Her consciousness came in the form of light.

A groan flitted out of her lips as she raised her head from hanging too low. Her neck cramped when she did that. Ouch.

She was sitting on a chair, that much was clear. When she attempted to stand, a force pushed her back down. Oh. She's tied to it. There were ropes and everything, biting against her skin even through the sleeves of her blouse. Her skirt fanned out, covering her view of her legs. From how it felt against the chair's legs, they were glued to them as well.

A humorless laugh filtered out of her mouth. Really? This was how destiny would play it? She did her best to stay away from Norren who might be Eliott je Clair's reincarnation and this was still how it played out? Couldn't she really change it?

Arya frowned. The dream. She still didn't know how it ended. She was rudely woken up by the sun that day, just as she was watching the man with teeth gaps tie the girl into a chair. They had gotten her out of the palace with a disguised soldier then stuck her into a dingy warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

The light streaming from the shuttered windows a huge distance from her head told her it was still daytime. She craned her neck, wincing when it induced another cramp. This was a warehouse, alright. Planks covered the ceiling, holding up slating roofs meeting in the middle. From the looks of it, this was a fairly big one, running a solid few meters from the far side towards the bolted door.

Her chair was somewhere in the middle, closer to the eastern wall and the only windows in this musty building. The scent of dry straw filled the air, making it feel scratchy. Faint streaks of dust flitted past the streams of light, telling Arya this place hadn't been used in a long time. Aside from her chair, piles of straw scattered around, the wooden stalls on one corner, and a few stools upturned or thrown haphazardly to the ground, the building was empty. It was quiet, with not a sound emanating from the streets outside. No horse neighed. No passer-by chattered.

In short, Arya was somewhere inaccessible. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only a handful would know about.

Exactly like the dream.

Arya gasped. If this was like the dream, then whoever was responsible for this, no doubt the council member with the ugly name, had beef to settle with Norren. Which meant, much to Arya's chagrin, they would have let him know they have her. If this would all play out like the dream until the bitter end, then Norren's going to come through those doors and try to rescue her.

But then, what would happen? The dream still hasn't divulged it. Stupid dreams. They had one job. One!

She glanced at the drab mess around her. How was she supposed to force herself to sleep in this environment? She needed sheets, a pillow, or at least a cozy feel! Certainly not this pathetic stance of being tied into a chair.

Besides, how was she supposed to induce the dream provided she had no way of seeing the painting or going to the bell tower now? She needed some sort of connection to the past and as far as she was concerned, this wasn't the same warehouse the girl was stashed in.

A loud banging rang across the room. Arya turned to the sound to find the doors thrown wide open. At least five burly men strode inside, bearing rifles slung across their torsos. Come on. That's a little overkill, wasn't it?

The soldiers—who all looked like members of the Maltarci—strode towards her and stood around her in a clean semi-circle. They stared at nothing, their bodies rigid and spines straight. Arya didn't fail to notice how calmly their fingers rested on the triggers of their rifles.

Okay, she had guards. If she was to send Norren a message to never come here, how would she do it? She muttered a curse. Of course, she needed to see the ending of the dream first. Then, she'd determine if they live through it or not. That's the only time she would think about what to do with Norren.

One step at a time.

She raised her eyes at the nearest soldier to her left, nothing his sharp jaw, clean-shaven face, and hair cropped close to the scalp. "Hey," she called. Her hands fought against the bonds and patted around her skirt and corset for anything that might prove useful. The soldier's eyes never strayed from the boring spot on the wall. "What are you going to do with me?"

The soldier didn't reply. Arya focused on rocking back and forth, eliciting creaks from the old chair. "Hey!" she called again, louder and shriller, this time. She had always been told in school that she had an obnoxious voice. Of course, she hated it then. Now, not so much. "Where are we?"

Her question was met with null answers. Just silence. Her hands worked double time. She tried to match her maneuvers with every swing she made with her torso to disguise her original intent. Her fingers brushed the rim of the pockets of her skirt. Something was there. Maybe. Had she shoved something inside it before she left the house?

The memory clicked. The necklace. From the chimney. A connection to the past. Of course. The mechanics didn't even specify if it needed to be in the era of the Old Kingdom. Or did it have that clause in the first place?

Arya's temples throbbed. She has been doing a lot of thinking lately. It's not good. Then again, being tied to a chair surrounded by Maltarci goons wasn't good either.

She recalled the strange symbol the pendant was in. Circle with serrated edges. It was supposed to resemble something. Come on. Think. Has she seen it somewhere? In the inking parlors? The haberdasheries? Some logo in a restaurant awning?

It settled into a distant memory at the back of her head. Somewhere...

By some miracle, some luck, perhaps, she recalled it to have been shown somewhere in the dream. Touched by the times of the past. Her connection.

And with that came the next step of the plan—falling asleep.

She glanced at the guards and closed her eyes. She forced her limbs to relax just like how she did it at the bell tower. No sheets or mattresses required. Sleep.

One of the soldiers moved an inch, jostling the mechanism of the rifle he bore. Arya's eyes flew open. Ugh. It's next to impossible at this point. She needed a quick fix. Something instant.

Her eyes fell to the rifles. Of course, if the enemy wanted to lure Norren in here, they wouldn't kill her. Why lose a valuable negotiation piece? Even if she threw a fit here, they wouldn't kill her. And Arya could do enough when she's not dead.

"Hey, do you know anything about the plan?" she asked as loud as she could, hoping her voice would carry out of the warehouse. Wishful thinking at best, really. "What are they going to do to me? Are they even a 'they' or is it a one-man show? Hey!"

Nobody answered her so she did the most attention-grabbing thing she could. She leaned against the bonds and rocked the chair sideways. It teetered to the edge before hauling her to the ground. The impact cracked something in the brittle wood. One of the bonds in her legs loosened. With that, she lurched forward, as fast as a snail but enough to claw her way past the circle of guards.

They snapped into action, swinging her back up. She kept her gaze at the doors held slightly ajar, just to keep it realistic. She swung her free leg at any arc she could. Her boot sailed past a jaw, a shoulder, and an arm. Finally, it connected to a gut. The poor soldier stumbled back, giving Arya enough space to continue her mad dash. None of them dared fire their rifles, else the sound alerted the people in the vicinity.

Freedom. Arya thought to herself over and over as she used her leg to haul the rest of her body (and chair) towards the exit. Maybe she didn't need Norren to save her after all. Perhaps she could make it to the streets like this. Perhaps—

She didn't get to finish her thoughts because a butt of a rifle slammed against her shoulder and swiped across her neck. That's twice she's knocked out but she'd let the second time pass.

As her consciousness ebbed, she allowed herself a small smile.

Because as she fell, her leg connected with the pocket of her skirts, straight into the necklace from the past.

And just like that, she plunged into the dream.