The Chronicles Of The Feather And Ink

Chapter 1: A World Out of Sync

It was one of those days where everything felt a little too perfect. The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the town of Eldridge, a small village nestled between rolling hills and a glittering river. Everything about the day seemed scripted—too clean, too serene. The birds chirped in perfect harmony, the breeze moved the trees like a carefully choreographed dance, and even the passersby greeted each other with rehearsed smiles.

For Kyra, something about it all felt wrong.

She stood by the town’s fountain, watching the scene unfold with a growing unease. People moved through their routines as they always did, the market buzzed with life, and the town square bustled with energy. But today, more than ever, Kyra felt like she was a spectator rather than a participant.

Her life was, by most standards, a good one. A young woman in her twenties, she was known as the best swordsmith in Eldridge, a skilled artisan with a reputation for crafting weapons that held both beauty and strength. Her shop stood at the edge of the marketplace, always busy with clients requesting her work for duels, hunts, and even battles beyond the village. She had everything she needed. Or so it seemed.

But lately, she had been noticing strange things. Moments that didn’t quite fit.

Like how Mrs. Keene, the baker, always offered the exact same compliment every morning. "Your hair is looking lovely today, Kyra. Have you done something different?" Every single day, without fail. Or how the same horse-drawn cart passed by her window three times in a row, as though someone had pressed a reset button on the scene.

Today was no different. Mrs. Keene’s voice echoed the usual greeting as Kyra walked by her stall, her tone cheerful but empty, like a recording played on loop. Kyra stopped in her tracks, watching the woman interact with customers, her gestures almost mechanical. The cart passed again, and again.

“What is happening here?” Kyra whispered to herself.

She shook her head and moved on, determined to shake the feeling that had settled deep in her bones. But it lingered, gnawing at her. She couldn't shake the sense that her world wasn’t quite real.

The day played out much like the others. She returned to her shop, worked on a new commission for Lord Falk, and spent hours at the forge, hammering away at the metal until it bent to her will. Yet, even in the rhythm of her work, the unsettling feeling persisted. It was like something—or someone—was watching her. Controlling her.

As the sun began to set, Kyra leaned back from the forge, wiping sweat from her brow. She stretched her arms, sore from the day's labor, and stepped outside to catch the cool evening air. She was about to head home when something unusual caught her eye.

In the distance, just beyond the town’s edge, a figure stood at the horizon. A silhouette against the fading light. It wasn’t someone she recognized—tall, cloaked, and completely still, as though waiting for her. Kyra narrowed her eyes, taking a few steps forward.

The figure didn’t move.

A strange pull in her gut urged her to go toward it, to find out who—or what—it was. But just as she made up her mind to approach, the town bell rang, signaling the end of the market day. The streets emptied as people packed up their stalls, heading home in their orderly fashion. The figure remained motionless, watching.

Something about it felt… wrong. Off. Like it didn’t belong here, in her world.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

Kyra blinked, stepping forward into the empty space where the figure had stood moments before. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Whoever—or whatever—it had been, it had disappeared too quickly, too cleanly.

It was as if someone had erased them from the scene entirely.