The rejected crown (book 2)

My time

Ezra

Two hours earlier...

The night was unnaturally still, the kind of silence that begged for disruption. Ezra stood on the cracked pavement of a nameless street, the cold air biting at his exposed skin. He pulled the hospital-issued jacket tighter around him, but it offered little warmth. The city around him—his city—felt alien, like an artist had painted over a landscape he once knew and left the details blurred.

Five years. The weight of the time he'd lost pressed on him with every step he took. Buildings loomed taller than he remembered, their facades darker, their windows vacant. Graffiti, once vibrant and careless, now looked deliberate, almost ominous. The world had aged in ways that made Ezra feel like an intruder in his own reality.

The book.

That single thought had kept him moving since he'd left the hospital, overriding his hunger, exhaustion, and fear. Somewhere out there, it existed—a key to the truth, a tether to the world he had lost. He didn't know how he knew this, but the certainty burned in his chest.

A passing car's headlights illuminated a warped reflection of himself in a store window. He paused, staring at the figure that looked back. His face was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, his hair unruly. The beard, rough and patchy, still felt foreign to him. He barely recognized himself.

"Who are you now?" he whispered to the reflection.

The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and wet concrete. Ezra turned away from the window and continued down the street. He didn't have a plan. The hospital had released him without much ceremony, the staff more eager to move on than to answer his questions. His family... he hadn't even called them. What would he say? That he wasn't ready to face them? That he wasn't sure he belonged in this world anymore?

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint noise—a shuffle, quick and deliberate. Ezra froze.

"Lost, are we?"

The voice was low and gravelly, emanating from the shadows of a nearby alley. A man stepped into view, his face obscured by the brim of a tattered hat. His clothes were ragged, his stance tense, but his eyes glinted with an unsettling sharpness.

Ezra instinctively stepped back. "I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble finds you whether you want it or not," the man said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "Especially when you're carrying echoes of a world you shouldn't remember."

Ezra's heart skipped a beat. "What... what are you talking about?"

The man chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down Ezra's spine. "You think you're the first? The only one to cross back over? Poor boy, you're in deeper than you realize."

Ezra's voice was hoarse, but he managed to find the words. "How do you know about that?"

"I know more than you think. About the book. About Giovanna. About the rebellion." The man's expression darkened, his smile fading. "And about the mess you left behind."

Ezra's pulse quickened. "The mess? I didn't leave anything behind. I didn't have a choice!"

"Didn't you?" the man countered, stepping closer. "You meddled in a history that was meant to be left untouched, boy. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I saved lives!" Ezra shot back, his fists clenching. "I fought for what was right! The rebellion needed me—"

"They needed you to leave it alone," the man interrupted sharply, his voice low and filled with venom. "That world was already written, its history sealed. But you, with your interference, you've unraveled the threads of what was meant to be finished. The history you tampered with is now incomplete, and the future—your future—is crumbling because of it."

Ezra's stomach twisted. "That doesn't make sense," he said, his voice faltering. "If it was sealed, why did I—why was I there?"

The man's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Because some fool left the book unguarded, and it fell into the wrong hands. You thought you were meant to interfere, didn't you? But the truth is, you weren't. You're nothing more than a mistake—an anomaly that never should have existed. And now, thanks to you, the timelines are unraveling. The past you meddled with is seeping into the present, and the future..." He tilted his head, his expression darkening. "Let's just say it's hanging by a thread."

Ezra's mind raced, the weight of the man's words pressing down on him. The rebellion, Giovanna, the book—it had all felt so real, so vital. But now, the thought of his actions causing harm rather than good sent a chill through him. "If I caused this," Ezra said carefully, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him, "then I'll fix it."

The man laughed harshly. "Fix it? You think you can fix something like this? The book is gone, boy. Lost in the cracks between realms. Without it, you're nothing but a stray piece of a shattered puzzle."

"I'll find it," Ezra said firmly, his jaw set. "I don't care what it takes."

The man's expression softened for a moment, almost pitying. "You'll try," he said quietly. "But remember this: every step you take to fix what you've broken will come at a price. The two worlds are closer now, more entangled than they should be. And when you cross the line, you'll bring more than yourself back."

Ezra's stomach churned. "What do you mean?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he turned and began to retreat into the shadows. "Follow the cracks if you're so determined. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Wait!" Ezra called, but the man was gone.

The street was silent again, save for the distant hum of traffic. Ezra stood there, his mind racing. The cracks. What had the man meant? And why did it feel like the ground beneath his feet was shifting, like the world itself was holding its breath?

He shook off the unease and started walking again, determination hardening in his chest. Whatever the cost, he would find the book.

Because if the war wasn't over, then neither was his story.