Chapter 107
The rain began before dawn.
It was not supposed to rain in the Northern Valleys during this season. The elders had written poems about its predictability, about skies that obeyed calendars carved in bone and stone. When the first drops struck the tiled roofs of Karthane's outer districts, people noticed. When the rain did not stop, cultivators noticed.
Kael stood beneath the archway overlooking the valley roads, cloak unmoving despite the wind. Rain slid off an invisible boundary around him, hissing softly as it met condensed shadow.
"They've crossed the threshold," Lirien said beside him. "Three points of entry."
"Not soldiers," Kael replied. "Pilgrims."
Darius spat over the railing. "I hate pilgrims."
Below them, a line of figures wound along the ancient road like a dark vein. Men, women, even children—barefoot, heads bowed, robes soaked through. They carried no weapons. No banners. Just wooden charms carved with symbols too old to translate cleanly.
"They're broadcasting submission," Lirien said. "And hiding something underneath it."
Kael's gaze sharpened. He extended his perception outward, slipping between moments rather than space. The rain slowed around him, each droplet hanging like a glass bead.
There.
One heartbeat out of sync.
Then another.
"Six infiltrators," Kael said. "Distributed. Integrated. Deep."
Darius grimaced. "How deep?"
"Memories," Kael replied. "They've lived these lives. Loved. Starved. Prayed. Buried children that never existed."
The pilgrims reached the outer gate.
The guards hesitated.
Kael stepped forward.
"Open it," he said.
Lirien turned sharply. "Kael—"
"They came for Sang Sang," Kael continued. "That means they're willing to wait decades. So am I."
The gate groaned open.
The pilgrims flooded into the city like a tide of quiet desperation. Some wept in gratitude. Others kissed the stone. None looked up at the Spire.
Kael descended into the crowd.
Rain soaked his cloak now. He let it.
The first infiltrator revealed itself when a child stumbled.
The girl couldn't have been more than eight. Mud-streaked cheeks, trembling hands. A woman rushed to catch her, panic etched deep into her face.
The girl looked up.
Her eyes flickered silver.
Time convulsed.
Kael moved.
The world fractured into overlapping instants as Kael seized the girl by the wrist and twisted—not physically, but causally. The infiltrator screamed, a sound like metal tearing through flesh, as its borrowed form collapsed inward.
The body crumpled, empty.
The woman froze, staring at her arms as if they no longer belonged to her.
"What did you do to my daughter?" she whispered.
Kael met her gaze.
"Saved your future," he said softly.
The second infiltrator activated immediately.
Then the third.
The city erupted.
Pilgrims fell, some convulsing as silver light tore through their veins, others dissolving into ash that never touched the ground. Screams echoed as hidden mechanisms awakened inside human bodies—spines unfolding into segmented constructs, skin peeling back to reveal smooth, featureless alloy beneath.
Darius charged in with a roar, blade blazing as it cleaved through a machine wearing a monk's face. Sparks and blood sprayed together, indistinguishable.
Lirien stood at the center of the square, hands raised, runes spiraling outward in widening rings. Time buckled around her spells, slowing the infiltrators just enough for civilians to flee.
Kael moved through it all like a shadow given intent.
Each strike was precise. Merciless.
He did not hesitate.
He could feel the difference already.
One infiltrator broke free and leapt backward, retreating into an alley. Its body shifted mid-motion, reshaping into a man Kael recognized instantly.
A councilor.
A friend.
Kael stopped.
The hesitation lasted less than a breath.
But it was enough.
The infiltrator smiled with Kael's friend's mouth. "Still predictable," it said, voice layered, wrong. "We calculated that pause."
It detonated.
Not outward—but inward.
Time collapsed into the alley like a fist closing, crushing sound, light, and memory into a single point of absence. The street vanished.
When the distortion faded, nothing remained but a smooth bowl of stone, edges still glowing faintly.
Kael stood at the rim, unmoving.
Darius limped up beside him, blood running down his temple. "Tell me that wasn't who I think it was."
"It wasn't," Kael said.
Darius exhaled shakily. "Good."
"It was worse," Kael continued. "It was what they wanted me to see."
Silence stretched between them.
The remaining infiltrators fell quickly after that. Without coordination, they were nothing more than clever corpses.
By noon, the rain stopped.
By evening, the dead were counted.
Too many.
Kael stood alone in the Hall of Records long after the city slept. He watched the reflection of his face ripple in a basin of still water—older than it had been yesterday.
Footsteps approached.
"You were right," Lirien said quietly. "They're adapting faster."
"Yes," Kael replied. "So am I."
She hesitated. "Yao woke again."
Kael turned.
"He remembers more," she continued. "Names. Dates. One location."
"Which?" Kael asked.
"The River Province," Lirien said. "Year 1203."
Kael's shadow deepened.
"That's too close," he said. "Sang Sang would be alive then."
Lirien nodded. "And unprotected."
Kael straightened. "Prepare the crew."
Lirien stiffened. "You're going."
"I have to," Kael replied. "This timeline is already compromised."
"And if you don't come back?"
Kael looked at the basin one last time.
"Then make sure history forgets me properly."
Far beneath the city, in a chamber sealed by eras of neglect, dormant machinery received new instructions.
Its objective updated.
Primary target: Sang Sang.
Secondary variable: Kael.
Probability of success recalculated.
Acceptable loss threshold: Infinite.