- Eight Months Later -

Progressive rock played in the warm cozy living room as Madzistrale, Tom and Gabzryel were joined by their mechanic friend, Clara. Even seated she was taller, and stronger built, than her friends; her face was round and soft, her silky black hair were braided and coiled around her neck to the front of her chest, the tip ornated with a feather. Much like Madzistrale’s cross pendant was a reminder, so was Clara’s feather: a reminder of her heritage, but also a proof; a proof that old enemies could let go of the past and instead create a future.

“You look down,“ Madzistrale asked Clara, handing her a beer bottle.

Clara gulped it down, and sighed.

“Yeah, I dumped Isabelle.“

Madzistrale stared in shock.

“How come? The way you talked about her...“

Clara chuckled.

“Don’t get me wrong, she was drop-dead gorgeous... but man did she had an attitude.“

“Worst than Mark? Or whatever his name was,“ Tom intervened.

“Yeah, trust me. A girl with an attitude is worse than a man with an attitude.“

“I know. Just look at the difference between Mad and Gab when they’re pissed.“

Madzistrale punched Tom on the elbow.

“See what I mean?“ Tom winced, before rising from the couch and running away as Madzistrale gestured for another punch.

Clara giggled before gulping down another sip of beer.

“So what went wrong?“ Madzistrale resumed.

Clara sighed.

“Her obsession with her past. She cannot accept the lifestyle she lives, and she spends every waking minute going into archives, archaeological finds, things like that. I told her enough is enough, her life is not only with me but lies before her, toward the future, not behind toward the past. But she just won’t listen. She quit her job to study full time archaeology, and hooked up with this professor to get it free.“

“Boy, I think it’s a good thing you dumped her,“ Madzistrale snickered.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t stop from hurting.“

“Sorry,“ the siblings sheepishly said.

“Nah, don’t worry. We can’t help those people. I’m glad you guys look only toward the future. You’re not running around babbling to everyone things like ’my ancestors shaped the entire history as we know it, yet are tragically removed from said history...’ and bullshit like that.“

The siblings looked at her quizzingly

“Seriously? Isabelle said that?“

“Yeah. Takes great pride in her family name. I keep telling her that family names don’t dictate one’s future or destiny... but she glares at me and say that I should mind my business. That her bloodline is a secret yet to be unearthed when the right time comes.“

The siblings looked at her even more in shock, and Gabzryel spoke up for the first time.

“You never told us her last name...“

“Heck, you never presented her to us,“ Tom added.

“Yeah, well, the relationship was never that stable anyway. It’s unusual to find a free-spirited girl like her, so of course I fell for her. Not to mention she had those gorgeous eyes you just couldn’t stop looking at; I did told you about her eyes, didn’t I?“

“Yes you did... now you mention it...“ Madzistrale realized.

Clara’s eyes became dreamy. Tom took Gabzryel’s laptop and wrote a few keywords. His jaw dropped, and he slid the computer to Clara.

“Is that her?“

“Yep,“ Clara answered, pushing it back.

Tom handed the laptop to his sister, and her own jaw dropped. Looking at her with a fierce and defiant attitude, dressed in a graduation dress, proudly holding a diploma in archaeology, stood a young woman with long brown hair, tall, slim in a muscular way, with unmistakable turquoise eyes, and an unmistakable manly square jaw.

“What are you guys looking fearfully at her for? Do you know her?“ Clara asked, thoroughly perplexed.

“No... but we know her great-great-great-great-great-great-grand-parents,“ Madzistrale said, giving the computer to Gabzryel.

“That’s not the issue,“ Tom said, pointing at the social media profile page. The top header read: ’At the search of the sleeping Queen; unearthing the 14th generation cycle and finding the true ruler prophesied in ancient texts.’

“That’s not good,“ Madzistrale said.

“No. It means somewhere, somehow... in our own past, history is being altered. And God knows it can’t be good.“