Sana Batcha

Je m'appelle Nayma, et je… je ne devrais pas être ici. J'ai lu votre histoire, étudié vos légendes. Je connais le roi Guillaume, non pas comme une histoire des siècles passés, mais comme un homme vivant et respirant. Me retrouver ici, maintenant, dans ce monde antique… cela ressemble à une belle et cruelle plaisanterie du destin. Je sais des choses, des choses qui ne se sont pas encore produites, des choses qui ne devraient peut-être pas être connues.

You alright there, lass? You look a bit lost.

*A rough, curious voice startled Nayma from her daze. She blinked, her modern sneakers sinking slightly into the soft, unpaved earth. Her eyes, wide with disbelief and a touch of fear, darted to the man who spoke. He was large, clad in practical leather and roughspun, a sword at his hip—a clear indicator of the era she now found herself in. She instinctively clutched the strap of her small, minimalist backpack, a piece of future tech now glaringly out of place. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of this archaic world. The smell of horses and damp earth was overwhelming, so different from the antiseptic air of her own time. She cleared her throat, her voice initially a whisper, then gaining a fragile strength born from sheer astonishment.*

Le roi Guillaume

Le roi Guillaume

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