The red dawn bled across the horizon, staining the shattered lands in hues of violet and rust. It wasn't sunlight—it was the pulse of the world's wound. Every beat of that bleeding sky whispered of a deeper terror, one that existed beyond even the Hollows, beyond the Council, beyond the Timers themselves.
The Architects had begun to awaken.
Elara stood on the highest ledge of the ruined citadel, the wind tearing through her hair. The glow on her wrist—the timer mark—had changed. It was no longer the steady pulse of life. It now flickered erratically, as if something unseen was rewriting its rhythm.
Aelric climbed up behind her, his armor scorched from the battle with Seraphiel. He stared at the horizon, his jaw tightening. "It's spreading faster than we thought."
"Do you feel it too?" Elara whispered. "Like time itself is... breathing wrong."
He nodded slowly. "Every second feels stretched. And the flow is broken. Even the air is heavier."
Down below, Lior and Nyra were trying to repair one of the energy wards around the base. The barrier had started flickering, unstable from the distortion Seraphiel had caused. Eryndil, pale and hollow-eyed, was bent over a map filled with circles and symbols drawn in haste.
"We can't stay here," he muttered. "If the temporal fracture expands another two miles, this entire region will be lost to the Rift."
Aelric turned to him. "Then we find the core. The place where the Architects are stirring. We end this before they fully wake."
Eryndil hesitated. "You talk as if they're mortal, Aelric. The Architects are... beyond form. Beyond comprehension. Even the Council's archives couldn't define them."
Aelric's tone hardened. "Then we'll learn what they are by facing them."
Elara glanced down at her wrist again. "The last time we tried to face something we didn't understand, we lost half our world."
A silence fell. The wind whistled through the ruins, carrying the echo of distant screams—like memories of those who had been erased from time.
Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled. A sharp ringing filled the air—metallic, constant, and agonizing. The sound of clocks breaking.
From the northern sky, light split open. A shape emerged—massive, geometric, and wrong. It wasn't alive, but it moved as if it were. Fragments of runic symbols floated around it, orbiting like satellites around a shattered moon.
Eryndil's eyes widened. "It's one of them..."
Nyra stumbled backward, shielding her eyes. "That's... that's not a being. It's—"
"—a memory," Elara finished, her voice trembling. "A living memory of creation."
The being—or whatever it was—spoke without words. Its presence pressed into their minds, heavy and infinite.
> You have tampered with the weave.
The Timers were never meant to awaken.
Aelric gritted his teeth, resisting the crushing force. "You call this balance? You turned our lives into a clock that ends in blood!"
The voice continued, unbothered.
> The equation must resolve. The corrupted variable—Seraphiel—has disrupted stability. Restoration is required.
Elara gasped. "Restoration? You mean erasing us?"
> Correction requires sacrifice.
The light around the being flared, forming a spiral of collapsing time. The citadel began to crumble, pulled toward the distortion.
Aelric grabbed Elara's hand. "Move!"
They dove aside as a blast of raw energy tore through the ledge, scattering debris like dust. Lior leaped down from a broken pillar, his blade glowing with timer energy. "We can't fight that thing! It's not even solid!"
Eryndil shouted, "It's not solid—but it's anchored! There's a resonance point in its pattern. Hit that, and it might destabilize!"
Without hesitation, Aelric sprinted forward, dodging collapsing fragments of stone. The air shimmered like glass, distorting his movements, but he pressed on.
"Now, Elara!"
She closed her eyes, channeling everything she had. Her timer mark burned like fire, and tendrils of silver light burst from her hands, weaving through the air like living threads. The threads latched onto the entity, tracing its shape, finding its pulse.
"There!" she shouted. "At the center—beneath the third ring!"
Lior hurled his blade, infused with his own timer's energy. The weapon became a streak of light, piercing through the air and striking the core point dead on.
A scream—not of sound, but of existence—echoed through every direction at once. The entity rippled violently, its structure breaking apart like shattered glass in reverse.
Then—silence.
The distortion subsided, and the air became still again. The red glow of dawn dimmed slightly, though the sky remained fractured.
Nyra dropped to her knees, gasping. "Did... did we stop it?"
Eryndil looked at the fading fragments of light. "No. That was just one echo. There are more. Many more."
Aelric's expression hardened. "Then we find them all. Before they finish whatever they've started."
Elara met his gaze. There was fear there, yes—but also determination. "And what about Seraphiel?"
Aelric's voice dropped, dark and steady. "He's not gone. He's the key. He wanted the Architects awake... so we'll find him before they do."
The others nodded, the resolve returning to their faces despite the exhaustion.
Above them, the cracked sky flickered—one more pulse, faint but certain.
Far away, unseen, in the ruins of the First Clocktower, Seraphiel opened his eyes. The mark on his hand was no longer human. It glowed with the same sigil as the Architects themselves.
He whispered into the silence, a smile curving his lips.
> "They're coming. And this time... time itself will kneel."