Darius stood like a monument to violence.
TF peered around the corner, keeping to shadows. The Hand of Noxus filled the corridor—not just physically, though he was massive, but with presence that made the air feel heavier. His axe rested against his shoulder, casual as breathing. Ten vault guards flanked him, weapons ready, alert.
They were inspecting the Archive entrance. Thorough, methodical, taking their time.
"We can't fight him," Samira whispered. Statement of fact, not fear.
"No argument here," Graves said. "Man's a legend for reasons. All of them violent."
"Can we wait him out?" TF asked.
"He's doing hourly inspections. Won't leave for another fifty minutes." Samira checked her chronometer. "That puts us past the guard rotation window. We'll hit shift change—triple the guards for fifteen minutes during overlap."
"So we need to move now," Ekko said. "While he's here."
"That's suicide," Samira said flatly.
"It's misdirection." TF's mind raced through options. "Darius is the threat. So we make him focus elsewhere. Graves—you got something loud?"
Graves patted his demolition kit. "I got several somethings loud."
"Can you rig a delayed charge? Something that creates noise three levels up, draws attention?"
"Yeah, but it'll lock down the whole Archive. Every guard, every champion on duty—they'll converge. We'll be trapped."
"Only if they know we're here." TF pulled cards, shuffling through possibilities. "We set the charge, create chaos upstairs, slip past while Darius and his guards respond. By the time they realize it's a diversion, we're in the vault proper."
"And when they lock down?" Samira asked.
"We're already inside. We complete the job before they finish searching upper levels."
"That's insane."
"That's all we got."
They looked at each other. Four criminals in a tunnel, planning to sneak past the most dangerous warrior in Valoran using controlled explosions and timing.
"I love terrible plans," Graves said, pulling explosives. "They're the only ones that work."
He assembled the charge quickly—practiced hands, no wasted movement. Remote detonator, five-minute delay once activated. Enough yield to blow a hole in reinforced stone but shaped to direct force upward, not out.
"Where do I plant it?" Graves asked.
"Maintenance shaft, three levels up." Samira pointed at the map. "Hits the officers' quarters. Maximum panic, minimal casualties if we're lucky."
"If we're not lucky?"
"Then we're murderers as well as thieves." TF met Graves's eyes. "Set it anyway. We're committed."
Graves took the charge and disappeared up a maintenance ladder. The rest waited in tense silence. TF counted seconds. Watched Darius through the corner—the man hadn't moved, still inspecting guards and equipment with absolute focus.
Graves returned. "Set. Five minutes on my mark."
"Alright." TF looked at Ekko. "You got one rewind left if this goes wrong?"
"Maybe two if I push it. But the Z-Drive's running hot." Ekko tapped his device. "Already used three rewinds getting here. It's not designed for this much sustained use."
"Then we make this work first try." TF pulled the Ace of Spades. "Graves, trigger it. Thirty seconds, then we move."
Graves pressed the detonator. The timer started.
They watched Darius. Watched the guards. Watched the corridor between them and the Archive entrance—twenty meters of open space, no cover, total exposure.
Twenty seconds.
Darius said something to a guard. The guard saluted, moved to check a door.
Fifteen seconds.
TF's heart hammered. This was the moment. Success or catastrophic failure. No middle ground.
Ten seconds.
He pulled another card without looking. Glanced down.
The Fool. Beginning of journey. Leap of faith.
"Perfect," he muttered.
Five seconds.
Everyone tensed.
The explosion hit like thunder through stone.
Three levels up, Graves's charge detonated. The tunnel shook. Dust rained from ceiling. Alarm klaxons screamed—harsh, immediate, panic-inducing.
Darius's head snapped toward the sound. "With me," he barked at the guards. "Possible breach."
They moved. Not running—too disciplined—but fast, purposeful. Darius led them toward stairs, axe ready, absolute focus on the threat.
"Now," TF said.
They ran.
Twenty meters of corridor. Past the inspection point. Through the Archive entrance—massive steel door, still open from Darius's inspection. Ekko swiped the stolen access card. The door recognized it, started closing behind them.
They were inside.
The Eternal Archive opened before them.
It was different from the tunnels. Ancient. The architecture shifted from Noxian engineering to something older—carved stone predating the empire, magic worked into the walls themselves. Blue-white light emanated from crystals embedded in rock. The air smelled of ozone and age.
"Move," Samira urged. "They'll realize it's a diversion within minutes."
They descended. Stairs carved into stone, worn smooth by centuries of feet. Passages branched off—some marked with Noxian labels, others with symbols TF didn't recognize. Shuriman? Something older?
"The Chronolith chamber is sub-level five," Samira said, consulting her mental map. "But we have to navigate the trap corridors first."
"How many traps?" Graves asked.
"All of them." She pointed ahead. "Pressure plates, magical wards, temporal distortions—this section is specifically designed to stop thieves."
"Then it's my show," Ekko said. He activated his Z-Drive fully, temporal field expanding. "I'll scout ahead, trigger traps, rewind, learn the patterns. You follow my exact path."
