Aaron's breath came in slow, uncertain pulls as he stared up at the sky—if it could even be called that. Above him stretched a swirl of crimson and indigo, like two sunsets bleeding into one another, streaked with golden rifts that shimmered unnaturally. The air felt heavier here, every breath tasting like smoke and starlight.
He sat up slowly, muscles aching as if he'd run miles. The stone altar beneath him pulsed faintly, as though it were alive, and his fingers traced one of the runes etched into its surface. The symbol glowed beneath his touch—a brief flicker of light that made the surrounding armored figures flinch.
One of them, the same woman who had declared he lived, approached once more. She had removed her helmet, revealing sharp, symmetrical features, and an emerald gaze that didn't waver.
"You are awake," she said. "I am Serenya Valesh, captain of the Flameguard. Do you remember your name?"
Aaron nodded slowly. "Aaron Cole."
Serenya's eyes narrowed slightly. "You were summoned by the Ember Rite—an ancient ritual long thought lost. The world remembers Chronomancers only as myth, yet here you are."
Chronomancer. The word echoed in his skull like thunder. He didn't know what it meant, not truly, but something inside him reacted to it. A stirring. A recognition.
"What is a Chronomancer?" he asked.
Serenya glanced at the others before kneeling beside him. "One who walks the threads of time. A wielder of moments. A seer of echoes. You are not bound by the present, Aaron Cole—you exist across the weave of the world."
Aaron blinked. "That sounds like the start of a bad fantasy novel."
Serenya did not smile. "You may wish it were. Come, we cannot linger. The forest spirits grow restless, and our Queen will want to see you before the moon shifts."
Still disoriented, Aaron allowed himself to be helped to his feet. The robes he wore felt like they belonged to someone else—too heavy, too regal—but the warmth radiating from their runes steadied him.
As the Flameguard escorted him through the dense forest, Aaron noticed how the world behaved oddly. Trees flickered in and out of existence like broken animations. Small animals froze mid-step, caught in some invisible temporal glitch. Time was wrong here—unspooled, fraying at the edges.
They reached a ridge by nightfall. Below it sprawled Emberhall, a sprawling citadel built into the bones of a volcano. Its towers glowed with firelight, and rivers of molten silver wove through the stone like veins.
Aaron paused, mesmerized. "This place... it doesn't look real."
"Nothing here is, not fully," Serenya replied. "Since the Shatter, time has rebelled. Seasons twist. Days loop. Some villages live a year in a week. Others never see the sun again."
Aaron looked down at his hands. The faint blue threads beneath his skin glowed again, responding to some unseen rhythm. "And I'm supposed to fix it?"
"You're the only one who can."
They descended toward the city as bells chimed in the distance. The streets bustled despite the late hour—merchants hawking glowing wares, children chasing butterflies made of flame, and guards in silver armor keeping uneasy order.
In the heart of the citadel, Aaron was led through golden halls to a vast chamber of glass and flame. At its center stood a throne carved from obsidian, upon which sat a woman cloaked in crimson and shadow.
"The Queen-Regent of Valderia," Serenya whispered.
The queen rose, her presence both regal and ominous. Her voice was calm but carried the weight of command. "So... the Chronomancer wakes."
Aaron stepped forward, nerves coiling tight. "If you brought me here for answers, I'm afraid I have none."
The Queen-Regent's eyes, golden as the sun, met his. "Then we shall find them together. But understand this—Valderia is dying. And your thread is tangled with its fate."
As the room fell silent, a sound rose in the distance—a deep, unnatural hum, like the groaning of the earth. The Queen-Regent turned her gaze to the window.
"The Threadbane have found us," she said quietly.
Aaron frowned. "Threadbane?"
Serenya's expression darkened. "Those who feast on broken timelines. They are coming."
Aaron's heart pounded.
He was no warrior. No hero.
But somehow, this broken world expected him to be both.
To be continued...