After they finished gathering the herbs, evening darkened swiftly, a reminder that their time together was running short. Celia was about to return to Oswald's hut when Eliot caught up to her on the path.
"Wait." He was slightly winded. "Tomorrow morning… before you go to Oswald… come see me. Wake me if you have to."
Celia arched a brow. Why?
He lowered his voice: "Tell him you need help with the herbs, make something up. But the truth is, we need to talk. About me. About what I saw. About… whatever's happening." A pause. "And try to learn something from Oswald. He's clever; he might help. But ask carefully, don't be direct." Celia studied his face, then nodded. "Alright. I'll come, Eli."
At Oswald's hut, Celia set down the herbs, washed her hands in the rain barrel, and stepped inside. Oswald sat sorting dried leaves; Brooks drowsed on his perch, feathers puffed. "Oswald…" She hesitated. "Can I ask about… rare cases? Not illnesses, but people with strange afflictions." The old man peered up, sharp-eyed. "What kind?" "Like someone remembering things they shouldn't know. Or feeling time twist around them."
Brooks cracked one eye open. Oswald didn't blink. "It happens. Rarely. Never without cost. Why?"
"Just curiosity," she murmured. "From books."
"Can you keep secrets?" Oswald asked.
Brooks croaked: "I'd wager yes." Celia flushed, staring at her hands. "I'd only tell one person. Someone I… trust."
Oswald nodded slowly.
"There are legends. About those who can see beyond the veil of time. Not witches. Not mages. More like... marked ones. Sometimes by chance. Sometimes as payment. They sense things before others do. Sometimes they can turn a moment back." Celia absorbed every word.
"Can they... learn to control it?"
"Only if they're not alone. They need an anchor. Someone to stand by them when the shaking starts. Someone unafraid to stay."
The morning was overcast, the sky veiled in thin layers of gray haze, and the air hung quieter than usual, as if the village hadn't fully woken yet. A soft dawn glow seeped through the half-open shutter into Eliot's room.
He lay staring at the ceiling when a quiet knock came at the door. Not loud, almost hesitant.
"Eli?" Celia's voice called softly. "You said... to wake you."
He sat up at once, tugged on his shirt, and swung the door open. Celia stood on the threshold in a simple dress, her hair loosely braided, a basket in hand as if she truly meant to gather herbs.
"Hi..." she said, offering a small smile. "Did I... wake anyone?"
"It's fine," Eliot nodded. "Let's go."
They left the village along a narrow path leading to an old ravine, a place rarely visited. Here, the world was quiet, just the wind through grass and the whisper of leaves. Stopping beneath a lone pine, Eliot sat on a fallen log, arms wrapped around his knees.
"We need to talk," he said quietly. "About what's happening to me."
Celia sat beside him, angled slightly to watch his face. Her gaze was intent.
"I asked Oswald. Carefully, no names... He knows things. Spoke of rare people whose minds... slip beyond time. They see events before they happen. Or... undo moments, like correcting the past."
Eliot paled.
"That... sounds like me." She nodded.
"He said it's rare. And that sometimes... they need an anchor. Someone to keep them from getting lost."
"An anchor?" he echoed.
Her eyes flickered away briefly.
"Someone to trust. Someone who stays. Even when it's frightening. Even when nothing makes sense." Eliot was silent. Then he gave a faint, wry smile:
"Sounds like you."
Celia looked at him, slowly, with quiet warmth.
"I want to be that anchor for you. If you'll let me."
"You already are." he murmured, voice rough with something between gratitude and fear. His fingers twitched toward hers but didn't quite bridge the gap.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled. Then the world shuddered.
The air before them flickered, space itself crackling like static. For half a second, everything froze. Leaves mid-fall, dust motes, the wind, all suspended. Only Eliot kept moving. And Celia... He turned, and saw her breathing, alive, staring at him in wide-eyed shock.
"Eli... What did you just do?"
"I... didn't..."
The thought barely formed before time lurched forward again. Wind, sound, birdsong, as if someone had lifted a pause button on the world. Eliot gasped for air.
Celia sprang up, closing the distance between them: "That's it, isn't it? That's the power?"
He nodded, dazed: "Think I... stopped time. Briefly. And... you were in it with me."
She studied his face, then deliberately pressed her palm to his trembling wrist:
"I meant what I said. Which means we've got a new goal now."
For the first time since this began, Eliot didn't feel terror at the wrongness in his bones.
Because Celia was here. Because he wasn't alone.
They sat beneath the pine for a long while. The wind now chased wispy clouds across the sky, their shadows gliding over the ground. Eliot still felt remnants of that strange tension within him, as if something inside were being rearranged.
Celia sat beside him, her gaze steady. "Want to try again?" she asked quietly.
Eliot looked at her uncertainly.
"I don't even know how I did it. I just... wished for everything to stop. I got scared."
Celia thought for a moment, then said: "Try feeling the same way, but without fear. Calmly. I'm right here. Nothing bad will happen." He closed his eyes. Inhale. Exhale.
"Let everything stop. Just for a moment. Not forever. Only silence."
Again... that shiver. A flutter in his chest. The world seemed to hold its breath. And suddenly, it happened again. Everything around them froze. A leaf falling from a tree hung motionless in midair. A dewdrop suspended in a spider's web, glittering and still.
But this time... Eliot perceived everything more clearly. He heard his own heartbeat, the crunch of Celia's footsteps on dry leaves. Heard her say: "Eli... I'm moving."
"You're here with me again," he murmured.
"I think... it's because of the connection between us," she whispered and blushed, her voice barely audible.
He turned. Her eyes were serious but held no fear—only wonder and a slight tremble.
The world returned to motion—gently, as if nothing had happened.
They sat in silence.
"I think this is your ability." she said finally. "But it's not just stopping. It's more like... stepping out of the flow. As if time were water, and you're standing on the shore."
Eliot huffed a quiet laugh. "Strange feeling. And... it doesn't even hurt."
"And it's not scary when you're not alone," she added.
They stayed there much longer, discussing how this power might be used. Celia carefully recorded everything in a small notebook she pulled from her basket writing meticulously, as if sensing this discovery might lead to something far greater than just an unusual gift.