Morgana gave a low chuckle.
Not a laugh meant to rise—just something dragged out low and wrong, twisted deep in the throat, carrying no warmth.
And then she rolled onto her side, turning away toward the opposite end. Her voice followed, low and warped—witch-like, the way they always said it was."Not bad… Not bad."
Back to Valdar—
Moriana with her lifted glaring fingers didn't unleash the storm.
She aimed it.
She took all that pressure and funneled it into a narrow, obedient current—tight enough to cut, clean enough to use.
When she finally opened her eyes, the strain was gone from her face. Something colder sat in its place.
Her pupils narrowed. She leveled her glowing fingers at Gord's hand, her voice flat—no patience in it."Triple… Synchrony."
The watch in Moriana's clenched fist jerked.
A third tone cut through the air.
Sharp—high-pitched, piercing, ringing clean and bright, climbing above the last two like a blade drawn across glass.
The only hand that had stayed dark—the hour hand—flared at once, glowing cosmic blue.
For a single beat, all three hands trembled in place, buzzing like they were pinned under pressure.
Then they broke.
The second hand twitched one way. The minute hand snapped the other. The hour hand dragged against both, stubborn and slow—as if the watch couldn't decide which direction time was allowed to have.
Heat surged through the metal.
Steam hissed from the gaps between Moriana's fingers, thin at first—then thicker, spilling upward like her grip was being cooked from the inside.
Gord saw it.
He jerked his hand back.
Moriana snapped her head up before he could pull away his hand.
Her voice cut through him—no patience. Her face stayed eerily still, a fortress of stoicism even as the pain surged."Don't—" she barked, the word cracking short.
Gord froze, obediently.
The watch's hands slammed toward twelve.
All three met at the top of the dial at once, twisting against each other, writhing as if they were alive. Their colors bled together—blue, yellow, red—until the light collapsed into cosmic black, flecked with sharp white sparks.
The shape warped.
What had been three hands became one. Its surface collapsed into cosmic black, glittering with fine white specks—like a night sky compressed into metal.
A single long, jagged hand stretched across the face, spanning the watch like a crooked spine—
and it began to spin backward.
At the same time, Gord's hand responded.
The air snapped.
A sick, tight crunch rippled through bone and tissue as the missing fingers forced their way back into place—not repaired, but re-formed. In a blink, his hand was whole again, skin seamless, the movement returning as if the injury had never been allowed to settle.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Yulia's eyelids fluttered, her breath catching against Veda's shoulder."…Impressive."
Zarius stared at Gord's hand like it insulted physics. His mouth opened, closed, then he forced out a broken breath."So… that's Synchrony."
Nearby, just a few steps away from them.
Orzik stayed bent over, gasping, spit hanging from his lips.
Then his breath steadied.
His legs stopped shaking.
He straightened slowly—testing his weight, finding it there again.
He turned abruptly, breath tearing in and out of his chest.
A wet gasp escaped him as he lurched forward, boots scraping bone-dust. His steps came uneven—one foot missing the other—body pitching as if it hadn't fully remembered how to move yet.
His shoulders hitched, arms swinging wide for balance as he staggered into a run, half-falling, half-fleeing—then vanished down the ruined street.
Zarius whirled, voice ripping after him."Orzik, you idiot!"
Orzik didn't even look back.
"There could be more coming," he snapped, voice tight.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?!"
Zarius watched him disappear into the wrecked streets, then dragged in a breath through clenched teeth.
"Gord… how is your hand now?" Veda asked after a beat.
Gord didn't answer right away.
He raised his healed hand slowly and turned it over under the dim, eerie light. The skin was flawless. The fingers moved like they belonged to him… but his stare said otherwise.
He clenched his fist.
Then he opened it, one finger at a time—smooth, controlled.
His voice came out low, rough."It feels… weird." A beat. "Stronger too."
A cold wind slid through the square, carrying chalky bone-dust and that thin metallic stink that sat behind the tongue. All of them flinched—small, involuntary.
Zarius pulled his coat higher and strode closer, one hand covering his mouth and nose."Staying here is a bad idea," he said, sharp and urgent. "We go east to the inn, grab our packs, money—everything we can't replace—then we cut west straight to Skaldvin."
From Veda's back, Yulia nodded faintly, her head heavy on Veda's shoulder."We don't have a choice." Her voice was thin, but clear. "If we stay, we look guilty. A Handler. A beast. A warrior. A time disaster in the same place…"
Then her eyes shifted toward where Orzik ran."Also… that guy. If he reports, we're done."