THYME'S POV:
It's been two days. Forty-eight hours since I was ripped from my own time, and I've been a prisoner in this strange, familiar past. I sat on the floor of Aunt Ying's home, a notebook I'd borrowed open in front of me, the page a chaotic map of my own desperate logic. I wrote down the seven domains Aunt Ying had listed: Time, Life, Death, Sun, Moon, Water, Air.
A trinity, she had said. When three of these powers converge, a doorway can be opened.
"Okay, Thyme, think," I muttered to myself, tapping a pen against my temple. The main domains—the most powerful keys—were Life, Death, and Time. I could try to merge the others with them. Death was immediately eliminated. I had no desire to flirt with my own demise again; the memory of the ocean's cold embrace was still too fresh. That left Life and Time. But what did they even mean?
What does Life stand for? I scribbled in the notebook. Should I be in a place where there are newborns? A hospital maternity ward? A zoo during hatching season? The idea felt both profound and utterly ridiculous. And Time? Do I need a clock? A grandfather clock? A sundial? Argggghhh! This was so complicated! The more I thought, the more my brain felt like a tangled knot of yarn.
It couldn't be that literal. There had to be something else. I decided to start with the simpler elements, the ones I could see and feel. I asked Aunt Ying for directions to the nearest river.
"Be careful, child," she said, her eyes filled with a warmth that reminded me so much of my grandmother it ached. "The river is a powerful place. Do not take it lightly."
I reached the river and was amazed. It was cleaner than any river I'd seen in my own time, the water a sheet of crystal over smooth, colored stones. I sat on the bank, my borrowed watch ticking on my wrist, and waited. The plan: Water, Air, and Time.
I waited for over an hour, the sun beating down on my neck, until finally, a strong gust of wind swept down the valley, rustling the trees into a frenzy. This was it! I scrambled to my feet, preparing to jump, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and hope. I took a running start, and my foot immediately caught on a small, jutting stone. I went down, hard, my chin scraping against the gravelly bank.
"Shit! Argggghhh!" I roared in frustration, my voice echoing over the water. The wind died as quickly as it had come. I was left with a throbbing chin, bruised knees, and a fresh layer of humiliation.
Fine. New plan. I would use the Sun. I waited, watching the shadows shrink, until the sun was a perfect, blazing circle directly overhead. 12:00 PM. I had the Water of the river, the Sun at its zenith, and the Time on my wristwatch. Five seconds to noon. I stood at the river's edge, my body tense. Three… two… one… I leaped, hitting the cool water at the exact moment my watch clicked over to 12:00:00.
I held my breath, letting myself sink, praying for that familiar, disorienting lurch. When my lungs burned for air, I kicked for the surface, gasping. I wiped the dripping water from my face, my vision clearing. I was still here. Still in the same beautiful, infuriating river. I tried again. And again. Nothing.
It was nearly 7:00 PM when I finally gave up, my body aching and my spirit thoroughly defeated. I walked back, a dejected, soaking-wet ghost, when I passed a man running, his face a mask of panicked joy, supporting an old woman.
"Let's hurry, Pranee! My wife is giving birth!" he shouted.
My head snapped up. Giving birth. Life. This was my chance! I immediately followed them, a silent, invisible shadow at their heels. They entered a small, humble house. The old woman, Pranee, was a midwife. I waited outside the room, my heart pounding. I could hear the woman's pained cries from within, and I felt a pang of guilt for using such an intimate, sacred moment for my own desperate ends.
Hours passed. The sun set, and a brilliant, perfect full moon rose in the sky. Then, a new cry from inside, not of pain, but of pure, unadulterated joy.
"It's a boy!" the midwife, Pranee, exclaimed.
This was it! I burst through the door. The time on my watch was exactly 12:00 AM. A strong wind howled outside, rattling the windows. The Moon was full. A new Life had just entered the world. I had my trinity.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the temporal shift, expecting to be ripped back to my own time.
Nothing happened.
