Whispers of Metal: The Forge of the One Mage

Nora hasn't been having a good day so far—Pearl and Amethyst arguing like, ugh, a couple of immature girls, her dad unable to attend the concert with her due to an accident, and then she found this time crystal in what she thought was a harmless memory, accidentally triggering time travel. Of course, the first time was an accident, only for her to try again so her father could go with her, urged by that incessant little voice.

Is this really how she got here? This version of herself that she assumes—and hopes—isn't real. A future version of herself arrives abruptly, stopping her before she can do anything. Drenched in blood, her gaze lost in what Nora could only infer as despair, and as quickly as she appeared, she vanished in a red streak—not without traumatizing her first.

Nora didn't know what to do or think about any of this. She fell into a spiral of thoughts, each more confusing and delirious than the last. That little voice in her head told her she should tell the girls what happened, but she didn't have the strength for that right now. She didn't want to hear that incessant voice anymore. By the stars, she had seen herself die. If that wasn't terrifying enough, the look in her other self's eyes certainly was.

Hopelessness and fear.

That was all Nora felt as she lay on the floor, thinking about how she ended up in this damned moment of her life.

A voice, as thunderous as a war drum yet as soft as velvet, reached her ears, announcing the arrival of someone—who, she didn't know.

"A tough day, isn't it?" the voice spoke, emerging as a cacophony of many voices, all the same yet distinct.

She lifted her gaze to see who was speaking to her, though deep down, she already knew. No one else in this city exuded such eldritch sensations just by speaking.

And she wasn't prepared for the form in which he presented himself.

There stood Adrián—but he was far from okay. For the love of all things sacred, saying he was unwell would be a gross understatement.

Blood poured from his eye like a turbulent river, dissipating like smoke. His pale skin blended with the surroundings, a mere mirage—an illusion of himself. His black hair flowed like ink, merging with the blood. His entire body resembled a shattered mirror, cracks running across it all. Energy buzzed around him, making his presence even more unsettling.

"A-Adrián," was all that left my lips. I was so alarmed that, for a moment, all I could think about was him. I didn't even realize when I had already stood up and wrapped my arms around him. His body was cold.

"I'm fine, Nora, even if it doesn't seem that way," he spoke, and though his voice emerged as many, it was no longer a cacophony but rather velvety murmurs, almost like a song full of discord.

I tried to calm myself with his words, but I couldn't stop the tears from spilling from my eyes.

"Everything will be okay," he said, his voice as broken as his form, attempting to reassure me.

I sobbed in his arms for a moment, wiping away my tears.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked as I slowly pulled away from the embrace.

"I-I think so," I replied, not entirely sure. I wiped the last tears on my shirt as I looked at him.

"How can I help you?" I asked, more concerned about his current condition than about everything that had happened that day.

He only responded with a soft laugh, more akin to the wind in a field of flowers.

"I wish I knew," he said as the cracks in his body shifted. The pain was visible in his expression as it happened.

I was so bewildered and dazed by everything that I had even forgotten I had healing powers.

In my mind, I smacked my forehead.

I tried using them, and they seemed to work—until they didn't.

Adrián, as had become customary today, simply laughed and even explained why what I did hadn't worked.

"The problem doesn't lie in the material but in that which goes beyond what one truly is," he spoke in riddles, like a magician explaining something to a student—though he himself was already a magician.

Seeing that I didn't understand, he rephrased, "It's not something that can be healed, Nora."

Cold sweat began to trickle down my forehead, but before I could say anything, he interrupted, "I don't know why I'm like this, but you can be sure of one thing—that I'll be fine. Do you know why? Because I still haven't invited you on a date." His voice rumbled through the air.

I blushed for a moment—until I saw his mocking grin appear.

"Hahaha, the great jokester never misses an opportunity, even when he's dying," I said dryly, while he chuckled and I tried to hide my own blush behind false bravado.

"Never, Admit it, at least now you're not as shaken," he stated, making a small gesture with his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Now, seriously, how can I help you?" My words came out in a firm tone that no longer allowed for jokes as an answer.

"The real question is: how can I help you?" he threw the question back at me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"Because for some reason, I've been transported to this moment about three times," he said as he extended his arms, gesturing to our surroundings.

"N-no way," my voice came out as a frightened whisper.