The arena continued roaring below.
Someone was being thrown through a wall.
Krsangawi was taking bets.
Vaelrith was somehow winning despite not appearing to participate.
And Qaritas was currently staring at a twelve-foot-tall Timekeeper who had casually informed him they were apparently friends in the future.
His life had become ridiculous.
Again.
"Saved you how?" Qaritas asked.
Iezel's halo rotated slowly.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
For the first time since arriving, the Timekeeper looked uncomfortable.
"You don't yet."
That answer earned him a glare.
"I am beginning to hate future me."
Krsangawi immediately raised a hand.
"I've hated future you at least six times."
Vaelrith calmly corrected her.
"Eight."
"Right. Eight."
Qaritas pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Show him."
The voice came from Goro.
Simple.
Direct.
The table went quiet.
Iezel stared at the serpent.
Then slowly nodded.
"As you wish."
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The chains hanging from his body shifted.
Reality folded.
And something appeared beside him.
The moment it materialized—
Eon went still.
Not quiet.
Still.
Like a heartbeat stopping.
It was a book.
At least—
it resembled a book.
Qaritas immediately wished it didn't.
Its cover appeared to be made from stitched flesh.
Not fresh.
Ancient.
Countless purple eyes lined the edges of the cover, blinking independently.
None looked human.
Some had slit pupils.
Others possessed spiraling galaxies instead of irises.
Several seemed to be looking directly into him.
Large violet gemstones sat embedded along the spine.
Each gem pulsed like a heartbeat.
Slow.
Patient.
Waiting.
The moment it touched the table—
the candles nearby dimmed.
Qaritas hated it instantly.
"I don't like that."
"It doesn't like you either."
Qaritas looked at Iezel.
"What?"
"The Book is very judgmental."
"The book has opinions?"
"The book has many opinions."
A pause.
"Most of them rude."
Krsangawi nodded seriously.
"It once called Vaelrith boring."
Vaelrith adjusted one glove.
"It was correct."
The book sat there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Almost breathing.
Qaritas couldn't explain how he knew that.
He simply did.
And somehow—
Eon had become even quieter.
"What is it?" Qaritas finally asked.
No one answered immediately.
Then Hly'Zouun spoke.
"The history of reality."
The giant's voice rolled like distant tides.
"What has been."
A pause.
"What is."
Another.
"And what must be."
Qaritas stared.
"That sounds impossible."
"It is."
"Then how does it exist?"
Nhalyros answered.
Soft.
Distant.
"Because someone made it."
The silence that followed felt different.
Heavier.
Like everyone had accidentally approached a cliff.
And suddenly realized how far down it went.
Qaritas looked around.
"Who?"
Nobody answered.
Not Vaelrith.
Not Goro.
Not Krsangawi.
Not anyone.
Instead—
every single one of them looked at him.
Qaritas frowned.
"What?"
The silence grew worse.
"What?"
Worse.
"...What?"
Krsangawi looked away.
Whistling.
Vaelrith suddenly became fascinated by his drink.
Nhalyros studied the ceiling.
Hly'Zouun became a statue.
Aslvyr looked like he was actively avoiding eye contact.
Qaritas slowly turned toward Eon.
No.
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Which meant yes.
"No."
Yes.
"No."
Yes.
"No."
Yes.
Qaritas pointed at himself.
"I made that?"
Eventually.
"I hate future me."
You say that frequently.
Iezel pushed the book toward him.
The purple eyes blinked.
One of them winked.
Qaritas nearly threw it across the room.
"Open it."
Qaritas frowned.
Then reached forward.
Placed his hand on the cover.
And pulled.
Nothing happened.
He pulled harder.
Nothing.
The book didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't even acknowledge him.
The table exploded into laughter.
Krsangawi almost fell out of her chair.
Again.
Qaritas looked offended.
"I am literally touching it."
"It refuses."
"Why?"
Vaelrith calmly sipped his drink.
"Because you aren't supposed to read it yet."
Qaritas stared.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," Aslvyr said, "your presence does not belong here."
The words landed strangely.
Qaritas frowned.
"What?"
Iezel leaned forward.
The ticking within his body growing softer.
