Time had always been cruel in the loops. Sharp, precise, and merciless, it moved forward at the same pace no matter how many times Hine bled, fell, or screamed. One death flowed seamlessly into the next, like beads on an endless thread she could never unravel.
Until now.
Something felt different.
Hine sat in the empty courtyard of the realm, her body trembling from exhaustion, sweat clinging to her forehead. She stared at her hands, scarred and trembling, but the air around her felt oddly still. Usually, she would wake in the loop already running, already being hunted or thrown back into another impossible fight. But this time, there was silence. Stillness. Time that was not racing forward to kill her again.
Her brows furrowed. "Why... why is it quiet?"
She turned her gaze to the endless horizon of the realm. The skies above were frozen in a muted gray, light filtering down in soft ripples. It was the first time she noticed that silence could be deafening when nothing chased her, when no blade sliced the air, when no voice mocked her weakness.
Somewhere beyond that quiet, someone was watching her.
Istaroth leaned against the boundary between realms, unseen by Hine but watching every movement, every twitch of her muscles, every deep, cautious breath. The Ruler of Time had been watching for countless cycles, her presence hidden so carefully that even the others in the eternal court rarely sensed her touch. She was never meant to intervene. The loops were designed to be absolute, unyielding. But there was something about the child. Something stubborn, fragile, and defiant all at once.
And it stirred curiosity in her ancient, endless soul.
"She should have broken by now," Istaroth whispered into the folds of time. Her voice held no malice, only the quiet calculation of someone who had lived long enough to watch empires rise and fall in less than a blink. "Yet she clings to life. She claws forward. Even when there is nothing left, she refuses to stop."
For the first time since the loops began, Istaroth let her will seep into the mechanism of eternity. Time slowed, just a fraction. The weight pressing down on Hine's body eased, like the universe exhaling.
Hine did not understand what was happening, but she felt it. She lifted her head and blinked at the strange, serene stillness, her chest tightening with the unfamiliar sensation of space to breathe. For once, her pulse was not racing in panic. Her muscles, wound tight from days—weeks—of constant motion, loosened.
She stood slowly, testing her legs as though expecting the world to collapse under her feet. When nothing shattered, when the loop did not reset, she exhaled shakily.
"Why..." she whispered, as if the realm itself could answer. "Why does it feel... different?"
Istaroth tilted her head, watching as Hine brushed dirt from her clothes with trembling hands. Her golden eyes, ancient and calm, narrowed with the faintest curve of intrigue. She could not touch Hine directly. Not yet. Any interference more blatant would unravel the design of the cycle, drawing attention from the others—especially Ronova. But to slow the threads, to give the girl small breaths between her suffocating struggles... that much she could allow.
The loop shifted again, slower this time. The next reset came like a quiet tide, instead of the usual violent plunge.
Hine blinked, confused when she woke with her body unbroken, the aches of her previous death fading faster than they ever had. The familiar dread still pressed against her ribs, but it did not consume her. There was no immediate agony, no crushing urgency. Just... quiet.
She sat up and frowned. Her instincts screamed at her to move, to prepare, but nothing came. Her breaths grew steadier, and for the first time in countless cycles, she had the chance to think clearly.
To feel.
"Is this... a trick?" she murmured. She turned her hands over, flexing her fingers as though they could tell her the truth. "Or... is it a gift?"
Somewhere in the silence, a soft ripple of time answered her, though she could not hear it.
Istaroth smiled faintly.
Ronova, however, noticed the subtle change.
From the shadows of the realm, he watched as Hine stood straighter in her next loop, her strikes sharper and more deliberate. She did not hesitate as she once did. She no longer flinched when the first wave of agony came.
"Curious," Ronova muttered, his voice a venomous hiss in the emptiness. "You are adapting too quickly, little mortal."
He narrowed his dark gaze, sensing but not pinpointing the disturbance. The loops were running slower. Imperceptibly, but enough to make him restless. Someone was tampering. Someone who should not be.
His jaw clenched. "Istaroth," he growled, though he could not see her. He felt her threads brushing the edges of his own, faint and careful. "You play dangerous games."
But the Ruler of Time did not answer. She remained silent, perched in the folds of eternity, watching her quiet experiment unfold.
The slowed loops gave Hine something she had not realized she was desperate for: moments. Time to breathe. Time to think. Time to remember who she was beyond the pain, beyond the endless cycle of death and rebirth.
In those rare stretches of stillness, she began to study her surroundings with sharper clarity. The patterns of the realm's terrain. The timing of attacks. The subtle cues before each loop reset. She memorized them like pages of a book, storing every detail in her mind.
One evening, when the skies above the realm dimmed into that eerie twilight glow, she found herself staring upward. The stars were still frozen, unmoving pinpricks in an endless tapestry, but something about them calmed her. They reminded her of nights back home, before the loops, before everything had been ripped away.
"I don't know why you're doing this," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Whoever you are. But... thank you. Just for... this."
Her words drifted into the quiet, unheard by her but carried to the edges of time where Istaroth lingered. For a being who had heard every plea, every cry, every scream across countless eons, the quiet gratitude struck a rare chord.
"You endure," Istaroth murmured. "Perhaps that is why the threads resist breaking."
For a fleeting moment, she almost let herself wonder what would happen if she pushed further, if she tilted the balance more in Hine's favor. But the thought passed quickly. Interference was dangerous. The balance of eternity was delicate, and even she, the Keeper of Time, could not disrupt it without consequence.
Instead, she allowed the small mercy to remain. Just enough for Hine to find her footing. Just enough to keep her from drowning.
The next cycle came, and though the pain returned, it no longer consumed Hine as it once had. She had learned to brace for it, to breathe through it, to stand even when her body screamed at her to collapse. Her movements grew sharper, more confident.
And from the edge of eternity, Istaroth continued to watch.
Silent. Patient.
Curious.