Chapter 8
It started with birds.
Not dying. Not attacking.
Leaving.
They flew south in spirals—thousands of them. Silent. Directionless. Confused.
I watched from the garden as they vanished into the distance.
Elias stood next to me, arms crossed, a slight furrow in his brow.
"That's not normal," he said.
I nodded. "Nope."
"Birds shouldn't be flying in packs like that."
"I agree."
"They're running."
"From what?"
He didn't answer.
But the hairs on the back of my neck answered for him.
That night, the sky turned violet.
Not pink. Not purple. Violet.
Too saturated. Too wrong.
The stars blinked out one by one. Not from clouds—just... gone.
I sat on the roof, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot wine, and muttering to the wind.
"The novel said the mana collapse started in year nine of the empire's drought."
This wasn't year nine.
This was year five.
I did the math again. Checked the date twice.
"Either I misread the original story," I whispered, "or my interference already broke the timeline."
The wind didn't answer.
But it changed direction.
Four times in a single hour.
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 8