It was a day like any other. Leonardo woke up early, as he usually did, and prepared for another day at the museum. His routine was methodical: coffee, a simple breakfast, and a walk to work while listening to a podcast about the Hundred Years' War. In his mind, he reviewed facts he already knew, but he was always eager to learn a detail he might have missed.
—The Battle of Patay, 1429... decisive for the French, thanks to Joan's strategy and the commanders who supported her. I imagine seeing the English retreat must have been a glorious sight —he murmured to himself as he crossed a busy avenue.
The sun was shining brightly, and the perfectly blue sky made him think for a moment that the world could be as beautiful as the past he so admired. He had no idea that this calm would be fleeting.
In the mid-afternoon, while sorting through some documents, it happened. At first, it was a sound, a low and distant roar, as if the earth itself were complaining. The museum windows began to shake, and the employees looked at each other, alarmed. Then came a flash.
It was a white and golden glow that cut through the skies like an endless lightning bolt. For a moment, Leonardo thought it must be a thunderstorm, but when he went outside to investigate, what he saw chilled his blood.
The sky was fractured. There was no other way to describe it. Instead of the blue vault he had contemplated that morning, now luminous cracks stretched out, as if the very fabric of the universe were tearing apart. Through those cracks, impossible things could be glimpsed: a shining 15th-century armor, a Viking ship, and in the distance, the lights of a futuristic metropolis. It was as if time and space had broken, mixing eras in a visual chaos.
—What the hell is happening?! —someone shouted behind him, but Leonardo barely heard. He was paralyzed, trying to understand what he was seeing.
Then the chaos began. People from all eras started appearing on the city streets. A group of Roman soldiers emerged from a nearby crack, their helmets gleaming under the modern sun. Beyond, a figure dressed as a medieval knight watched a car with evident bewilderment. Everything was an impossible mess to comprehend.
—This... this can't be happening... —Leonardo murmured, slowly backing towards the museum interior. However, before he could find refuge, he felt the ground shake beneath his feet.
Suddenly, a much larger crack opened right in front of him. He had no time to react. The crack absorbed him, and his entire world vanished in a whirlwind of light and shadows.
As he fell, he felt a mix of terror and fascination. He could see flashes of eras passing by: French soldiers marching under a banner, peasants plowing fields, and in a fleeting moment, a woman in armor riding a white horse.
—Joan... —he whispered before losing consciousness.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his city. The smell of wet grass and smoke filled the air, and the sound of horses and swords surrounded him. He awoke in the middle of a battlefield.
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The sound of horse hooves and the echo of orders resonating in the distance woke Leonardo. His head was spinning, and the air felt heavy, as if gravity itself had changed. He opened his eyes slowly, finding a clear sky and the scent of wet grass mixed with the smoke of burning wood.
—Where... am I? —he murmured as he struggled to sit up. He looked around and noticed something peculiar: the landscape was different. No buildings, no cars. Just green hills, rudimentary camps, and a group of soldiers in the distance.
Panic began to set in. He didn't understand how, but everything around him seemed straight out of a history book. The armors, the banners waving in the wind, and the roar of voices spoke of a distant time.
—No... it can't be —he murmured, placing a hand on his chest as if trying to calm his racing heart. He looked at his clothes: he was still wearing his modern outfit, jeans and a t-shirt. It was like a stranger in the middle of a dream that felt too real.
Suddenly, a shout pulled him out of his thoughts.
—Intruder! —shouted a male voice with a strong French accent. Leonardo quickly turned his head and saw a group of soldiers approaching on horseback, pointing their lances at him.
—Wait, wait! —he exclaimed, raising his hands instinctively. His French came out more fluently than he expected, thanks to his years of practice. But the soldiers didn't seem impressed.
—Who are you and what are you doing here? —one of the men asked, dismounting his horse. He was a burly soldier with a scruffy beard and a stern look.
Leonardo swallowed. What could he say? That he had fallen through a crack in time? That would only make him seem crazy or, worse, a spy.
—I... I am a traveler. I got lost and... ended up here by accident —he lied awkwardly.
—A traveler? —the soldier frowned as he inspected him from head to toe—. Your clothes are strange. Are you an English spy?
—No, I'm not English! I am French! —Leonardo raised his voice, feeling the weight of suspicion on him.
—French, you say? Then explain yourself better before I decide to take you to the superiors.
Before Leonardo could respond, another soldier interrupted.
—Let's bring him to the camp. If he's lying, we'll hang him like the others.
Leonardo wanted to protest, but he knew he had no choice. They escorted him to the camp on foot, while the suspicious looks of the soldiers followed him like invisible blades.
When they arrived, the camp was even more impressive up close. The tents were organized in rows, and the soldiers were polishing their weapons or talking in low voices. In the center, a banner with the fleur-de-lis symbol was waving.
—Joan will want to see him —said one of the soldiers.
The name resonated in Leonardo's mind like thunder. **Joan? Joan of Arc?** It was impossible. Or rather, it should be impossible. But the thought of coming face to face with her filled him with a mix of fear and excitement.
Shortly after, they brought him to a large tent adorned with the same banners. Inside, several figures were discussing strategies around a map, but one figure immediately stood out to Leonardo.
She was not tall, but her bearing was imposing. She wore armor that reflected the torchlight, and her dark hair fell messily across her face as she studied the map with overwhelming intensity. It was Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, just as he had imagined her.
Joan looked up upon noticing his presence and frowned.
—Who is this man? —she asked firmly, addressing the soldiers.
—We found him loitering near the camp, my lady. He claims to be French, but his clothes are strange. He could be an English spy.
Joan approached Leonardo, examining him with an inquisitive gaze. He felt as if she could see through him, as if her eyes were searching for something deeper than simple answers.
—Is it true? Are you French? —she asked, her tone as serene as it was dangerous.
Leonardo took a deep breath. He had to stay calm.
—Yes, I am French —he replied, keeping his gaze fixed on hers—. I got lost while traveling. I am not a spy.
Joan tilted her head slightly, still evaluating him.
—Your clothes are strange. I've never seen anything like it. Who are you really?
Leonardo hesitated. He couldn't tell her the truth, but he didn't want to lie blatantly either. He opted for a partial truth.
—My name is Leonardo Marchand. I am... a scholar. I travel through France to learn about our people, our lands.
The mention of his name seemed to catch her attention.
—Marchand... Where is your family from?
—From Paris, originally —he lied.
Joan studied him for another moment before stepping back.
—If you lie, I'll know it —she finally said, with a warning in her voice. Then she turned to the soldiers—. Keep him under watch. If he's a spy, he won't have a chance to escape. But if he is who he says he is, he might be useful.
Leonardo let out a sigh of relief. Although they still didn't trust him, at least they hadn't condemned him immediately.
—Thank you, miss... —he quickly corrected himself—. Thank you, my lady.
She looked at him with curiosity.
—Call me Joan.
And with that, Leonardo knew his life was about to change forever.
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