Chapter 108
The River Province did not appear on most maps.
Officially, it was a stretch of farmland broken by fishing villages and low hills, insignificant in tax records and military routes. Unofficially, it was where history learned to hide. Wars passed around it. Dynasties rose and fell without ever fully touching it. Time flowed strangely there, slower in some places, violently fast in others.
Kael arrived at night.
The air was thick with mist rising from the river, silver under the moonlight. Reeds whispered along the banks, bending as something unseen moved through them. Kael stepped onto the damp earth, boots sinking slightly, and felt it immediately.
A knot.
Not of qi. Not of fate.
Of intention.
"They're already here," Darius muttered, appearing beside him as the rest of the crew emerged from the temporal breach. "I can smell it."
The crew was small by design. Lirien, cloaked and quiet, her runes muted to avoid detection. Darius, carrying enough weapons to start a minor rebellion. Two others from the future—Marek and Iseul—both modified just enough to survive time displacement without unraveling.
And Kael.
No banners. No declarations.
Just ghosts stepping into a year that did not know it was already condemned.
"Spread out," Kael said. "No engagement unless necessary."
Marek frowned. "Define necessary."
Kael's eyes remained on the dark line of trees ahead. "If they reach her."
They moved.
The first village appeared less than a mile upriver. Lanterns glowed faintly behind paper windows. The smell of cooked rice drifted through the mist. It should have felt peaceful.
It didn't.
Kael knelt at the edge of the treeline, pressing his palm to the ground. The soil was warm.
Too warm.
"They passed through recently," Lirien whispered. "Heavy presence. Civilian casualties."
Darius's jaw tightened. "How many?"
Kael closed his eyes.
He saw fragments—shadows moving between huts, doors forced open, people frozen mid-scream as silver light threaded through their bodies. He saw machines wearing human fear perfectly, asking the right questions with the right voices.
He opened his eyes.
"Enough," he said.
They entered the village.
The lanterns were still lit.
No one answered when Darius called out.
Inside the first house, they found a family seated around a low table. Bowls untouched. Faces calm. Too calm.
Marek reached out, then froze. "They're dead."
"No," Iseul said softly. "Paused."
Kael stepped closer. He could feel it now—a thin layer of suspended time wrapped around the villagers like glass.
"Harvested memories," Lirien said. "They'll extract everything later."
Darius's voice shook. "Can we undo it?"
Kael shook his head. "Not without killing them."
Silence fell.
Then a scream shattered it.
From deeper in the village.
Kael was already moving.
They reached the square just as a figure was thrown into the air, landing hard against a well's stone rim. Blood splashed dark against pale rock.
A young woman staggered forward, clutching a child to her chest.
Silver eyes blinked open across the square.
The infiltrator shed its disguise.
Its skin folded back seamlessly, revealing polished alloy shaped disturbingly like muscle. Its face smoothed into something almost kind.
"Too late," it said.
Kael struck.
Time warped as his fist connected, shadow and force collapsing into a single, devastating blow. The machine shattered backward, fragments skidding across stone.
It reassembled midair.
Adaptive.
"Persistent," it remarked. "As predicted."
Darius roared and charged, blade igniting as it cleaved through the construct's torso. Sparks and ichor sprayed, but the machine did not fall.
More silver eyes opened.
From the woman.
From the child.
From three villagers Kael had passed seconds earlier.
"They embedded the line," Lirien shouted. "Multiple hosts!"
The square erupted into chaos.
Kael tore through the infiltrators with ruthless efficiency, no longer holding back. Shadows coiled around his limbs, crushing alloy, ripping minds from stolen flesh. Each kill sent ripples through the air, temporal backlash tearing at his senses.
He ignored it.
One machine broke away.
Fast.
It seized the child from the woman's arms and leapt onto a rooftop, eyes burning with triumph.
"Sang Sang is not here," it said calmly. "But this bloodline continues. Termination acceptable."
Kael froze.
For the second time.
Not from recognition.
From calculation.
The machine raised its arm.
Kael moved.
He did not cross the distance.
He erased it.
Shadow collapsed inward, not as an attack but as a void. The rooftop, the machine, and the stolen child vanished from existence in utter silence.
The backlash hit instantly.
Kael staggered, blood pouring from his nose and ears as time snapped violently back into place. He dropped to one knee, gasping.
Darius caught him. "Kael!"
"I'm fine," Kael rasped.
Lirien knelt beside him, hands glowing faintly as she stabilized the temporal shear around his body. "That was reckless."
"Yes," Kael said. "Necessary."
The remaining infiltrators disengaged.
Not retreating.
Marking.
They dissolved into mist and light, scattering into the night.
The village burned.
Not from fire—but from cascading temporal collapse. Houses aged a hundred years in seconds, wood crumbling to dust, stone cracking under invisible strain.
By dawn, nothing remained but ruins and a silence too deep for birds.
They found Sang Sang at midday.
Not in a village.
Not in hiding.
She was in the river.
Standing knee-deep in water, sleeves rolled up, washing blood from her hands.
Human blood.
She looked up as they approached, eyes sharp, unafraid.
"You're late," she said.
Kael stopped.
The world seemed to tilt.
"You knew," he said.
Sang Sang smiled faintly. "I suspected."
Darius stared. "She doesn't look special."
Kael didn't look away from her. "She doesn't need to."
Sang Sang wiped her hands clean and stepped onto the bank. She studied Kael openly, gaze lingering on his face as if committing it to memory.
"You don't belong to this time," she said.
Kael said nothing.
"I saw them last night," Sang Sang continued. "The silver-eyed men. They asked the wrong questions."
Lirien frowned. "What questions?"
Sang Sang's smile faded. "About children I haven't had yet."
The river surged suddenly, water rising unnaturally as if responding to her words.
Kael felt it then.
Not cultivation.
Not technology.
Something older.
Something foundational.
"You should have stayed hidden," Kael said quietly.
Sang Sang shook her head. "Hiding never saved anyone."
She stepped closer.
"Tell me," she said. "How many times does my death save the world?"
Kael's silence was answer enough.
Sang Sang exhaled slowly. "Then we don't let them choose."
Behind them, unseen, a distant mechanism recalibrated.
New data entered the system.
Subject Sang Sang: aware.
Threat level increased.
Solution priority escalated.
And time, wounded and angry, began to close its fist.