The marsh road to Greymire stank of rot and damp reeds. Night mist coiled low, muffling the hooves of Alexander's horse.
He should not be here. Not alive. Not riding through the same place he remembered only in tatters of memory.
Yet the leather reins were rough in his hands, the chill air cut his lungs, and when he touched his chest where the sword had pierced him, there was no wound.
An echo of laughter still lingered in his ears.
Fragments. Whispers. Auras that make men love you, hate you, fear you…
Alexander dismounted, kneeling by the river. His reflection stared back at him—not the proud Duke Ardyn, but something else. His dark eyes fractured like broken glass, tiny shards within them reflecting visions that weren't his.
A woman weeping in Luthenmere. A fortress burning. Cedric on his knees, begging.
He blinked, and it was gone.
His lips curled into a thin smile. "So this is the price."
---
The rustle of reeds snapped him from thought. Shadows stirred in the mist—three men, blades drawn. Highwaymen.
"Hand it over," one hissed. "Horse, coin, cloak. Now."
Alexander straightened slowly, cloak falling back to reveal no weapon at his side. Their mistake.
The first man lunged. Steel flashed.
Time cracked.
For a heartbeat, Alexander saw the blade pierce his throat. He saw himself fall, choking, mud rushing up to greet him.
And then—
He was back, a second earlier, before the strike landed. His body knew the motion before his mind did. He stepped aside, seized the man's wrist, and snapped it clean.
The robber screamed. The others rushed forward. Alexander's aura flared—unseen, but felt. Their eyes widened, rage and terror colliding in their expressions. One slashed wildly, the other dropped his sword and fled.
The second man Alexander killed cleanly. The broken-wristed one crawled away, babbling.
Alexander let him. Fear would spread faster than corpses.
---
When silence returned, he stood over the blood-slick reeds, chest heaving. His hands trembled—not from weakness, but from the echoes. He could still feel the phantom of his own throat being cut, the taste of blood that hadn't spilled.
Fragments. Futures. Deaths that hadn't yet happened.
He drew in a slow breath, forcing calm.
"So that's how it works."
The fractured time gift was no shield. It was a gamble, a game of rewinding seconds at the cost of his own mind. Each use left him with pieces of futures that did not belong.
And the aura—the way men either raged or broke before him—was another curse entirely.
Still… it was enough. Enough to survive. Enough to win.
Alexander looked east, toward the distant lights of Greymire. Somewhere beyond them, House Veyne feasted on his family's blood. Cedric walked under their banner.
His grip tightened on the reins.
> "You wanted me broken, Anarchy? Fragments or not, I'll put them to use."
He mounted his horse. The road stretched ahead, mist curling like pale ghosts.
Alexander urged the beast forward. Each hoofbeat was a vow.
This time, betrayal would not end his story.
This time, it would begin it.