I was still here. And what was worse, the three people inside the room were staring in pure, abject terror at the doorway where I stood. To them, the door had just been flung open by an unseen force, accompanied by a blast of wind and the distant, tolling chime of a midnight bell.
And I, soaking wet from my repeated failures at the river, was dripping a steady, ghostly trail of water onto their floor.
"Komin, hurry!" the midwife shrieked, her voice trembling as she shielded the newborn with her body. "Call Khunying Dawklao! An evil spirit is trying to take your child!" She grabbed a bowl of salt from a nearby table—prepared for just such a possibility, it seemed—and began flinging handfuls of it at the doorway, at me. The salt passed harmlessly through my spiritual form, dusting the floor around my wet footprints.
"Please, stay with my wife and my child!" the man, Komin, begged the midwife before bolting from the house. A few minutes later, he returned with Aunt Ying. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes landing on me. For a split second, I saw a flicker of stunned disbelief, which was quickly replaced by a weary, serious understanding.
The midwife explained the situation in a frantic, panicked whisper. Aunt Ying nodded gravely and performed a "ritual," pulling out an Anito idol, chanting in a language I didn't recognize, and throwing her own enchanted salt around the room—carefully avoiding my direction. She assured the terrified family that the spirit would not disturb them again.
After we returned to her house, she looked at me, her face a mixture of worry and exhaustion. "Child, what happened?"
I felt so ashamed, so utterly foolish, but before I could explain, she stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. "I know," she whispered, her voice filled with a profound empathy. "I know it's frustrating. You try your best, but you still cannot return."
The hug was warm and smelled of sandalwood. It was the same unconditional comfort, the same feeling of absolute safety I had felt in my grandmother's arms. The dam of my frustration broke, and I sagged against her, a fresh wave of tears stinging my eyes.
We sat down after, the tension finally easing. "Aunt Ying," I asked, "what ritual was that? It was amazing."
She laughed softly. "That was not a ritual, child. I had a feeling it was you when Komin came for me. I cannot perform a ritual to drive away a spirit, because it might harm you. Remember? Shamans and priests can hurt you in your spiritual form."
"Oh," I said, a new wave of understanding washing over me. "Right."
"Besides," she added, "performing a true ritual without a valid reason is disrespectful to the guardians. So, I improvised."
"But the midwife, Pranee? She seemed to believe you."
Aunt Ying smiled. "Pranee cannot see spirits, but she can feel their presence. She mistook your desperate, frustrated energy for something malevolent. Now, tell me exactly what you were trying to do."
I explained my failed attempts, my logic, the trinities. She listened patiently, and when I was done, she laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated amusement. "A child is a symbol of life, Thyme, not a key. You were thinking too literally."
My face burned with embarrassment. She was right.
"By the way, have you eaten anything?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
"Yes, I ate the sticky rice you gave me this morning," I mumbled.
"That was hours ago. That is not enough," she said, already moving toward the kitchen. "Let me cook for you, child. Just stay here."
I nodded, a small smile on my face. I was so indebted to her, it made me feel guilty. But as I sat there, another, colder thought began to creep in. Her words… a symbol of life, not a key. If my logic was wrong, if all my attempts had failed… how was I ever going to get home? The house was quiet, but in my mind, the storm of confusion was beginning to rage once more.
Just as I was about to spiral back into that dark place, a sharp, authoritative rap on the door shattered the peaceful silence. It wasn't the knock of a neighbor; it was a summons.
Aunt Ying's calm expression tightened almost imperceptibly as she rose and opened the door. I was stunned by whom I saw. Standing on the threshold was the man from the getaway car, his impassive, stone-like face a mask of cold professionalism. His perfectly tailored suit seemed to absorb the dim light of the street, and he stood like a sentinel guarding the gates of a tomb.
"Tha… that's the driver of that scary Meta," I exclaimed in a choked whisper.
A jolt of pure, undiluted terror shot through me, so potent it made me dizzy. The air in my lungs turned to ice. What was he doing here? What was her connection to that monster? Was this related to her warning? Was she in danger because of me?