The realm of eternity was quiet again. The silence was not the comforting kind that let the mind rest but the kind that pressed against her ears, heavy and unrelenting. Hine sat on the edge of a jagged outcrop, legs dangling over the endless void below. She had died twice that day, maybe three times, the memories already blurring together, but this loop had given her enough stillness to think.
She was exhausted. Not just in her bones but in her soul, though she could not quite explain what that meant. Her mind wandered, restless yet desperate for some thread to grasp, something to make sense of why she still stood, why her heart still beat despite all the times it had stopped.
Her eyes drifted upward. Stars swirled above like an unending ocean of light, frozen in time. She found herself tracing their patterns, trying to imagine what they would sound like if they had voices.
She had sensed Istaroth's presence before, faint and subtle, a whisper at the edge of her hearing, a shadow flickering across the endless sky. The ruler of time never revealed herself fully, but her presence was undeniable. Watching. Always watching.
"I know you're there," Hine whispered, her voice almost lost to the still air.
At first, there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of eternity, the ever-present tick of something unseen. But then the stillness bent, almost imperceptibly, and the space around her shifted, as though time itself had tilted its head.
"Why are you watching me?" Hine asked, softer this time. She hated the way her voice trembled, but she let it tremble anyway. She was too tired to pretend.
The pause stretched on so long she thought she had imagined everything, that she had broken under the weight of isolation and was now speaking to the emptiness. But then a sound like a sigh moved through the air, distant yet near, ageless and young all at once.
"You are not ready to know," the voice said, almost tender, but not quite.
Hine's chest tightened. She swallowed and tried again. "Then make me ready. Please. I cannot keep doing this without knowing why. Why me? Why this?"
The air pulsed faintly, as though time itself rippled with the words. Hine looked down at her hands. They were shaking, whether from fear or desperation she could not tell.
"You have endured more than most," the voice replied. It was quiet, a murmur barely brushing the edges of her mind. "And yet you still stand. That is why I watch."
"That is not an answer," Hine said. Her voice cracked, sharp in the silence. "You think I am strong? I am not. I am tired. I am scared every time I wake up. I do not want to die again. Not like this. Not without reason."
Something shifted in the air. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the stars above dimmed, their eternal glow faltering just slightly, as though acknowledging her pain.
Hine pressed her palms against her knees, grounding herself. She hated the weakness in her words but hated the silence more. "If you will not stop the loops, then help me. Please. I do not know how much longer I can keep going like this."
There was no immediate answer. Instead, the world stretched, elongated, as if a thousand threads of reality were being pulled taut. When the reply finally came, it was almost reluctant.
"You are asking for something dangerous, little one."
Hine tilted her head back and stared at the stars. "Everything about this is dangerous," she said, her voice steadying even as her heart trembled. "I do not care. I just want to survive. I just want to understand."
Silence again, but this time it was not empty. She could feel Istaroth there, closer now, the presence like the turning of an invisible clock, steady and patient.
"You will not survive this by strength alone," the voice said after what felt like hours. "To endure what is to come, you must learn to see beyond what is shown to you. You must learn to read the spaces between moments."
Hine frowned. "What does that even mean?"
A soft hum echoed, vibrating through her bones, neither kind nor cruel, simply there. "Time does not move in a single line. It weaves. It bends. It listens. When you begin to listen too, you will understand."
The cryptic words only frustrated her, but she bit back the retort rising in her throat. She needed this, needed her. Pushing her away now would be a mistake she could not afford.
"Then teach me," she said quietly, more a plea than a demand. "Please. If you will not stop the pain, then teach me how to use it."
For the first time, the voice hesitated. It was subtle, a quiet pause that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of the realm. Then, softer than a whisper, almost a secret, came the reply.
"I will listen," Istaroth said. "For now, that is all I can promise."
And then the presence faded, like the tide pulling back into the depths, leaving Hine alone once more beneath the frozen stars.
She sat there for what felt like hours, replaying the words over and over in her mind. Listen. See beyond what is shown. Read the spaces between moments. None of it made sense, and yet a strange calm settled over her. For the first time since the loops had begun, she felt like she was not completely alone.
She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath, and tilted her head toward the sky. "Thank you," she whispered, unsure if the ruler of time could hear her.
No answer came, but the stars above glimmered faintly, as if in quiet acknowledgment.
Hine closed her eyes. The silence no longer pressed quite as hard.
She would survive this. Somehow, some way, she would.