Witch of Envy: Riftwalker

The tunnel smelled like rust and ozone. Faint light flickered from hanging cables, casting shadows across the walls—scrap-tech welded into a patchwork refuge beneath the city's polished surface.

Elaria sat on an overturned crate, her fingers tight around her time compass, watching the glowing needle spin in lazy circles.

Still unstable. Still directionless.

Across the room, Maris Till sifted through a drawer of old power cores, occasionally glancing at her new guest.

"You're not from any zone I've heard of," she said. "And that… thing on your belt? Doesn't match any chrono-tech I've ever seen."

Elaria's eyes didn't leave the compass. "It's not technology."

Maris paused. "Then what is it?"

"A relic." Elaria's voice was quiet. "Forged from the Ley Nexus before the Collapse. It's tied to me… and to the flow of time itself."

Maris blinked. "Right. Time compass. Magic. Ley… stuff."

She shook her head, exhaling. "Okay, I don't know if you're delusional or just bad at cover stories, but let's say I believe you. You're from the past. You used magic. You're in the wrong timeline."

She leaned forward, arms on her knees. "So now what?"

Elaria's eyes flicked up, piercing. "I survive. I find a way back. I fix what broke."

Outside, Neo-Lumina blazed like a machine god's dream.

Towers stretched into clouds of smoke. Flying transports hummed overhead. Advertisement drones projected shimmering banners across glass structures—most with ChronaTech's logo: a gear wrapped in infinity.

Elaria stepped cautiously into the edge of the street, cloaked in a hooded scrap-jacket Maris had found for her. She winced as her feet touched the pavement. The earth felt… wrong. Hollow. As if the land itself had been gutted and replaced with machinery.

Maris led her through a maze of alleys and access hatches, speaking quietly.

"ChronaTech controls the city. The air, the food, the time licenses. Everything runs on sync protocols. You're either registered… or disposable."

"And the people?" Elaria asked.

"Disconnected. Controlled. Some worship AI as gods. Others try to steal back pieces of the old world." Maris shrugged. "Most just survive."

Elaria said nothing. Her thoughts burned.

If this world was the result of the war she failed to stop…

Then she hadn't just lost.

She had damned the future.

They stopped at a rooftop overlooking a wide plaza. Below, a group of workers in gray suits filed into a data tower. Above them, a blinking drone projected a warning:

"Unauthorized magic reports will result in immediate termination.Report all anomalous activity to your local enforcement node."

Elaria's hands tightened at her sides.

"This world fears magic," she said.

"More like denies it ever existed," Maris replied. "ChronaTech says the Collapse was caused by an energy instability. But some of us—scrappers, net-divers—we've found things. Old records. Broken spells. Files corrupted with glyphs we can't translate."

She looked at Elaria carefully. "Things like… you."

Back in the bunker, Elaria sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered relics Maris had salvaged from ruins and crash-sites: shattered tablets, crystal shards, metallic scrolls with faint sigils. Some still buzzed with buried power.

She tried again to draw mana.

Nothing.

Not even a spark.

Her connection to the Aether was severed. Not because she lacked power—but because this world no longer flowed with magic. Its lifeblood had been replaced by circuitry.

Still… she could feel flickers. Tiny pulses. Hidden fragments of what once was.

Whispers of the witches who had fallen beside her. Of the time-spell gone wrong. Of the god who struck them down and the moment she cast the world into imbalance.

She had to fix this.

But first, she had to learn how this world worked.

Later that night, Elaria stood under the electric sky.She held the compass up to her chest and whispered a single vow.

"I will reclaim my power. Rebuild the flow. And walk the Rift again."

Behind her, Maris leaned against the railing.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Elaria turned, face calm but unreadable. "Wouldn't you be… if your sins created this?"

And in the shadows of the city, something watched—a scanning drone whose eyes glowed faint red.

A report pinged silently back to Chrome Fang HQ:

 Target reacquired.

 Subject: Temporal anomaly

 Designation: WITCH-1