CHAPTER 1
ARIA
The headache was brutal.
It started as a dull pressure behind my eyes—nothing unusual, just the kind of thing you think will fade with a nap or water.
But it didn’t fade. It grew.
Fast.
The throbbing turned into pounding. Every pulse slammed behind my eyes like a drumbeat, shaking something loose inside my skull.
I could feel it building—louder, harder, like someone was trapped there, trying to claw their way out.
By the time I stumbled through the hospital doors, I could barely keep my balance.
Everything was too bright.
Too loud.
My feet dragged like they didn’t know how to move anymore.
“Miss, are you alright?” a voice called—female, worried.
A nurse, maybe.
I couldn’t really tell.
“I think… I need help,”
I whispered.
Or tried to.
My voice didn’t even sound real.
Thin.
Hollow.
Like it was coming from somewhere far away.
Then the walls started to shift.
Or maybe it was just me.
The floor dropped out under my feet, and the hallway stretched like something in a dream.
My vision blurred at the edges, colours bleeding together. Everything was melting.
And then came the pain—sharp and sudden. Like a knife through the middle of my head.
And after that—nothing.
Just black.
No sound. No movement. Not even the weight of my body.
And then… a buzz.
Faint at first.
Electrical.
Mechanical.
It pressed against the silence, steady and low, like the hum of a machine left running in an empty room.
I started to come back slowly. Not all at once—more like rising up from something thick and cold.
I couldn’t move.
My arms were too heavy, my legs too stiff. I was lying on something hard and cold. Not a bed.
A table, maybe?
The air smelled sharp—like metal and disinfectant. Hospital air.
The buzzing was louder now.
Not far away.
Right next to me.
Something wasn’t right.
My eyes fluttered open again.
The ceiling above me curved.
Dim lights traced along its edges.
I was inside something—enclosed.
Trapped?
MRI, my brain supplied sluggishly.
Padded headphones clung to my ears.
A voice came through them—distorted, distant, but trying to sound calm.
“Aria? You fainted earlier. You’re in the MRI now. Just lie still. We’re running a few quick scans to rule out anything serious.”
I wanted to speak, to respond, but my throat was dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I swallowed and tried again, but nothing came out.
The machine thrummed again. A ticking noise started up—click-click-click—as if something inside it was shifting. The light above me flickered.
The world tilted. The hum pressed into my skull. I could feel it vibrating behind my eyes.
My vision pulsed in sync with the sound.
And then—
Silence.
No hum.
No clicks.
No voice.
The lights inside the machine flickered once and then went out.
The air turned still, like something holding its breath.
Darkness wrapped around me.
I don’t know how long I was there.
Seconds?
Minutes?
It felt like time stopped.
I blinked again, hoping the lights would return.
They didn’t.
But then—
Light.
Not the pale, artificial glow of hospital fluorescents. This was sunlight—natural, golden, warm.
My eyes widened.
I sat upright with a gasp.
I wasn’t in the hospital.
I wasn’t even inside anymore.
The air smelled different—sharper, cleaner. Faintly metallic.
I was standing on a sleek terrace in front of a building made of black reflective panels.
The skyline beyond it stretched impossibly far, filled with strange buildings and quiet hovercrafts zipping soundlessly through the too-blue sky.
“What the—” I breathed, spinning around.
A digital sign above the automatic doors lit up:
BIOLOGICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE.
Below it, smaller words scrolled by:
Internship Assistant: Aria Edwards –
Entry Day One.
My name.
I looked down.
Gone was the hospital gown.
In its place: a white lab coat over grey slacks and polished black boots.
A lanyard hung around my neck with an ID badge clipped to it.
Name: Aria Edwards
Position: Internship Assistant
Date: March 19, 2125
Division: Experimental Neurogenetics
2125?
My hands trembled.
“This isn’t possible,”
I muttered, stumbling back until I bumped against the glass railing behind me.
A hundred years?
No. No, no, no.
This had to be a dream.
A hallucination.
Something was triggered by the MRI.
A neural misfire, maybe.
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them hard.
“Wake up, Aria. You’re still in the MRI,” I whispered.
“This isn’t real.”
But it felt real.
The wind against my skin, the smell of sterilised air and ozone, the distant buzz of energy through the ground beneath my feet—it was all too real.
“Excuse me?”
I jumped.
