Chapter 3: The Past Awakens

The fire crackled softly in Bernyce’s cottage, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Bleddyn sat motionless, his mind a whirl of questions, each one more urgent than the last. His eyes met Bernyce’s across the flickering flames, and he could feel the weight of centuries pressing down on this moment.

Bernyce broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “You want to understand, but understanding comes with a price, Bleddyn. The past doesn’t sleep here—it lingers, always ready to resurface.”

Bleddyn leaned forward, the urgency in his chest growing. “I don’t care about the risks. I need to know what connects us, why I feel like I’ve been here before, like I’ve known you for longer than I’ve been alive.”

Bernyce sighed, her gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the mist clung to the forest as though trying to protect the village from whatever truths were hidden within. After a long pause, she began to speak, her words slow, deliberate, as though each one carried a heavy weight.

“Many years ago, a scholar came to this village, much like you. He was curious about the supernatural, drawn to the stories of spirits and restless souls. His name was Owen, and he had a heart filled with wonder and kindness. It wasn’t long before we met, and like you, he was drawn to me—though neither of us could fully explain why.”

Bleddyn felt a strange pang of recognition at the name. It wasn’t familiar, yet something about it stirred a deep, buried part of him. “What happened to him?”

“He stayed,” Bernyce continued, her eyes growing distant. “He stayed and uncovered more than he should have. The village is old, older than the stones that build it, and it is steeped in magic. There are spirits that reside here, and they are not always kind. Owen discovered something—something dangerous. And in his search for knowledge, he bound himself to the spirits.”

“What did he find?” Bleddyn asked, leaning in closer.

Bernyce hesitated, her fingers tightening around the silver pendant at her neck. “A well deep in the forest, hidden from the eyes of mortals. It is a place where time flows differently, where the souls of the lost wander. The well holds immense power—power that can bend fate and reality, but it also exacts a terrible cost. Owen tried to harness it, but in doing so, he was trapped.”

Bleddyn’s heart quickened. “Trapped how?”

Bernyce’s gaze met his, her eyes filled with sorrow. “He became part of the village’s curse, bound to return to this place over and over, his soul reborn in different lives. Each time, he searches for me, and each time we are drawn together, only for tragedy to strike.”

Bleddyn felt the room spin slightly, his pulse pounding in his ears. “You’re saying… I’m him? I’m Owen, reborn?”

Bernyce nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “Yes. You are a part of him, just as I am part of the spirits who guard this village. Our lives have been intertwined for centuries, but each time we come together, the curse finds us again. It’s a cycle we can’t seem to escape.”

The weight of her words sank into Bleddyn like a stone. Everything he had felt since arriving—the sense of déjà vu, the pull toward Bernyce, the strange dreams that had haunted him for days—all of it began to make sense. He wasn’t just drawn to this village by chance. He was part of it, bound by an ancient past he had no memory of.

“But if I’ve lived this life before, if we’ve been through this over and over, is there any way to break the cycle?” Bleddyn asked, his voice barely steady.

Bernyce’s expression darkened, her eyes flickering with a sadness that seemed endless. “There is only one way to break it,” she whispered. “To release you from the curse, the well must claim one of us. One life for another.”

Bleddyn’s stomach twisted. “You mean… one of us has to die?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. The well demands a soul to balance the power it holds. In each life, I’ve tried to stop it, but the well always claims someone—either you or me. And if neither of us sacrifices, the village suffers. The spirits grow restless, and their wrath spreads beyond these borders.”

Bleddyn stood abruptly, pacing the small room. The idea of sacrificing himself—or worse, of Bernyce sacrificing herself—was more than he could bear. “There has to be another way,” he insisted. “There must be something we haven’t tried.”

Bernyce shook her head, her voice heavy with resignation. “I’ve tried, Bleddyn. For centuries, I’ve tried. But the curse is stronger than us. It’s stronger than love, stronger than fate.”

Bleddyn stopped pacing, turning to face her. “I don’t believe that. There has to be another way. We can fight this, together.”

For the first time, a flicker of hope crossed Bernyce’s face. “You think we can defy the well?”

“If it’s taken us centuries to find each other again, then maybe this time is different,” Bleddyn said, his voice firm. “Maybe this time we can change our fate.”

Bernyce looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as though she were seeing him for the first time. Then, slowly, she stood and crossed the room to stand beside him.

“Perhaps,” she murmured. “But the well’s power is not easily challenged. And if we fail…”

“We won’t fail,” Bleddyn said, reaching for her hand. “Not this time.”

As their fingers intertwined, a surge of warmth passed between them, like the spark of something ancient and powerful rekindling. For the first time since he arrived in the village, Bleddyn felt a glimmer of hope—hope that they could break the curse, that this life could be different.

But deep in the forest, in the shadows beyond the village, the well waited, its power stirring beneath the earth. And as Bernyce and Bleddyn stood together, bound by love and fate, the spirits that guarded the well began to stir, sensing the disruption to the ancient cycle they had kept for so long.

The past was awakening, and it would not be denied.