He moved forward. Three steps. The floor glowed red—pressure plate. Ekko froze. The Z-Drive hummed. Time stuttered.
Rewind. Ekko stood at the entrance again.
"Pressure plate, three steps forward. Step over it." He moved, avoiding the trap this time. Five more steps. Another glow—magical ward. Rewind.
"Ward at eight steps. Duck left."
He continued like this—triggering traps, rewinding, learning. Each rewind cost him. TF watched the Z-Drive's glow intensify, heard the hum pitch higher. Ekko was pushing the device past safe limits.
"Kid, you're burning out," Graves warned.
"I know. But we need this." Ekko triggered another trap—darts from the wall. Rewound. "Twenty steps, pressure plate triggers darts. Hug the right wall."
They progressed slowly. Every trap learned through Ekko's temporal manipulation. Every rewind brought them closer to the Z-Drive's failure point.
Ten minutes of this. Then they reached a door—sealed, warded, definitely important.
"This is it," Samira said. "Beyond here is the temporal artifact storage. The Chronolith's inside."
"How do we open it?" TF asked.
"We don't." She pointed at a panel. "Darius has access. Maybe three other people in Noxus. The lock is hextech-magical hybrid. Unhackable."
"Nothing's unhackable." Ekko studied the panel, pulled tools from his coat. "Just need to—"
Footsteps. Behind them. Echoing through the corridors they'd just navigated.
"They know we're here," Graves said. "That was faster than expected."
"Darius is smart," Samira said. "He realized the explosion was diversion. Now he's hunting."
The footsteps grew louder. Multiple guards. Heavy boots. Military precision.
And beneath it all, heavier steps. Unmistakable.
"Can you open it?" TF asked Ekko urgently.
"Give me three minutes."
"We don't have three minutes." Graves pulled Destiny, checked the chamber. "We got about ninety seconds before they're in visual range."
TF looked at the corridor behind them. Then at the door. Then at his crew—exhausted, running on desperation and skill, so close to the objective.
"Graves, you're demo. Can you seal the corridor?"
"Collapse it? Yeah. But then we're trapped in here with no exit."
"We find another exit after." TF pulled cards, ready for violence. "Seal it. Buy Ekko time."
Graves moved fast. Planted charges on support pillars—shaped charges, precise placement. "When this blows, we got about thirty seconds before the ceiling comes down. Everyone behind the door or we're buried."
"Do it," TF said.
Graves triggered the detonator. "Twenty seconds. Move!"
Ekko's hands flew across the panel. "Almost there. Just need to—"
Fifteen seconds.
The charges beeped countdown. The footsteps were close now. TF saw shadows moving in the corridor, heard voices calling challenges.
Ten seconds.
"Ekko," Samira said urgently.
"I know! I'm—there!" The panel flashed green. The door hissed, started opening.
Five seconds.
"Through!" TF grabbed Ekko, shoved him toward the opening. Samira dove through. Graves followed.
Three seconds.
TF ran. The door was sliding open too slowly. The charges were—
The explosion hit.
TF threw himself through the gap as the corridor behind them collapsed. Stone shrieked. Dust exploded outward. The shockwave lifted him, slammed him through the doorway.
He hit ground hard. Rolled. Came up coughing.
Behind them, tons of rock sealed the corridor. The trap passage they'd carefully navigated was gone—buried under rubble, cutting them off from pursuit.
And cutting off their exit.
"Everyone alive?" Graves asked, standing and dusting himself off.
"Mostly," Samira groaned, getting up. "That was close."
"Close," TF agreed. "But we're in."
He turned to survey the chamber they'd entered.
And stopped.
The temporal artifact storage was vast. A circular chamber carved from black stone that seemed to drink light. The walls were lined with pedestals, each holding something impossible—hourglasses that flowed upward, clocks with hands moving backward, crystals frozen mid-shatter.
And in the center, on a pedestal surrounded by containment wards that shimmered like heat distortion—
The Chronolith Shard.
It looked like frozen time. A crystalline fragment roughly the size of a fist, simultaneously flowing and still. Light caught in it strangely, bending, distorting. TF felt his perception shift looking at it—saw multiple versions of the room, overlapping, past and present and possible futures bleeding together.
"That's it," Ekko breathed. "That's actually it."
They approached slowly. The wards hummed, responding to their presence. TF felt pressure against his mind—the artifact testing, probing, asking questions without words.
"How do we get past the containment?" Samira asked.
"Carefully," TF said. "Very carefully."
Outside, muffled by tons of rock, they heard sounds. Darius and his guards, digging. Determined. Methodical. It would take them hours to clear the collapse.
Hours they didn't have, because once the path was clear, Darius would come through.
And then there'd be no escape.
"Alright," TF said, studying the wards, the Chronolith, the impossible artifact they'd risked everything to reach. "Let's figure out how to steal time itself."
Behind them, the sound of excavation continued.
Ahead, the Chronolith Shard waited.
And somewhere in TF's mind, a clock counted down to the moment when five desperate people would have to choose who deserved to change their past.
But first, they had to survive the present.