A man stood just outside the entrance, clipboard in one hand, an e-tablet in the other.
Tall.
Neatly dressed.
Calm, like this was all perfectly normal.
“You must be the new intern,” he said with a polite smile.
“Aria Edwards, right?”
I blinked at him.
“Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
“Great. I’m Dr. Kieran Voss, your department supervisor. You’re with Division 3—Neurogenetics and Temporal Studies.”
My brain stalled.
“Temporal… what?”
“Temporal Studies,” he repeated, already turning toward the doors.
“Come on. Orientation starts in ten minutes. And we don’t like to keep Dr. Sorelle waiting.”
Wait. What?
I followed him without deciding to, my legs moving automatically.
Temporal Studies?
“Dr. Voss—Kieran,” I called, trying to keep pace.
“This is going to sound insane, but I think there’s been a mistake.”
He glanced back, amused.
“You’re not the first one to say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Many interns say strange things on their first day. The neural orientation process tends to scramble short-term memory. It fades within a few hours.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I said urgently. “I was in an MRI. In 2025. There was a
Blackoutt. And then… I woke up here.”
He stopped, studying me.
For a moment, he just looked at me—really looked. Then, with unsettling calm, he said,
“Interesting.”
“That’s it?” I said.
“That’s all you have to say?”
His expression didn’t change.
“Let’s get inside.”
Inside, the building was even more surreal. The floors responded to our steps.
The walls changed colour when brushed by a hand. Elevators moved sideways as well as up.
Everything buzzed with silent, humming intelligence.
People in augmented lenses moved between stations.
Lab equipment glowed softly.
Everything gleamed.
Everything breathed.
We stopped at a door:
Division 3 – Lead: Dr. Sorelle Hayne.
Kieran knocked once and stepped in.
A woman looked up from a glowing display. Her hair was streaked with silver, twisted back with precise care.
Her eyes locked onto me with unsettling focus.
“You’re late,” she said.
Kieran answered smoothly.
“Power fluctuation on the arrival floor. This is Aria Edwards, our new assistant.”
She looked me over. “Sit.”
I sat.
“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“I don’t even know how I’m here.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Medical student, top of your class in 2025. Participated in a synthetic neuro-interface project. Strong aptitude for cognitive mapping. Exceptional data retention. You’re precisely the candidate we needed.”
I shook my head.
“But I didn’t apply for anything. I didn’t even know this place existed.”
“Few do,” she said crisply.
“This institute does not belong to any known registry. You were selected through a classified quantum scan sequence triggered by the blackout event.”
I stared. “A what?”
Kieran spoke gently.
“Temporal rift. Your blackout was a convergence moment. Rare, but not unheard of.”
“You’re saying I was… pulled here? Through time?”
Dr. Hayne nodded.
“The human brain leaves temporal echoes during moments of high electrical disruption. You were caught in one. A neural bridge formed.”
“I didn’t consent to any of this.”
“You didn’t need to,” she said flatly.
“But you’re here. And now you have two choices: Stay and contribute to the most advanced biological research on the planet—or return, memory wiped, and forget this ever happened. You won’t be able to come back.”
My heart thundered.
I could go back. Pretend none of this happened. Or… stay.
In the year 2125.
In a lab studying temporal rifts.
I looked at Kieran. His eyes met mine, no longer amused—just still.
Steady. Serious.
I looked back at Dr. Hayne.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
But I was.
And somehow, I felt like I was meant to do something with it.
“I’m a medical student,” I said.
“I came here by accident, but I can’t walk away from this. If I can help—I want to.”
For the first time, Dr. Hayne smiled. Just a flicker.
“Good.”
Kieran handed me the tablet.
“Welcome to the Institute, Aria.”
I took it. My fingers were shaking, but I held it tight.
I sat on the edge of the pristine examination bed, my feet dangling above the glossy white floor.
The room was eerily quiet—too quiet—except for the soft hum of unseen machinery and the occasional beep from the wall-mounted monitors.
The scent of antiseptic stung my nose, sharp and sterile. Despite the artificial warmth of the room, a cold shiver skated down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore the rising discomfort.
Across the room, a man in a white lab coat stood facing a glowing holographic screen, the light casting a faint shimmer on his skin. He looked young—early thirties maybe—tall, with dark hair that curled slightly at the edges and sharp, intelligent eyes that flicked across the floating data like he was solving some ancient puzzle.
