"When it came to playing hide-and-seek across time, Seilorah quickly realized two things: Zeyro was annoyingly good at finding her, and she was absolutely terrible at hiding."
Seilorah groaned as she landed in yet another unfamiliar era. The air smelled faintly of hay and damp earth, and the sound of distant chatter and clinking tools suggested she was somewhere decidedly... rustic.
“Great,” she muttered, brushing dirt off her tunic. “Where am I now? Medieval farm village?”
Before she could get her bearings, a familiar voice rang out behind her. “You again.”
Her stomach sank. Turning slowly, she found herself face-to-face with a younger Zeyro, his armor slightly battered but his smirk infuriatingly intact.
“Are you following me?” she demanded, trying to sound confident despite the fact that she’d clearly been caught.
“I could ask you the same,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Oh, please,” she shot back, taking a step away. “Do you own a patent on existing in random timelines?”
“Not yet,” he replied, his smirk widening. “But I’m considering it.”
Seilorah spun on her heel and darted into the nearby village, her heart pounding. She didn’t have a plan—she never had a plan when it came to Zeyro—but she was determined to put some distance between them.
“Run all you like,” he called after her, his voice infuriatingly calm. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
The village was bustling, filled with merchants hawking wares and children chasing each other through the streets. Seilorah ducked into an alley, scanning her surroundings for a place to hide. Her eyes landed on a haystack near the edge of a stable.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered, but with Zeyro’s footsteps growing louder, she had no choice. Climbing into the haystack, she buried herself as best as she could, the dry strands poking at her face and arms. Moments later, she heard Zeyro’s voice nearby.
“Excuse me,” he said to someone, his tone polite but firm. “Have you seen a woman about this tall, with an air of desperation?”
Seilorah clenched her fists, biting back a curse.
“Not since my wife chased me out of the house this morning,” a gruff voice replied, followed by a hearty laugh.
“Charming,” Zeyro said dryly. The sound of his boots grew closer, and Seilorah held her breath, praying he wouldn’t think to check the haystack. But of course, he did.
“Really?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement as he stood over her hiding spot. “A haystack? That’s the best you could come up with?”
Seilorah popped her head out, glaring at him. “It worked for a minute!”
“True,” he admitted, reaching down to pull her out. “But only because I was being polite.”
Before she could retort, the world shifted again, and Seilorah found herself standing in the middle of a grand ballroom. The room was dazzling, lit by countless chandeliers and filled with guests in elaborate masks and gowns. A string quartet played in the corner, their music weaving through the hum of conversation and laughter.
“Well, this is an improvement,” Seilorah said, smoothing her dress—which, to her surprise, had transformed to match the setting. Her relief was short-lived as she spotted a younger Zeyro near the entrance, dressed in an ornate suit and scanning the crowd.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, slipping behind a group of masked dancers. Blending in proved harder than she’d anticipated. Everywhere she turned, it felt like Zeyro’s eyes were on her, his smirk growing more amused by the second.
“Care to dance?” a masked stranger asked, holding out a hand.
“Sure,” Seilorah said quickly, grabbing his hand and spinning into the crowd. She danced as if her life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. Her partner, oblivious to her predicament, twirled her expertly across the floor, and for a brief moment, she thought she might actually escape unnoticed. Until a familiar voice interrupted.
“May I cut in?” Her heart sank as Zeyro stepped forward, his smirk firmly in place. Her partner, clearly outmatched, stepped aside with a polite bow, leaving Seilorah to face her nemesis.
“Having fun?” Zeyro asked, taking her hand and leading her into the next dance.
“Not with you,” she snapped, though her words lacked conviction.
“You have an interesting way of showing it,” he replied, his tone light but his grip firm. They danced in tense silence, their movements perfectly synchronized despite Seilorah’s best efforts to step on his toes.
“How do you keep finding me?” she asked finally, her voice low.
“Because you keep running,” he said simply. “And you’re not very good at it.”
Before she could respond, the world shifted again, and Seilorah stumbled into what appeared to be a dusty library.
“Where am I now?” she muttered, brushing off her gown—which had inconveniently transformed into a simple tunic.
The room was dimly lit, filled with towering shelves and the faint scent of aged parchment. She wandered through the aisles, her fingers brushing the spines of ancient books. For the first time since the spell had begun, she felt a flicker of calm. Until she heard a familiar voice.
“You really need better hiding spots.” She turned to find Zeyro leaning against a shelf, his arms crossed and his smirk as infuriating as ever.
“How do you keep doing this?” she demanded, throwing her hands in the air.
“Magic,” he said with a shrug.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told worse than that. And I had no one fought for me...”
Despite her frustration, she couldn’t help but notice something different about him. This version of Zeyro, while still annoyingly persistent, lacked the hardened edge she was used to.
“What are you staring at?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning away.
“Sure,” he replied, his tone dripping with skepticism.
The tension between them was interrupted by the hum of the spell, signaling another shift. Seilorah landed unceremoniously on the floor of Yelle’s workshop, groaning as she tried to sit up.
“Welcome back!” Yelle said cheerfully. “How was the trip?”
“Awful,” Seilorah replied, glaring at her.
“You’re alive, so it couldn’t have been that bad,” Zeyro said, appearing in the doorway with his usual smirk.
“How are you always there when I land?” she demanded.
“Because you make it so easy,” he replied, shrugging.
As Yelle helped her up, Seilorah couldn’t help but think back to the younger versions of Zeyro she’d encountered. Each one had shown her a different side of him—his determination, his humor, and, most unsettling of all, his vulnerability. She hated to admit it, but the time-hopping chaos had given her a new perspective.
“Next time,” she said, glaring at Yelle, “we’re sticking to normal spells.”
“Define ‘normal,’” Yelle replied, grinning.
"Sometimes, the past is a mirror that reflects more than just memories—it shows us who we could become.""When it came to playing hide-and-seek across time, Seilorah quickly realized two things: Zeyro was annoyingly good at finding her, and she was absolutely terrible at hiding."