Traces of Time

The Journey Begins Now

PROLOGUE


The Crack in the Sky

The night over Mesopotamia lies heavy and full of secrets. Not a sound stirs. Only the cracking of the rocks, still holding the day’s heat within them, echoes in the silence.

On the crest of a hill stands a woman, head held high, barefoot. Her white robe and dark hair flutter in the wind, her face illuminated by an inner glow. With every step she takes, she leaves traces—golden footprints that briefly glow, as if the ground itself recognizes her essence.

The sky is changing. At first, it is just a flickering light moving through the stars. Then it tears open, silently yet powerfully, as if an invisible hand were cutting a scar into the fabric of time. Spirals of light stream down, flashes of lightning flicker without thunder, and a deep vibration courses through the mountain, through her chest, into every fiber of her body.

Aya lifts her head. Her eyes reflect the spectacle that is not of this world. She feels that this moment is transforming her beyond all imagination. The air tastes of metal and ozone, sharp, electric. Her skin tingles as if her cells are rearranging themselves.

Then it happens: two figures emerge from the crack. Men. Not walking through a gate, not gliding, but as if they had been spat out by the vortex of time.

The first wears robes from ancient times, adorned with symbols that glow like liquid silver in the darkness. His gaze is piercing, serious, and full of knowledge no book could ever contain.

The second seems strange and yet familiar. Dark fabric envelops him, neither clearly modern nor ancient, as if he had fallen from a world in between. His eyes burn—like shadows in which a secret fire blazes.

Aya senses that their paths are inextricably linked. She does not know whether she has summoned these men or whether an ancient power has brought them together here. But a certainty grows within her: this is no coincidence.

For a single breath, they stand silently side by side—three destinies meeting in the darkness. The tear in the sky pulses, twitches, and then closes with an archaic, thunderous crash. The spirals vanish; the night breathes again.

Aya looks down. Her golden footprints still glow in the rock before slowly fading away.

But deep in her heart, she knows: Nothing is the same as before.




CHAPTER 1


Traces in the Present

The sun slowly rises over Zurich, and the glass facades of the skyscrapers reflect the light as if they themselves had become liquid. The city awakens; trains rattle into the main station, trams ring their bells, and a wave of voices, engines, and hurried footsteps fills the air.

Amidst it all, Aya sits in a small café on Limmatquai, just a few steps from the water. She holds a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, but her thoughts are far away. Her gaze keeps lingering on the surface of the Limmat, where the morning light draws silver patterns.

Since that night on the mountain—since the crack in the sky—nothing has been the same. Images keep flickering in her mind: spirals of light, the two men, the rumbling of the earth. It is as if a second current has opened up inside her, a current that pulls her along day and night.

“Are you okay?” The waitress’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts. Aya nods hastily, smiling even though her hands are trembling.

“Yes, thank you,” she mutters. But she knows: nothing is right anymore.

The cell phone in her pocket vibrates. Aya pulls it out; the screen shows an unknown number. Hesitantly, she answers the call.

“Aya,” says a deep voice, dark and clear, as if coming from a dream. “It’s time. We need to talk. Tonight. At the old harbor.”

Aya holds her breath. She doesn’t recognize this voice—and yet it feels familiar to her, like an echo in her soul. “Who are you?” she asks quietly.

But the connection is cut off.

For a moment, she just stares at the black screen. Her heart is pounding, her thoughts racing.

Then her gaze happens to fall outside. At the other end of the street stands a man. Tall, dressed in dark clothes, motionless. His eyes seem to be staring directly at her. But the next moment, he’s gone.

Aya shakes her head. Maybe it was her imagination. Maybe she’s just tired. But her unease grows. She senses that this day will change everything.

Aya slowly places her cell phone on the table, as if it might come back to life at any moment. But the screen remains black. A shiver runs down her spine.

