Then her expression hardened.
“You should never have chased after Alina,” she chastised. “We did things right, Balthazar. Our cruelty had a purpose. It was controlled. Justified. We followed the rules. And yet you—you ran after her. After all your ranting that Mathias, her father, was the one who murdered our children—how could you fall for his daughter?”
A cold shiver crept up my spine. Her words wrapped around my heart like chains. My hands trembled, and I didn’t dare reach for her—because I knew my fingers would pass right through her if I tried.
A lump formed in my throat.
“I miss you,” I whispered. “Your wisdom. Your love. Everything about you. But you’re a ghost…”
“I’m as real as you,” she said, her voice steely. “I’m just a few steps away.”
Her gaze locked onto mine, piercing, unwavering. The air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning struck.
Then came her words—low, urgent, final.
“Balthazar, my love… we can have it all back. Our family. Our girls. But only if you get the blades from Alina. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want us back together?”
Her voice broke with pleading, but her eyes were lit with a fiercer conviction—desperation, hunger.
“Yes,” I said, a pained whisper. “More than anything. I want them back. I wantusback.”
She nodded once.
“Then listen to me. Go to 1990. McMont College. You’ll find the blades there… and you’ll find Alina. Focus, Balthazar. Leave the drink behind. Get the blades. Bring our daughters home.”
I tried to resist—to pull back. My mind was still thick with the fog of liquor and grief. But her words pierced through me like blades of truth.
“You’re a ghost, Zara,” I said, half to convince myself. “You aren’t real. How can I believe any of this? What if it’s just another lie? Another chase that leads nowhere?”
Zara’s eyes narrowed. Fire burned in their depths.
“I’m tired of you not believing in me,” she hissed. “Your daughters would be ashamed. And I… I amdisappointedin you, Balthazar.”
Her voice hitched—not just with fury, but with a love that still clung to the ruins of what we once were.
And it gutted me.
My heart stilled as she turned away. Her form shimmered once, then vanished, leaving nothing but a hollow chill and a silence that froze the marrow in my bones. A frigid sensation crawled down my spine like the kiss of death. I wasn’t sure what terrified me more—that she had gone… or might return.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
I remained rooted to the same stone from morning until dusk, a silent sentinel to the life I had lost. I watchedhim—the other Balthazar—playing withmychildren, holdingmywife, and livingmyjoy. Zara’s hands were in the soil as she gardened, her laughter rising like music. The children ran circles around her, squealing with delight.
And when the other me danced with Freya, Revna, Meya, Tove, and Astrid, I lifted my arms and turned in mournful circles, waltzing with ghosts only I could see. I imagined their laughter was for me. I mimed silly faces, whispered tales of faraway lands, trying to steal a sliver of what once had been mine.
But it was torture. And it was endless.
What was left for me here? Should I stay and be gutted by memory, or cast myself into the unknown, into 1990, where Zara claimed fate still waited?
The answer whispered itself into the cold wind. Remaining would only carve deeper wounds. But if I hurled myself forward—if I found Alina, if I claimed the blades—perhaps I could finally reshape the ruin of my life.
That night, snow fell like ash—soft, silent. A blanket of stillness settled over the longhouse. Inside, my family huddled together in warmth and safety.
But outside… I stood alone.
The fjord stretched before me, its frozen surface shimmering beneath the gibbous moon like a silver mirror to my pain. I lifted my gaze to the stars, my chest heavy with longing. The memories returned—unforgiving.
The day it all burned.
