chapter 2: BACK TO THE BEGINNING

.AURENNA’S POV

I woke up with a scream.

The sound ripped from my throat because minutes ago, I had felt myself die on a cold stone floor while Zevran's voice told me I had mattered. My hands shot forward and grabbed the nearest solid object which turned out to be a canvas.

I blinked. Canvas? Not stone or marble? Not the polished floor of the Alpha King's palace?

I stared at my hands. They were unharmed. There were no bruises on my wrists where Zevran had held me. No blood. I pressed a hand against my chest where I remembered the pain, but all I felt was my heart pounding hard.

I was sitting on a cot. A narrow military cot covered with a wool blanket tangled around my feet. A lantern burned low on a nearby table. Beyond the canvas walls, I heard voices and the familiar sounds of a military camp settling into the evening.

I knew this tent.

The realization struck me immediately. I knew the way the left corner sagged where the support pole had been poorly repaired. I knew the dent in the lantern from the night Commander Aldric knocked it off the table during an argument about the river-crossing plans.

I even recognized the smell of this place; wood smoke, damp earth, and the scent of worn armor that never truly disappeared, no matter how disciplined the soldiers were.

This was my command tent. My command tent from the war.

I jumped off the cot while trying to process what that meant. My boots were already on, laced exactly the way I used to wear them during campaigns, tight around the ankles and looser near the knees.

I hurried to the table. Maps covered its surface. The river-crossing diagrams, the supply routes, territory markers showing wolf positions marked in red and human defenses marked in fading black ink.

I knew every one of these maps. I had studied them so often I could draw them from memory.

My hands trembled. "No," I whispered. "That's impossible."

But nothing changed. The tent remained the same as well as the maps. Outside, someone called for a guard shift. The voice belonged to Sergeant Wren. My breath caught. Wren had died at Millhaven fourteen months after the peace accord. A wolf raid had killed him. Zevran himself had approved the attack before publicly mourning the loss days later.

But Wren was alive. Right outside this tent, calling out orders.

I gripped the table and forced myself to breathe. "Test it," I muttered. "Make sure before you believe it."

I looked back at the maps. If this was really what I thought it was, then I knew the exact date. The forty-third day of the ninth campaign month. The final year of the war. We were camped six miles from Draventhorn Ridge and in two days, General Holt would arrive from the Western settlements with a food convoy that would be smaller than promised, causing several days of tension throughout the camp.

I grabbed the nearest document. It was a supply request, signed and dated. Forty-third day. Ninth month.

Exactly as I remembered.

My knees nearly gave out. I sank into the chair behind the table and stared into the lantern flame until my vision steadied. I had died. I was sure I had. I had felt it. Zevran had thanked me for being useful while darkness swallowed everything.

Then a strange voice made a statement that I had barely processed before I totally lost consciousness.

You still have one chance, Aurenna.

Slowly, the truth settled inside me. After some time, rage began to build from within me as I thought about Zevran, the peace accord, the marriage and three years of trust, sacrifice, and devotion. None of it had been real.

I thought about Harrow settlement, Caldwell, Millhaven… Every gate that opened because of me. Every family that lowered their weapons because I promised peace. Every person who trusted my words.

My jaw tightened painfully. "This time," I whispered, "I won't make the same mistake."

The sound of hurried footsteps approached. Then the tent flap opened. A young messenger stepped inside. He couldn't have been older than seventeen. A red cord on his collar marked him as a neutral envoy rather than a military runner. He was trying hard to appear calm, though his nerves showed clearly.

"Commander Voss." He held out a sealed letter with both hands. "This comes from the court of Alpha King Zevran Drakhar. I was ordered to deliver it personally and wait for your response."

I looked at the seal. The Drakhar crest. A wolf's head beneath a single star. The same symbol I had once worn around my neck after Zevran placed it there on our wedding day. Back then, I had cried because I thought it was important.

I already knew what the letter contained. I had remembered it for years. An invitation to a peace summit. Carefully chosen words about cooperation, shared interests, and a better future. It was designed to appeal to someone desperate to believe the war could end.

The first time I received this letter, I had read it three times and cried with relief. I accepted it without hesitation.

I reached out and took the letter from the messenger. I didn't open it. "How long did it take you to travel from the Alpha Court?" I asked.

"Four days, Commander."

"Were you treated well on the journey?"

He blinked in surprise. "Yes, Commander. I was given supplies and an escort."

"Good." I set the letter on the table. "You may eat with the camp tonight. I'll have my reply ready by morning."

He bowed and left. The tent flap closed behind him.

I stared at the letter for a long time. The first time, I had answered within an hour, filled with hope. Certain that peace was finally possible. Then I attended the summit where I met Zevran. I saw the calm confidence in his eyes and believed I could trust him.

He knew exactly what I wanted. He knew I wanted peace badly enough to overlook every warning sign and he used that weakness against me.

I pulled out a clean sheet of paper and picked up a pen. I would accept the invitation. That decision had already been made. Running away would solve nothing. It wouldn't save anyone. If I wanted to destroy Zevran's plans, I needed to stay close to him. I needed to be exactly where he expected me to be, doing exactly what he expected. Until the time I chose otherwise.

I had spent three years playing his game without knowing it. This time, I would play it on purpose.

The pen touched the paper.

Just then, a memory surfaced. Three days from now, something terrible would happen. I knew because I had pieced it together later from survivor stories, military records, and careless comments Zevran had made over the years.

In three days, the village of Vethara would burn and forty-three people would die. Most of them farmers. The attack would begin at dawn. By midday, nothing would remain except ashes and bodies.

In my previous life, I hadn't known in time. Now I did. This time, I was the only person alive who knew what was coming.

Slowly, I lowered the pen. The game had already begun.