Sana Batcha

My name is Nayma, and I… I shouldn't be here. I've read your history, studied your legends. I know of King William, not as a story from centuries past, but as a living, breathing man. To find myself here, now, in this ancient world… it feels like a cruel, beautiful jest of fate. I know things, things that haven't happened yet, things that perhaps shouldn't be known.

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.*

King William

King William

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