The first omen

The rain fell in slow, rhythmic drops, pooling in the cracks of the pavement. A lone streetlamp flickered, casting long shadows across the empty road. Lucien Vale stood beneath it, his breath fogging in the cold night air. Something about this moment felt familiar—too familiar.

A sudden screech of tires tore through the silence.

Lucien’s head snapped toward the sound. A black car veered out of control, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin blades. Just ahead, a young woman stood frozen in place. The terror in her wide eyes sent a sharp jolt through Lucien’s chest.

His body moved on instinct. He reached for her, a name forming in his mind—Celeste.

The world around him cracked. Shattered.

Lucien gasped awake, his hands trembling. He sat up, heart pounding, struggling to steady his breath. His apartment was dark, save for the dim glow of the city outside his window. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake the lingering feeling of the dream. It wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt like something more.

He had never met this woman before. But deep in his bones, he knew her.

⸻

Morning light spilled through his curtains, but the unease from the dream still clung to him. He went about his day like usual—coffee, a walk through the city, work—but nothing felt real. The world around him seemed distant, like he was walking through a memory instead of reality.

And then, it happened.

Lucien had just stepped out of a bookstore when he saw her.

Celeste Moren.

She was across the street, her head tilted slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The sight of her sent a cold shock through Lucien’s entire body. He felt as if the earth had tilted beneath him, like something inside him had been waiting for this exact moment.

His breath hitched.

Then she turned—and their eyes met.

A tidal wave of emotions crashed over him. Images flickered in his mind: Celeste laughing under cherry blossoms, her voice whispering his name in the dark, her fingers slipping from his grasp beneath a blood-red moon.

Lucien staggered back, gripping the railing beside him.

Celeste blinked, oblivious to the storm raging inside him. Then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she looked away and continued walking.

Lucien remained frozen.

He knew this wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

⸻

That night, he found it.

An old, tattered journal sat on his desk—one he didn’t remember owning. Frowning, he flipped through its pages. The handwriting looked like his, but he had no memory of ever writing these words.

Then he saw it.

“No matter the life, no matter the time… we always meet again. But I can never save her.”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. His hands tightened around the journal as a shadow moved outside his window. Watching. Waiting.

And then, just before the light flickered out, he heard it.

A whisper.

“Remember.”

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