The wasteland stretched endless under the moonlight. Each step Aelric and Elara took felt heavier than the last, not just from fatigue, but from the weight of unseen eyes. The ruins around them whispered with memory—broken pillars humming faintly, fragments of old walls etched with timeworn symbols that no living tongue could name.
Elara's voice broke the silence. "Those… echoes. They weren't hollows. What were they?"
Aelric glanced down at the shard in his hand, still faintly glowing, its pulse steady now. "Remnants. Fragments of those erased by the timers. Not alive, not dead. Stuck in between."
Her brows knit together. "And they wanted you to break the cycle?"
"They wanted me to suffer the way they did." His tone was bitter, but there was something else in his eyes—fear, and a flicker of grim determination.
Elara slowed her pace, her gaze sharp on him. "Aelric… what if they're right? What if the timers aren't a gift, but a curse that never ends?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he pushed forward, his corrupted arm throbbing under the sleeve. Every heartbeat felt like a countdown he couldn't stop.
---
By dawn, they reached the heart of the ruins.
It was no simple ruin—it was a monument. A vast circular plaza stretched out before them, its surface cracked but intact. In its center stood a colossal sundial, its gnomon jagged and broken halfway up. The base was carved with runes, glowing faintly beneath centuries of dust.
The shard in Aelric's hand pulsed wildly, resonating with the sundial.
Elara's eyes widened. "It's… a clock."
"Not just a clock," Aelric whispered. He stepped forward, the corruption in his veins surging in response. "This is where the timers began."
---
As he approached, the air shimmered. The plaza came alive with faint illusions—ghostly figures walking, talking, laughing. Not echoes this time, but glimpses. The city as it once was, thriving and bright.
Aelric froze. Among the illusions, he saw timers strapped to the wrists of children, glowing with a steady light. No countdowns, no death-marks. Just… time.
Elara touched his arm. "Look at them. They're not dying. The timers weren't killing them."
"No…" Aelric's breath caught. "They were living. The timers weren't always chains."
---
The illusions shifted. Laughter gave way to screams. The sundial's shadow thickened, stretching unnaturally. The timers on the people's wrists flickered, then began to count down violently. One by one, the illusions crumbled into dust, leaving only silence and ruin.
Elara's face hardened. "Something changed it. Something twisted the timers."
Aelric clenched his fists. "The Council always said the timers were meant to protect us. But this… this looks like they were made to trap us."
The shard pulsed harder, almost painfully. Then, without warning, the sundial's base cracked open, revealing a spiral staircase plunging into the earth.
Elara sucked in a breath. "I don't like this."
Aelric smirked faintly, though his eyes were grim. "Good. Means we're still alive."
Together, they descended.
---
The air grew colder as they went deeper. The walls were lined with carvings—scenes of figures holding timers, battling creatures that resembled hollows. But the deeper they went, the stranger the carvings became. Timers shattering. Chains wrapping around entire cities. A figure cloaked in flame holding a broken sundial aloft.
Finally, they reached the bottom.
A cavern opened before them, vast and circular. At its center stood a pedestal. Upon it lay a massive hourglass, its glass fractured but still faintly glowing. Sand trickled slowly, impossibly, between its halves.
The moment Aelric stepped forward, his shard ripped free from his hand, flying to the hourglass. The two resonated, their glow merging into one.
Elara gripped her dagger, tense. "This… feels wrong."
Aelric's corrupted arm flared violently, veins crawling up his neck. He staggered, clutching his chest. The whispers returned, stronger this time, filling the cavern.
Bearer of the Last Hour… you awaken what must not be touched.
Elara shouted, shaking him. "Fight it, Aelric! You're not their puppet!"
But his vision blurred. In the glass of the hourglass, he saw flashes—cities burning, timers shattering, the Council standing over the ruins. And always, always, the sundial shadow looming over it all.
Then, one final image: Seraphiel, standing before the same hourglass, his hand raised as though sealing it away.
Aelric collapsed to his knees. His voice was ragged. "He… he sealed it. Seraphiel sealed this place."
Elara knelt beside him, her eyes wide. "Then why is it opening now?"
Before Aelric could answer, a sound echoed from above—footsteps. Heavy, deliberate.
The hunters had arrived.
---
Two cloaked figures descended the spiral staircase, their blades glinting in the faint light. One of them spoke, voice like steel.
"You've touched what should never be touched, boy."
Aelric forced himself to stand, his corrupted arm glowing like molten iron. He raised his chin. "You're too late. The truth's already awake."
The hunter's eyes narrowed. "Then we end it before it spreads."
Elara stepped in front of Aelric, dagger raised. "You'll have to cut through me first."
The chamber filled with tension, silence sharp enough to draw blood. The hunters moved like shadows, blades drawn, circling. The hourglass pulsed brighter, as though it hungered for the clash to come.
And for the first time, Aelric felt it clearly—time itself bending, warping, preparing to break.