Chapter 22 — The Thin Bridge of Time
Dehaska sat upon his throne as though it had grown from his very spine.
The seat was carved from obsidian darker than night, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly like a slow, dying heartbeat. Shadows clung to the towering pillars of the throne chamber, stretching and curling as if alive, responding to their master's presence. Above, the ceiling dissolved into endless darkness, a void where time itself seemed unwilling to linger.
Before him, the vision hovered—an arcane projection suspended in the air like a living mirror. Within it, the warriors moved unknowingly, their figures outlined in streams of temporal energy. Lee Kung. Mia. Sio Jun. Their journey through understanding had begun, and Dehaska watched with the patience of a predator who knew the prey could not escape fate.
His fingers tapped once against the arm of the throne.
Slow. Deliberate.
Behind him, a presence shifted.
Vaaktu stepped forward from the shadows, his armor clinking softly as he knelt. He was tall, lean, his eyes sharp with hunger for conquest. Unlike the others, Vaaktu did not fear Dehaska—he revered him, worshipped the destruction he promised.
"My lord," Vaaktu began, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. "They are vulnerable."
Dehaska did not turn.
"They wander between awareness and ignorance. Their minds are open, their souls unguarded. If we strike now—" Vaaktu clenched his fist. "—they will fall. Their reincarnation cycle will shatter, just as it did in the past ages."
Dehaska remained silent.
Vaaktu pressed on, emboldened by his own logic. "Allow us to attack now, my lord. They are in a trance state. Destroy them here, and the balance they cling to will never rise again."
At last, Dehaska moved.
He rose slowly from his throne, the sound reverberating like distant thunder. As he stepped forward, the vision of the warriors flickered, then stabilized, as if even time itself bowed before him.
"What good," Dehaska said calmly, "would it do to expand my glory only to the present time in Azura?"
Vaaktu blinked.
Dehaska paced across the chamber, his footsteps heavy, deliberate. The runes on the floor ignited beneath his feet, reacting to the power coursing through him.
"Master… what do you mean?" Vaaktu asked, confusion creeping into his voice.
Dehaska stopped.
He turned.
His eyes—ancient, endless, cruel—locked onto Vaaktu's.
"It has come to my knowledge," Dehaska said slowly, "that there exists a time better than the present."
Vaaktu's breath caught.
"A time," Dehaska continued, "where Azura stands taller, louder, brighter. A time where the world believes itself advanced… safe… untouchable."
He took a step closer.
"We do not strike blindly. We follow them in silence. We allow them to deepen their understanding, to stretch the fabric of time itself."
Dehaska raised a single finger.
"And when the bridge between both timelines becomes thin… we attack."
Vaaktu felt a chill run through him.
Dehaska reached down and grasped Vaaktu's shoulder, lifting him effortlessly to his feet.
"Oh, what an honour it will be," Vaaktu said quickly, smiling with reverence, "to fight at your side, my lord."
Dehaska's expression hardened.
"Nonsense," he said coldly. "And insubordination."
Vaaktu's smile vanished. His eyes widened. "My lord… what do you mean?"
Dehaska leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried more terror than a scream.
"I have built another task for you. Your time to join my battle is not yet."
He straightened.
"For when it comes," Dehaska added, a slow grin spreading across his face, "I will let you know."
Then he laughed.
The sound echoed through the throne chamber—deep, unrestrained, uncontrollable—until even the shadows trembled.
---
That same night, far from Dehaska's domain, the warriors slept.
Moonlight spilled gently across the small shelter they had made, filtering through cracked stone and broken wood. The night was calm, unnaturally so, as though the world itself was listening.
Then the sound came.
A melody—soft, sweet, ancient.
It drifted through the air like a whispered memory, threading itself into dreams and pulling at the edges of consciousness.
Sio Jun's eyes snapped open.
She sat up immediately, her breath sharp. Something was different. Her senses felt… sharpened. Every sound carried weight. Every movement felt close.
Lee Kung stirred next.
His eyes opened slowly, glowing faintly as the melody brushed against his mind. He felt it too—a pull, a presence, something calling from beyond sight.
Mia woke moments later, her hand instinctively reaching for balance.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Without answering, the three of them stood.
The melody grew clearer as they approached the door. Before opening it, Lee Kung glanced back.
Armin lay sleeping peacefully, unaware, his breathing steady.
"He can't hear it," Mia murmured.
Sio Jun frowned. "Then it's not meant for him."
They stepped outside.
Instantly, the world changed.
The night air shimmered.
Their senses heightened to an impossible degree—so sharp that they could see the movement of air itself, flowing like invisible rivers around them. Colors bled into existence where none had been before. Auras surrounded objects, pulsing with faint light.
"I can see…" Lee Kung whispered, awed. "Everything."
They followed the air currents, guided not by sight, but by instinct. The melody led them forward, through trees and stone, across ground that felt unfamiliar despite being known.
Six minutes passed.
Then they saw it.
A clearing.
At its center, perched atop a stone, was a glow.
"What's that?" Lee Kung asked softly.
"Shhhh," Sio Jun hissed. "You might scare it away."
The music stopped.
A heavy silence followed.
"I—I'm sorry," Lee Kung said quickly. "Why did you stop?"
The glow shifted.
A small figure rose from the stone.
A tiny elf, radiant and luminous, unfolded her wings. They shimmered like fragments of dawn, scattering light across the clearing.
"I thought you were not ready yet," she said, her voice melodic and amused. "Guess I was wrong."
She fluttered into the air, circling them.
"I know there are questions," she added gently.
The three stood frozen.
"I have been with you," the elf continued, "for longer than you know. Watching. Guiding."
"But we couldn't see you," Mia said.
"Because you didn't understand," the elf replied. "Not time. Not yet."
She hovered before them.
"The key of time is not a thing you hold," she said softly. "It is a state of awareness."
As she spoke, the night pulsed.
"Now that you have learned… now that you have begun to understand… your senses have awakened."
She smiled.
"And now," she said, "you can see me."
Far away, unseen, Dehaska's laughter echoed across the threads of time.
The bridge was thinning.
And the war had already begun.
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