She forces herself to finish her coffee, pays, grabs her bag, and steps out into the morning bustle. Zurich hums around her. The tram screeches into the stop, people rush past with briefcases or strollers, laughter, voices, the language of the city. Everything seems normal—and yet strangely distant.

Her feet carry her automatically toward the old town. Cobblestones, narrow alleys, the smell of fresh bread from a bakery. She pauses briefly, closes her eyes, tries to breathe deeply. But no sooner has she closed her eyelids than the image flares up again: the crack in the sky, spirals of light, two men stepping out of the void. Her heart contracts as if she herself were part of that fissure.

“Aya!” A voice snaps her back to reality. Standing before her is Jana, an old college friend. She’s wearing an elegant suit, her smile is radiant, her arms full of briefcases. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

Aya nods, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Then treat yourself. See you next week?” Jana gives her a quick hug and disappears, already half on the phone, already half in another world.

Aya is left alone, suddenly feeling like a stranger amidst all the people rushing by. Her palms are sweaty, and when she looks down, she thinks for a moment that she’s seeing something impossible: a golden glow flickers on the cobblestones beneath her feet.

It lasts only a fraction of a breath, then it’s gone. People walk carelessly over it. Aya blinks. Did she imagine it?

A cold gust of wind sweeps through the alley, even though not a single leaf stirs in the trees. She senses that she is being watched.

And then she sees him.

A man, at the end of the street, motionless. Tall, broad-shouldered, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her. He seems like a stranger—and yet the sight of him sends a tingle down her spine.

The next moment, a delivery van drives by. When it clears her line of sight, the man has vanished.

Aya’s breath catches.

She knows: Today has only just begun. And it already bears the mark of the stranger.

Aya decides not to go home. The apartment is too empty, her own thoughts too loud. Instead, she heads to the university, where she is working on a research project. Ancient languages, lost cultures—topics that have captivated her for years. And yet, ever since that night on the mountain, she has sensed that her work is no longer just theory.

The university’s entrance hall greets her with the scent of paper, coffee, and cold stone. Students sit together in groups, laptops open, voices murmuring. Everything feels familiar, more familiar than the restless city outside.

In the reading room, Aya takes her usual seat by the window. Stacks of books lie there, along with notes in neat handwriting. She runs her fingers over a page—and recoils. The parchment feels as if it’s vibrating.

She blinks, reading the ancient inscription she’s been trying to decipher for days. Words from a language that never officially existed. But today she recognizes something in them that had remained hidden from her until now.

“When the heavens tear open and the light steps through time, three will walk the path of knowledge. One woman, two men. The seal opens, and the old awakens in the new.”

Aya runs her finger over her lips. Her heart is pounding. This can’t be a coincidence. The signs are too clear, too close to what she has experienced.

She slams the book shut. Her hands are trembling, and out of the corner of her eye she thinks she sees a glow again—fine, golden- -colored lines stretching across the wooden table for fractions of a second, like a pattern drawing itself.

“Are you okay?” A fellow student stops, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Aya forces a smile. “Yes, just… not enough sleep.”

As he walks away, she leans back and closes her eyes. But the next moment, the blood freezes in her veins.

She senses someone standing right behind her. No touch, no sound—just this presence, heavy and palpable. Slowly, she turns her head.

And there he is again.

The man in dark clothing. Closer this time, as if he’d stepped out of the shadows of the room. His eyes are fixed on her—deeper, as if he’s about to read her thoughts.

Aya wants to stand up, to say something, but at that very moment his image blurs, dissolving into the air like smoke.

She sits alone at the table.

The book in front of her is open. And on the page that was just empty, there is now a single word:

“Today.”

Aya can barely concentrate for the rest of the day. The lectures rush past her like voices behind a thick pane of glass. Again and again, her gaze drifts to the word in the book—“Today.”

It burns itself into her, as if it were not written on paper, but within her.

