The village was alive with activity the next morning. The sun had barely risen, but already the air was filled with the sounds of life—children laughing, women singing as they worked, and the rhythmic clang of metal as men sharpened their tools. Hruaia stood at the entrance of the hut he had been given, watching the scene with a mixture of awe and unease. It was as though he had stepped into a living museum, a snapshot of a time long past.
He had slept fitfully, his dreams filled with visions of the woman from the cliff and the strange symbols on the parchment. When he woke, the box was still clutched in his hands, the parchment resting on his chest like a talisman. He had no idea what it meant, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it held the key to his situation.
As he stepped out into the sunlight, he was greeted by Zaii, the warrior with the scar. The man nodded curtly, his expression unreadable. "Pu Thanga wishes to speak with you," he said. "Follow me."
Hruaia fell into step beside Zaii as they made their way through the village. The villagers watched him with curious eyes, their whispers trailing after him like shadows. He felt like an outsider, a puzzle they were trying to solve. And perhaps he was.
They reached the elder's hut, where Pu Thanga sat cross-legged on the floor, a bowl of steaming tea in his hands. He gestured for Hruaia to sit, and Zaii took up a position by the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Did you sleep well, Hruaia?" the elder asked, his voice calm and measured.
Hruaia nodded, though the truth was far more complicated. "As well as could be expected, given the circumstances."
The elder smiled faintly. "I imagine you have many questions."
"That's an understatement," Hruaia replied, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "Where am I? When am I? And why do you think I'm part of some prophecy?"
The elder took a sip of his tea, his gaze steady. "You are in the village of Chawngte, in the land of the Lushai Hills. As for when you are… it is the year 1845, by the reckoning of the British."
Hruaia's stomach dropped. 1845. Nearly two centuries before his own time. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed was another thing entirely. "And the prophecy?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The elder set down his tea and reached for the wooden box, which lay on the floor between them. He opened it and removed the parchment, holding it up so that Hruaia could see the symbols. "This prophecy has been passed down through generations, spoken of in whispers and dreams. It speaks of a stranger who will come from the sky, bearing the knowledge of another world. He will be a bridge between the old and the new, a guide in times of darkness."
Hruaia shook his head. "But why me? I'm just a historian. I don't have any special knowledge or powers."
The elder's eyes softened. "Perhaps you do not see it yet, but the spirits do not make mistakes. You are here for a reason, Hruaia. And whether you believe it or not, you have a role to play in the fate of our people."
Hruaia wanted to argue, to insist that this was all some kind of mistake. But deep down, he knew that the elder was right. He had been given a second chance, a chance to make a difference in a world that was both familiar and foreign. And if there was one thing he had learned as a historian, it was that the past was not just a series of events—it was a living, breathing thing, shaped by the choices of those who lived it.
"What do you need from me?" he asked, his voice steady.
The elder smiled, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "For now, learn. Observe. Understand our ways. And when the time comes, you will know what to do."
As the days passed, Hruaia began to settle into life in the village. He spent his mornings helping with chores—gathering firewood, tending to the crops, and learning to weave baskets from bamboo. In the afternoons, he sat with Pu Thanga, listening to stories of the village's history and the spirits that watched over them. And in the evenings, he joined the villagers around the fire, sharing meals and laughter.
It was during one of these evenings that he first saw her.
She emerged from the shadows, her movements graceful and deliberate. Her hair was long and dark, cascading down her back like a waterfall, and her eyes were the color of the forest at dusk. She wore a simple shawl over her shoulders, but there was an air of mystery about her that set her apart from the others.
"Who is that?" Hruaia asked Zaii, who sat beside him.
Zaii followed his gaze and nodded. "That is Lianchhiari. She is the village healer, and a keeper of the old ways."
Hruaia felt a jolt of recognition. This was the woman from his vision, the one who had reached out to him as he fell. He watched as she moved through the crowd, her presence calming and commanding at the same time. When their eyes met, she paused, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she turned away.
Later that night, as the fire burned low and the villagers began to disperse, Hruaia found himself standing outside Lianchhiari's hut. He wasn't sure what had drawn him there, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she held answers to the questions that haunted him.
He knocked softly on the doorframe, and after a moment, she appeared, her expression unreadable. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice low and melodic.
Hruaia hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say. "I… I saw you by the fire earlier. I wanted to introduce myself. I'm Hruaia."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I know who you are. The one who fell from the sky."
Hruaia felt a shiver run down his spine. "You've heard of me?"
"The whole village has heard of you," she replied. "But I have seen you before, in my dreams."
Hruaia's heart raced. "What did you see?"
She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "I saw you standing at the edge of a great cliff, with the spirits of the forest gathered around you. They whispered your name, and I knew that you were important. But I also saw darkness, Hruaia. A shadow that follows you."
Hruaia swallowed hard. "What does it mean?"
She shook her head. "I do not know. But I believe that our paths are intertwined, and that together, we will find the answers."
As Hruaia walked back to his hut that night, her words echoed in his mind. He didn't know what the future held, but for the first time since his fall, he felt a glimmer of hope. Whatever lay ahead, he would not face it alone.