My data.
He turned toward me, his expression unreadable.
"Miss Aria Edwards, right?" he asked.
I nodded quickly, the knot in my stomach tightening.
"Yes. Are the scans all right? Did something come up?"
He offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"Nothing alarming. But your physiology is... unusual. Fascinating, really."
My brow furrowed.
"Unusual how?"
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he crossed the room and handed me a glass filled with a pink, creamy liquid.
It shimmered faintly, like someone had dropped a sliver of pearl into strawberry milk.
"This is a nutritional supplement we administer to new interns. Helps with the smooth transition," he said, voice calm and precise.
"Smooth transition."
I hesitated, staring down at the drink.
"Is this required?"
"It’s highly recommended," he said, and there was an edge to his voice now, soft but firm.
"You fainted earlier. This will help stabilise your vitals."
Fainted?
I remembered feeling lightheaded, but… I swallowed the protest and took a tentative sip.
The taste caught me off guard—sweet, smooth, with hints of vanilla and something floral I couldn’t place.
It melted on my tongue like it belonged there.
Instantly, warmth flooded my body, spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes, chasing away the cold.
"That’s... surprisingly good," I murmured.
"Told you," he said, with a small, knowing smile.
"I’m Dr. Justin. I’ll be overseeing your internship.
Welcome to the Biological Research Institute."
...
The days that followed blurred together—long, sterile hours stitched with routine tests and quiet dread.
Every morning, without fail, I was called back to the med bay. Blood draws. Reflex checks. Endless scans.
They told me it was standard protocol.
“Routine,” they said with tired smiles. But I never saw anyone else from the intern group in there.
Not once.
By the end of the week, the unease had started to settle in my bones. I couldn’t keep pretending it was normal.
So the next morning, as I rolled my sleeve back down and stepped into the common area, I spotted Mia near the coffee dispenser and decided to ask.
We weren’t exactly close—just two interns who’d exchanged a few awkward smiles and traded names on the first day—but something about her seemed approachable.
Kind, even.
And I needed to talk to someone.
“Hey, Mia,” I called, forcing a small smile as I joined her.
“How’s your morning?”
She looked up from her coffee, a little surprised but polite.
“Oh. Good, I guess. You?”
I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual.
“Same. Just came from the med bay. Again.”
“Again?” she echoed, adjusting her glasses.
I nodded.
“Yeah. They’ve had me coming in every morning since orientation. Vitals, tests, blood work… the whole thing.”
Mia’s brow furrowed.
“Really? That’s… weird. I only had the basic entry screening on day one.”
Her reaction wasn’t accusatory—just genuinely confused.
That somehow made it worse.
I gave a soft laugh, pretending not to care.
“Huh. Guess I’m just lucky, then. Maybe they flagged something in my chart.”
Mia didn’t laugh.
She gave a tight, uncertain smile and quickly busied herself with her mug, murmuring something about a meeting.
Then she walked off—faster than necessary.
I stood there for a moment, the chill from the med bay still clinging to my skin.
Something wasn’t right.
And now I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
Then there was the milk.
Always pink.
Always waiting in the staff lounge fridge with my name handwritten on a label.
I had assumed everyone drank it.
Every morning, without fail, Dr. Justin would glance at it and remind me:
"Your supplement. Consistency is key."
It wasn’t until one afternoon that I realised how wrong I was.
I spotted Lewis, one of the other interns, pouring a clear, water-like liquid into a cup.
"That's your supplement?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, glancing over with a shrug.
"Tastes like nothing. Why?"
I looked down at my opaque pastel drink.
"Mine’s... different."
He squinted at it.
"You sure it’s the same stuff?"
I didn’t answer.
That was around the time I noticed the looks.
Glances, more like—brief and careful, like they were all waiting for something to happen.
Watching me without ever quite saying it.
The friendliness was still there, on the surface.
But underneath, there was distance. Polite walls.
Then came the west corridor.
I hadn’t meant to find it, just wandered while waiting for my next assignment. The hallway ended at a wide cryo-display, seamlessly built into the wall.
And inside, frozen and suspended, were massive wings.
Dragon wings.
They stretched nearly the height of the case—scaled, membranous, tipped with claws.
I stared, breath caught in my throat.
They were... beautiful.