Toward evening, she leaves the university. The sun is setting, bathing the city in warm gold. But for Aya, a shadow hangs over everything. Every step through the alleys of the old town carries an invisible heaviness.

On the Limmatquai, lights spill from the streetlamps, reflecting in the water. She follows the river westward, further and further, until the paths grow less crowded. Here, at the old harbor, the city’s outlines seem like forgotten backdrops. Old warehouses line up one after another, brick, crumbling, covered in graffiti. Rarely does anyone stray here anymore.

Aya pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders. Her heart is pounding, but not just from fear. It’s a pull, a certainty, drawing her deeper in.

Then she sees him.

A figure stands at the edge of the pier. Tall, upright, dark. The man she has already seen twice in the city. His face is in shadow, yet his eyes shine as if lit from within.

Aya stops. “Who are you?” she calls out, her voice echoing across the water.

No answer. Only the gentle lapping of the waves against the stones.

She moves closer. Every step echoes on the cobblestones. Her breathing is shallow, but she forces herself to keep going. The figure remains motionless, as if it had been waiting just for her.

“Why me?” Her voice is softer now, almost a whisper.

Then the man lifts his head. For a moment, Aya thinks she recognizes something in his face—ancient yet young, familiar yet from another time.

Suddenly, a flash of light streaks across the sky—blinding, with no thunder. For a split second, the harbor is bathed in its glow, as if dipped in liquid silver. And behind the man, a second silhouette appears.

Aya freezes.

Two men.

Her heart skips a beat. She knows them. Not from here, not from now—but from that night in Mesopotamia.

The past has caught up with her.

Aya stands as if petrified. The wind from the water carries cold into her bones, yet a fire burns within her that she can barely bear. Two figures before her, two men—so real that she can hardly believe she hasn’t known them for a long time.

“You…” Her voice trembles. “It’s you. From there… from the mountain.”

The men exchange a brief glance, as if they know exactly what she means. The first—tall, dressed in dark clothing, eyes like glowing shadows—steps forward. His voice is deep, calm, with an accent that cannot be placed in any specific time.

“Aya. Your name has been carried within us through the centuries.”

A shiver runs down her spine. “How do you know me?”

The second man, dressed in lighter robes that seem like a whisper from bygone eras, raises his hand as if to calm her. His gaze is gentle yet piercing, as if he could see into her very soul.

“Because you are the bearer. You saw it, felt it. The heavens opened for you—not by chance. We are here because your time has begun.”

Aya shakes her head. “That’s crazy. I… I’m just a student. I have no power, no knowledge. I don’t even know why I keep seeing these images.”

“Yes, you do,” says the Dark One. He steps even closer. The light from the harbor lanterns illuminates his face, sharp and mysterious. “You’ve known it all along. Your blood carries the memory. Your feet leave traces, even if the world doesn’t see them.”

Aya takes a deep breath. The golden footprints. She wants to ask, but the words fail her.

The man in the robes continues: “Three paths, three lives, three powers. We meet whenever something has fallen out of balance. Time calls to us—and we follow.”

“Balance?” Aya feels her throat go dry. “What are you talking about?”

The Dark One looks out at the water. “Of something that is awakening. In this city. Here. Tonight.”

The air seems to vibrate, a barely audible hum, as if the earth itself were listening.

Aya takes a step back. Everything inside her screams to flee—yet at the same time, an invisible force holds her here.

“Why me?” Her voice almost breaks.

The two men look at her at the same time. Their gazes cut through her like two mirrors reflecting her into infinite depths.

“Because without you,” says one, “we are lost.”

“And without us,” adds the other, “you won’t survive the truth.”

Aya swallows. The cold of the night vanishes. A new storm stirs within her—not from fear, but from something greater: an awakening.

A scream shatters the silence of the night. Somewhere behind the warehouses it echoes, shrill, human—and yet accompanied by something that makes Aya’s blood run cold: a hoarse, deep rumble that no animal in this world could possibly produce.
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