The night was colder than usual. A heavy silence had settled over the ruins of the old citadel where Aelric and the others had taken shelter. Only the faint crackling of firewood filled the void, and even that sound seemed reluctant to exist in the heavy air of despair.
Elara sat apart from the group, staring at her hands. They trembled slightly—not from fear, but from exhaustion. The mark of the Timer on her wrist glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. Every pulse felt like a countdown. Every flicker reminded her of what they had lost—and what little they had left to lose.
Aelric approached quietly, his steps soft against the cracked stone floor. "You're not sleeping again," he said gently.
Elara didn't look up. "Sleep?" Her voice was distant. "I'm afraid if I close my eyes, I'll wake up and find the world gone again."
He sat beside her, watching the flames dance. "We've been through worse."
She gave a hollow laugh. "Worse doesn't feel the same when you've lost the only thing keeping you moving."
Aelric wanted to say something comforting, but the words refused to form. He had always been the strong one—the leader, the fighter, the one who believed. But lately, belief was harder to come by. The corruption spreading across the Timers had taken more than power—it had taken hope.
Behind them, Lior was sharpening his blade, his face set in grim concentration. Eryndil, the quiet scholar, was sketching patterns in the dust, muttering theories about the Council's collapse and the strange distortion spreading across time itself.
And at the edge of the firelight, Nyra was humming softly. A haunting tune, almost a lullaby. It was one her mother used to sing before the first Purge, before the Timers became weapons, before the System turned their lives into a game of survival.
The sound filled the room with something fragile—something that almost felt like peace.
But then it came.
A low, echoing hum that reverberated through the ground. The air shimmered, and the fire flickered violently before going out completely.
Aelric was on his feet instantly, blade drawn, his timer flashing bright red. "Everyone, stay alert!"
From the darkness, a figure stepped forward—slowly, deliberately. The shape was humanoid, but its form wavered, as though struggling to exist within this reality.
Elara felt her heart stop. "No... it can't be."
The figure's voice was calm, distant—yet unmistakable. "You thought I was gone, didn't you, Aelric?"
It was Seraphiel.
But not the one they remembered. His once radiant aura had turned into a swirling storm of black and violet light. His eyes, once full of conviction, were hollow and cold.
Aelric's grip tightened. "We watched you fall. You were consumed by the Rift."
Seraphiel smiled faintly. "Consumed? No. I was chosen."
The word hung in the air like poison.
Elara stood, anger and disbelief clashing in her chest. "You betrayed us... you betrayed everyone."
Seraphiel's voice grew sharper. "You still think in terms of betrayal and loyalty? The System was never on your side, Elara. It used you. It used all of us. I've seen beyond its boundaries. I've seen the Architects who built this cage."
"The Architects?" Eryndil whispered, his face pale. "You mean—"
"Yes," Seraphiel interrupted, stepping closer. "The beings who created the Timers, the Hollows, even the Council. Everything we believed was destiny was just... maintenance. We were experiments in a broken equation."
Lior rose, blade gleaming in the faint blue light. "Then we'll end the equation."
Seraphiel tilted his head, a hint of sadness in his corrupted expression. "You can't end what you don't understand."
With a motion too fast to see, Seraphiel raised his hand. The air shattered like glass. A pulse of pure energy rippled outward, throwing everyone back. The ground beneath them fractured, revealing a chasm filled with glowing timer fragments—hundreds of them, broken and bleeding light into the void.
Aelric forced himself up, pain lancing through his arm. "What did you do?"
"I freed them," Seraphiel said softly. "The forgotten timers. The ones erased from the cycle."
Elara's mark burned brighter than ever, and a sudden vision flashed before her eyes—cities frozen in time, rivers flowing backward, and a single clocktower collapsing in endless repetition.
She gasped, clutching her wrist. "You're collapsing the flow! You'll destroy everything!"
Seraphiel looked at her with something almost like pity. "Destruction is just another form of creation."
Before Aelric could strike, Seraphiel vanished into the rift, leaving only his words echoing through the darkness—
> "When the last timer stops, the Architects will awaken."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Elara's breathing was ragged. Aelric stared at the spot where Seraphiel had stood, his thoughts a storm of rage and dread.
Nyra spoke first, her voice trembling. "If he's right... then we're running out of time."
Aelric looked at his team—tired, broken, but still standing. "Then we do what we've always done."
Elara met his gaze, fire returning to her eyes. "We fight."
Lior nodded, tightening his grip on his blade. "For the world that still remembers us."
The fire reignited suddenly, casting their shadows tall against the crumbling walls. For the first time in days, the light felt alive again.
Outside, the first hint of dawn broke through the horizon. But it was not golden—it was crimson, streaked with fractured rays of violet. The sky itself seemed wounded.
And somewhere, deep within the threads of time, the Architects stirred.
The countdown had begun.