The crystal shard burned faintly in Aelric's palm long after Kaelen left. Its glow pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if it recognized him. He turned it over carefully, afraid it might shatter at the slightest pressure.
Elara paced the small chamber, agitation clear in every step. "We can't just sit here, Aelric. If Kaelen is right, the Council won't wait. Tomorrow, they'll lock you in that sanctum, and we may never see daylight again."
Her words were sharp, but underneath them was fear. The same fear Aelric felt crawling beneath his own skin.
He closed his hand around the shard. "Then we leave tonight."
Elara stopped pacing. Her eyes searched his, weighing the decision. At last, she gave a single, firm nod.
But leaving the Inner District was not as simple as opening a door and walking into the streets. The Council's guards patrolled every gate, every bridge, every tower. And if Kaelen was telling the truth, they'd already be watching Aelric more closely than ever.
"We'll need a distraction," Elara said. "Something big enough to draw their eyes away."
Aelric frowned. "The hollows…"
Her head snapped toward him. "Don't you dare suggest unleashing them."
"I wasn't," he said quickly. "But if the tremors last night reached the outer wards, there's a chance some hollows have already slipped past. The Council will be forced to respond if another attack breaks out. That might give us an opening."
It was a desperate gamble. But then again, everything in their lives had become a gamble since the day the timer appeared.
---
Hours passed like slow-burning candles. The guards outside never stirred. Aelric and Elara whispered in the dim light, piecing together their plan. When the moon reached its peak, the city's bells tolled, and faint alarms echoed in the distance.
Hollows.
The very thing they had feared now played to their advantage.
The guards outside rushed away, leaving the door unbarred. The Council's emergency protocols were predictable—every soldier was to be dispatched to secure the gates during hollow attacks. That left the Inner District temporarily vulnerable.
"Now," Elara hissed.
Aelric slipped the shard into his pocket and followed her into the corridor. The marble halls were eerily empty, lit only by the flickering glow of torches. They moved quickly, every footstep echoing too loudly in their own ears.
But as they rounded a corner, a figure blocked their path.
Valerius.
The High Seer stood alone, his silver staff glowing faintly. His eyes, pale and piercing, locked onto Aelric. "Did you think it would be so simple?"
Elara's hand went to her dagger. "Step aside."
Valerius shook his head. "You are walking toward ruin. Both of you. That shard in your possession is not salvation—it is a chain. One you cannot break."
Aelric's pulse spiked. "You knew. About Seraphiel. About the others before me."
The faintest crack appeared in Valerius's calm mask. "I knew enough to understand the danger. Every bearer of the timer has brought destruction. We silenced them not out of cruelty, but necessity."
Elara's voice was sharp as a blade. "Or out of fear."
Valerius's grip tightened on his staff. For a heartbeat, the air thrummed with tension, as though the chamber itself held its breath.
Then, to their surprise, he stepped aside. His voice was low, heavy with something that might have been regret.
"Go, then. Seek your truth. But remember this, Aelric: the deeper you chase it, the less of yourself you will find."
Aelric didn't wait for him to change his mind. He pulled Elara forward, and together they slipped past.
Valerius did not follow.
---
The streets were chaos. Alarms wailed. Citizens ran for cover as shadows twisted between alleyways—hollows, drawn by the glow of the city's wards. Soldiers clashed with them in bursts of steel and fire, their shouts cutting through the night.
It was the perfect storm.
Moving through the confusion, Aelric and Elara blended into the tide of fleeing civilians, their cloaks drawn low. They darted through narrow streets, slipping past barricades until the towering gates of the Inner District loomed before them.
The gates were open. Guards poured through, rushing toward the outer wards. For once, no one was checking who went in or out.
They crossed the threshold.
The moment their boots touched the cobblestones of the Outer District, Aelric felt an odd shift, as though a weight had lifted from his chest. The Council's eyes no longer pressed down on him. But in their place, another presence stirred—the shard.
It grew warm in his pocket, and faint whispers trickled at the edge of his mind.
Do you hear us? Do you remember?
He staggered, clutching the shard. Elara caught his arm. "Aelric! What's happening?"
He shook his head, fighting to stay grounded. "The shard… it's calling."
They ducked into an abandoned building, its windows shattered, its walls scorched from an old hollow attack. Inside, Aelric pulled out the shard. Its light was brighter now, spilling across the ruined floor.
He held it in both hands. The whispers grew louder, weaving into words.
We are the forgotten. The erased. The ones who bore the timer before you.
The shard pulsed, and suddenly the room around them dissolved.
---
They stood in darkness.
Shapes began to form—ghostly figures, countless in number. Men, women, even children, each marked by the faint glow of timers on their skin. Their faces were blurred, their voices overlapping like waves crashing against each other.
Aelric's breath caught. "These are the others…"
One figure stepped forward. Unlike the rest, its face was clear. A woman with dark hair and eyes that glowed faintly silver. Her voice was steady, though threaded with sorrow.
"We carried the burden before you," she said. "We fought, we suffered, we died. And each time, the Council buried us. Hid our names. Burned our histories."
Elara's hand tightened around Aelric's. "Why? What do they fear?"
The woman's gaze swept over them. "Not fear. Control. The timers are fragments of a broken system—shards of a cycle meant to end the hollows. But corrupted, twisted, they became chains instead of keys. Those who bore them grew too close to the truth. And the Council silenced us to keep their order intact."
Aelric's stomach churned. His thoughts reeled back to Valerius's warning. Was it true? Was he already losing himself to something he didn't understand?
The woman stepped closer. Her eyes locked with his. "You have what we did not. A chance to break the cycle. But you must choose carefully. Every step forward will strip something from you—your time, your name, perhaps even your soul."
Her form began to flicker, dissolving into light. The other figures faded with her, leaving only a final whisper.
Remember us, Aelric. Do not let us vanish again.
---
The vision collapsed.
Aelric gasped, clutching his chest as he fell to his knees in the ruined building. Elara crouched beside him, worry etched across her face.
"What did you see?" she asked.
He looked at the shard, now dim and cracked, its light spent. His voice was hoarse. "The others. All of them. The Council erased their existence."
Elara's eyes hardened. "Then we expose them. We show the city what they've done."
Aelric shook his head. "It's not that simple. If the people learn the truth without knowing how to fight what's coming… it'll break them. And the hollows will win before we even have a chance."
He stood slowly, still trembling, but a fire burned in his chest. For the first time, he felt the weight of his role—not just as a survivor, but as the last thread tying countless forgotten lives together.
Elara placed her hand on his. "Then we fight smarter. We don't let their sacrifice be in vain."
Outside, the bells continued to toll, and the screams of battle carried through the night. But inside that ruined building, Aelric made a vow—to the shard, to the forgotten, and to himself.
He would not be erased.
He would not let the cycle repeat.
Whatever it cost, he would be the last timer.