the past. It was this. The movements advancing the rights of the fae.

Arya's shoulders shook as a bitter laugh caught in her throat. How sick and twisted was her fate? Of course, it was never going to be just the both of them. This was all about something bigger, something neither of them had anything to do with but had everything they could and would lose.

She turned her attention to the curtains drawn shut over her window. She swung her legs off the bed and strode towards it. When she drew the curtains back, dust and sunlight speared into her room. Just like that, the busy city of Aldermere spread out from her like a mechanical carpet.

Her eyes looked at nothing and everything at the same time. As always, buildings competed with each other to see who could reach the sky first. There's the Civil Hall whose pointed spires were visible even through the haze of thick pillars of smoke from the production sites. There was also the old bell tower as part of the few relics from the Old Kingdom. Then, there was the elite houses, the museums, the Postal Quarters—

Wait. Bell tower. Arya's eyes fell on the shadow of a tall, rectangular structure jutting past the layer of red brick houses and low-lying buildings. Wasn't there a bell tower in the dreams? Where the girl and the prince used to meet before they got married? Was that the same belltower?

Arya did think the tower was calling to her when she passed by countless times on her way to work. But would going there work? Would it induce the dreams like a magic solution? Maybe. When was the first time she had started seeing her past life? It was after she went into Barnholdt and met Norren.

Was it Norren, then? Was their meeting the one that sparked everything?

A gasp flew out of Arya's lips as she let go of the curtains. The painting. She didn't get to know who commissioned it but if it's from the Old Kingdom, then it must have touched the girl and the prince at some point in their lives. A connection to the past—that's what it was.

Seeing that painting awakened the dreams. So, if she was supposed to find a way to go in and out of the dreamworld at will, she needed to find more things touched by the long-lost empire.

Arya gritted her teeth. The bell tower, then.

It's time.