The light led them to a new threshold.
Not a portal.
Not a jump.
A collapse of ancient worlds.
—
Before them stretched a ruined city, suspended in the void.
Broken towers.
Shattered bridges.
Symbols of the League carved into stones so ancient they were barely recognizable.
Helena whispered:
— This... is older than our Base.
— Much older, — Otrho added, appearing behind them.
—
Kael felt the weight of history pressing down on his shoulders.
The First League.
Not the one recorded in present archives.
But the true foundation — built by beings who had touched the fabric of time itself, only to be consumed by the very Abyss that now stalked their remnants.
—
They moved cautiously through the suspended streets.
Time there did not flow normally.
At moments, pieces of ruins rebuilt themselves briefly, only to collapse again.
Echoes of lost screams vibrated in the air — without bodies, without sources.
—
At the city's center, they found a broken monolith.
Etched upon it, nearly faded away, was an inscription:
> "He who shapes time must also bear its weight."
Kael touched the monolith.
For a moment, he saw visions:
Beings of light and shadow, raising worlds.
Building and shattering timelines as if blowing sand.
And he saw the fall.
He saw the birth of the Abyss.
—
The witches felt it too.
Each one, deep within, understood:
Their mission had never been just to correct deviations.
It was to prevent history from erasing itself.
—
Kael staggered back, breathing heavily.
He looked up at the cracked sky.
— Now we know what we're truly fighting against.
Helena faced him.
— Against what?
Kael answered, his voice heavy:
— Against the forgetting of time itself.