The world beyond Ashvale prison was burning. Cities across the continent were falling into chaos, not because of bandits or monsters, but because the death timers themselves had begun to misbehave. Some flickered, others froze, and for a few unlucky ones, their timers had vanished entirely.
To live without a timer was supposed to be a blessing, but instead, it sowed fear. How do you live when you don't even know if your next breath will be your last?
Inside Ashvale, the rebellion brewed in silence. The prisoners were not loud or violent anymore. They whispered, schemed, and passed coded messages between meals and work shifts. Ever since Elara had returned, their hope had sharpened into something dangerous.
Aelric sat against the cold stone wall of his cell, the glow of his timer illuminating his wrist:
[12 Years : 2 Months : 15 Days]
Stable. Still untouched by the glitches. But the sight brought no comfort anymore. Each second that ticked forward felt heavier, because he had learned the truth: time could be stolen, traded, or destroyed altogether.
He closed his eyes, remembering Seraphiel's words from the hidden archives: "You are not bound to the timer. The timer is bound to you."
If that was true, then his destiny was not carved into glowing numbers. It was something he could shape.
---
Elara entered the cell quietly. Her hood was pulled low, hiding her sharp features from the patrolling guards. She sat opposite Aelric, sliding a thin scrap of parchment beneath his hands.
It read: "Tomorrow at dusk. South wall."
Aelric's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow? You think we're ready?"
Elara's eyes burned with conviction. "We don't have a choice. The Council is planning a purge. Every prisoner with a timer under five years is marked for elimination. They call it resource management. I call it slaughter."
His fists clenched. "So that's their answer? Wipe out the desperate first?"
She nodded grimly. "They want obedience, not questions. Fear, not resistance."
Silence stretched between them. Finally, Aelric whispered, "And what if we fail?"
Elara leaned closer, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "Then we die fighting for something more than a clock."
---
The next day crawled forward, each hour grinding against the prisoners' nerves. Whispers carried through the halls like smoke, slipping past guards who thought themselves watchful but blind. A spoon slipped into a sleeve. A sharpened bone hidden in a boot. A spark of courage buried in every heart.
When dusk arrived, Ashvale's sky bled with red and orange. The south wall stood tall and weathered, lined with archers whose timers glowed faintly in the fading light.
Aelric's heart pounded as he stepped into the courtyard. Around him, dozens of prisoners moved in silence, blending into the routine of evening labor. But their eyes told another story.
Elara gave a subtle nod.
And then, chaos erupted.
A clanging of metal, a cry that split the air, and suddenly the prisoners surged like a wave. Tools became weapons. Chains became whips. The guards were swallowed in the frenzy before they could even call for reinforcements.
Aelric moved like a shadow, his training guiding him through the storm. He struck with precision, disabling without hesitation. His timer pulsed brighter with every heartbeat, as though feeding on the rebellion itself.
At the south wall, Elara raised her hands, chanting under her breath. Light burst from her palms, striking the ancient stone. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, glowing like molten veins. With a final cry, the wall shuddered—and a section collapsed outward, revealing the wilderness beyond.
"Go!" Elara screamed.
The prisoners poured through the breach, scattering into freedom. But not all escaped. Arrows rained from the ramparts, cutting men and women down mid-run. Screams echoed as timers blinked to zero in red flashes.
Aelric grabbed Elara's arm, pulling her toward the breach. But just as they crossed, a figure stepped into their path.
Commander Dareth.
The man's armor gleamed silver, his timer showing a calm [45 Years : 7 Months : 9 Days]. He raised his blade, blocking their escape.
"You think you can break the Council's order?" he snarled. "You are nothing but insects trapped in the web."
Elara's hands glowed again, but Dareth's strike was swift. His sword cut through her light, sending her sprawling to the ground.
Aelric's rage flared. "Then let's see how strong your web is."
Their clash shook the broken courtyard. Sparks flew as steel met steel, each strike heavier than the last. Aelric's training against Seraphiel whispered through his movements, guiding his hand with uncanny precision. But Dareth was no ordinary soldier—his strength came from belief, unwavering and unshakable.
Elara staggered up, blood trailing from her lip. She whispered an incantation, and Aelric's blade shimmered with ethereal fire. With one final surge, he struck.
Dareth's sword shattered. His timer flickered violently, numbers collapsing in a storm of broken light.
The commander fell, clutching his wrist in disbelief as his timer blinked to zero.
The courtyard fell silent. The last of the guards fled.
The rebellion had succeeded.
---
But as Aelric and Elara stood at the edge of the broken wall, the wilderness stretching before them, Aelric felt no triumph.
He looked back at the prison, smoke rising from within, timers extinguished in the chaos.
Freedom had come, but at a price.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew this was only the first step.
The Council would not forgive this rebellion.
They would hunt them.
And the game of timers had just begun