The Echo Market faded behind them, its bright echoes of stolen time swallowed by the low-lit corridors ahead. The stone beneath their feet changed subtly, becoming slick like obsidian, etched with shifting runes that only existed when Kael wasn't looking directly at them. Around him, the silence was deafening—no laughter, no barked deals, just the distant hum of something ancient pulsing beyond the walls.
Kael trailed just behind Aya, her stride unwavering. Kura walked several steps back, keeping a suspicious eye on Kael. Jessa, ever alert, checked the readings on her multi-tool while Elrik's eyes darted like a scavenger scanning for threats—or opportunity. Kael could feel the burden of their mission tightening around him like the air growing thinner with each step.
He ran a hand across the wall. The surface vibrated faintly, as if remembering lives that passed through it centuries ago and hadn't left.
"How deep are we?" Kael finally asked.
Jessa glanced over. "Deep enough that time doesn't follow rules anymore."
Kael frowned. "This place… it's unreal."
"Welcome to the forgotten veins," she said. "Temporal corridors, folded over decades and centuries. They say you can hear your future whispering if you stand still long enough."
Kael didn't dare try.
Time wasn't linear here. Some corridors stretched into infinite spirals; others looped back the way they came. Walls flickered between eras—one moment smooth titanium, the next covered in moss and candle soot. In one chamber, Kael saw his own reflection blink five seconds after he did.
Jessa and Elrik worked as a seamless pair. At one collapsed bridge made of suspended memory, Jessa calibrated a pulse stabilizer while Elrik watched for anomalies. "Step in sync," Jessa instructed. "This platform exists only every three seconds."
One by one, they timed their footsteps, holding their breath. A missed beat would drop them into fractured time below—somewhere between now and never.
"Almost like a dance," Kael whispered.
"You don't want to miss a step in this one," Elrik replied, smirking.
Further in, they reached a chasm threaded with shifting strands of gold and ash. Elrik traced a pattern into the air, revealing a hidden latch. They crossed, Kael still marveling at how time here bent like wind around corners.
It found them in the Stillroom.
At first it was a flicker—light that shouldn't have existed. Then came the pressure in Kael's chest, like being watched by an entire forgotten century.
The Riftbound Sentinel drifted in, its form a patchwork of fading timelines—half-formed faces, voices echoing from wrong mouths, its limbs trailing strands of decayed light. It spoke, if it could be called that: fractured sentences layered atop each other.
"Return… the keystone… fracture imminent… end cycles… again…"
Aya raised her staff, its tips glowing faintly blue. "Hold formation!"
The sentinel surged forward. Time fractured around it. Their weapons fired into disjointed fragments. Kura leapt over a wave of age, his blade slicing but barely slowing the creature. Jessa launched a tether of stabilized chronology, wrapping around its center.
Kael stood frozen until the sentinel turned to him—until he felt that same pulse in his ribs, the same one he'd felt in the Loop Chamber.
"I know you," it rasped in a dozen voices.
Kael raised his hands instinctively—and something inside him flared. A ripple burst from his chest, catching the sentinel mid-lunge. For a second, the creature froze. Its form stabilized—revealing something almost… human.
Then it screamed and scattered into fragments.
They stood in silence.
Aya walked over, breath ragged. "You stabilized it. How?"
Kael shook his head. "I just… felt something. Like I knew where it was broken."
Jessa approached, scanning Kael's chest. "He's synced with the flux now. He's not just walking through time—he's part of its resonance."
Kura muttered, "Or part of the Riftbound."
Aya's eyes narrowed. "That's enough."
Kura stepped back but didn't apologize.
The corridor opened into a massive space—a chamber shaped like a spiraling eye. The Temporal Nexus. The walls shimmered with broken skies and infinite reflections of places Kael had never seen. Floating platforms orbited a pulsing orb at the center—part crystal, part shadow, beating like a heart.
"The Nexus," Aya whispered.
Kael stared. "Is this where it all began?"
"No," she said. "But it's where it'll collapse."
The keystone pulsed faintly in the air, a sliver of light and echo. Around it, fragments of time bled outward like broken glass.
Elrik scanned the patterns. "The keystone's unraveling the anchor points. If it finishes, this whole sector will collapse into pre-time."
"Meaning?" Kael asked.
Jessa answered, "Meaning we get turned into memory dust before we're born."
Aya paced. "We need to isolate it. Reverse the bleed. If we can stabilize this place long enough, we might track where the Riftbound are pulling from."
Kael nodded slowly. "Then what?"
"Then we confront them."
Before they could continue, Kura stepped forward. "We shouldn't have come here."
Aya turned. "What?"
"You heard that sentinel. This is Kael's fault. He brought it."
Kael bristled. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," Kura growled. "But you keep attracting them. And now we're risking everything because of you."
Kael stepped forward. "I'm trying to fix it."
"Are you?" Kura snapped. "Or are you just dragging us deeper into something we can't control?"
Aya raised a hand between them. "Enough! This isn't helping."
Jessa added quietly, "He saved us back there."
Kura's glare lingered on Kael for a long beat, then he looked away. "We'll see."
They prepared their gear—Jessa recalibrating stabilizers, Aya adjusting her staff to resonate with the keystone's pulse. She handed Kael a small disc.
"Anchor relay," she explained. "Use it when things feel like they're tearing. It'll buy you seconds."
"Seconds can mean everything," Jessa added.
Elrik smiled grimly. "Let's just hope we live long enough to regret this."
Kael turned to the platform. The keystone pulsed again, brighter now. The floor shook.
"What's happening?" he asked.
The air split. Light poured in—too white, too wide. The Nexus screamed.
Aya shouted, "Move!"
A blinding flare swallowed them whole.