"You are standing in the wrong chapter."
Silence.
"...What?"
"The Book knows where every version of every person should be."
Iezel tapped the cover.
"It refuses to reveal information that would break the sequence."
The gears behind his head rotated.
Slowly.
Patiently.
"Right now?"
He pointed directly at Qaritas.
"You are late."
Qaritas felt something cold settle into his stomach.
Not fear.
Recognition.
As if some distant part of him already knew this.
The Book suddenly moved.
On its own.
The cover opened.
Pages turned.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Faster and faster.
The purple eyes along the cover all opened simultaneously.
The entire restaurant dimmed.
The arena noise vanished.
The crowd disappeared.
Everything disappeared.
Except the Book.
Then—
a date appeared.
Written in black ink.
A date older than kingdoms.
Older than nations.
Older than memory.
Iezel smiled.
Sadly.
Knowingly.
Like a man who had already lived this conversation.
Many times.
"The first mission."
Qaritas stared.
His heartbeat quickened.
Beside him—
Eon had gone completely silent.
"You need to go there."
The Timekeeper pointed at the page.
"The Third Universe."
A pause.
"Several centuries before Lady Xheavend escaped."
Another pause.
"And centuries before she met Goro."
Qaritas froze.
Eon froze.
The entire table watched them.
Then Iezel said the words that changed everything.
"You are going to meet Yzer."
The candles flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then every flame in the private chamber bent away from Qaritas.
Away from Eon.
Like something ancient had entered the room.
No one spoke.
The arena continued roaring below.
Somewhere distant, metal crashed against metal.
Someone screamed.
Someone laughed.
But around their table—
silence ruled.
Qaritas could feel it.
Not his own tension.
Not the captains'.
Eon's.
For the first time since they had become trapped together—
Eon was afraid.
The realization struck harder than any revelation.
Not angry.
Not furious.
Not murderous.
Afraid.
Qaritas swallowed.
Eon?
No answer.
The silence stretched.
Qaritas tried again.
Eon.
Still nothing.
Then—
A memory slipped through.
Not words.
Not thoughts.
A memory slipped through.
Not his memory.
Chains.
Blood.
A small hand reaching through darkness.
A child crying.
Then—
Rage.
Not ordinary rage.
The kind that could shatter universes.
The kind that could drown stars.
Gone as quickly as it appeared.
Qaritas nearly staggered.
Across the table, every captain had noticed.
Krsangawi's smile was gone.
Entirely.
Vaelrith's fingers tightened around his glass.
Tiny fractures spread through the crystal.
Aslvyr's hand rested upon his spear.
Not threatening.
Protective.
Nhalyros had become utterly still.
Even Hly'Zouun's abyssal gaze darkened.
Only Goro remained unchanged.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like a man witnessing an old wound reopen.
Iezel's ticking slowed.
Tick.
...
Tick.
...
Tick.
...
The Timekeeper looked toward Qaritas.
But the expression wasn't for him.
It was for the presence behind him.
For Eon.
"You remember."
The words were soft.
Eon finally answered.
Not aloud.
Inside Qaritas's soul.
I remember enough.
The temperature dropped.
The arena below continued roaring.
Yet Qaritas could no longer hear it.
Because Eon's voice had changed.
Ancient.
Cold.
Terrible.
If Yzer touches her again—
The sentence stopped.
Not because he could not finish it.
Because he didn't need to.
The threat hung in the air anyway.
Heavy enough to crush mountains.
Iezel lowered his head.
Not in fear.
In understanding.
"You said the same thing before."
That made Eon fall silent again.
And somehow—
that silence was worse.
The Book turned one final page.
And an image appeared.
A child.
Small.
Broken.
Alone.
Locked inside a cage.
Qaritas felt his breath leave him.
Because even without being told—
he knew exactly who he was looking at.
Xheavend.
The Book snapped shut.
The candles reignited.
The arena returned.
The crowd roared.
Reality resumed.
Nobody spoke.
For a long time.
Then Iezel quietly said:
"Tonight, Qaritas."
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"You travel through time."
And somewhere deep inside himself—
Qaritas felt ancient black shackles begin to crack.