Witch of Envy: Riftwalker

The desert outside Neo-Lumina didn't appear on any official map.It was a rusting expanse of broken satellites, collapsed towers, and bone-dry soil, scorched by solar radiation and forgotten wars.

To most, it was just The Barrens.

But to Elaria, it was the first place her time compass had pointed with certainty.

She and Maris rode an old rail crawler deep into the zone, engines whining under the weight of salvage strapped to its back. Elaria sat on the edge, cloak pulled tight, her hand on the compass.

It pulsed again—slow, steady. The signal was getting stronger.

They stopped at what remained of an old pre-collapse observatory, buried half under sand and debris. The structure's spire leaned at an angle, its outer plating scorched, but the lower chambers remained intact.

Inside, faded murals lined the cracked stone walls—figures in flowing robes, eyes glowing, their hands raised in ritual. Elaria touched one with reverence.

"This was a place of watching," she whispered. "Where the flow was once studied."

Maris activated a drone light. "Looks more like a tomb now."

They moved deeper into the dark.

That's when Elaria felt it—a pull in her chest.

Not magic. Not tech. Something… in between.

A narrow corridor led them to a sealed door covered in glyphic engravings, some matching the style of her own runes—others completely foreign. Her compass vibrated violently now.

"I know this spell," she murmured, fingers brushing the symbols. "But it's not mine."

She drew a sigil of unlocking over the doorway. Nothing happened.

Then she paused.

"Maris," she said slowly, "hand me the power cell from your wristband."

Maris frowned. "Seriously?"

"Please."

Reluctantly, Maris detached the glowing cell and gave it to her. Elaria placed it into a depression at the center of the door, channeling what little spell-energy she had.

A soft hum. Then the symbols lit—green and violet.

The door slid open.

Inside was a circular chamber, filled with stasis pods—cracked, long dead—except one.

At the center floated a shard of glowing crystal, suspended above a pedestal, flickering with memories. Elaria approached it reverently.

"It's a memory crystal," she said. "We used them to preserve essence… echoes of thought."

She reached out.

The moment her fingers touched it, her vision fractured.

She stood in a crimson sky, surrounded by shattered ruins.

Another witch stood before her—flame-haired, armor cracked, eyes filled with rage.

"Kaelira." Elaria whispered.

The Witch of Wrath.

"You shouldn't be here," Kaelira said. Her voice echoed like thunder.

"You failed us. You let the God of Time scatter us like ash."

"But it's not over. Pieces of us remain—trapped, broken… scattered across this timeline."

The image flickered.

"Find the remnants. Before ChronaTech does."

"Or there will be no timeline left to save."

Then: darkness.

Elaria gasped, falling backward as the vision ended. Maris caught her.

"What happened?!"

"I saw her," Elaria said, breathless. "Kaelira. She's… part of her is still alive, stored in the rift."

Maris stared at the crystal. "Is that what the compass pointed to?"

"Yes," Elaria said. "And it will lead me to the next."

She rose to her feet, hands trembling—but her resolve steadier than ever.

"They didn't die. Not all the way."

That night, under a broken sky, Elaria etched a new glyph into her journal. One that combined memory tracing with signal location—a hybrid spell never before attempted.

She would follow the compass.

She would collect the remnants of her sisters.

And if she could bring them back—even as echoes—then the flow could be rebuilt.

One witch at a time.