The humming grew louder.
Aaron could feel it in his bones now—a low, vibrating thrum, like a distant engine grinding against time itself. The Queen-Regent stood unmoving, her silhouette a dark flame against the glass wall as the horizon split open in a streak of violet lightning.
"Prepare the wards," she ordered.
Guards moved swiftly, spreading to the edges of the chamber. Arcane glyphs ignited across the obsidian floor, bathing the room in a web of glowing orange lines. Serenya stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her curved blade.
"Come, Aaron. We must reach the Spire."
"The Spire?" he echoed, stumbling to keep up as she led him through the shifting corridors of the citadel.
"It anchors the palace's temporal field. If the Threadbane breaches it, Emberhall will collapse into a time fracture."
That sounded bad. Very bad.
As they moved, Aaron's vision kept flickering. One moment, he saw the corridor. The next, it was a hallway in his university dorm, then back again. Past and present overlapped, reality stuttering like a damaged reel of film.
"I can't hold it," he gasped. "Something's pulling me apart."
Serenya turned, grabbing his shoulder. "Breathe. Focus on now. "Time will always try to reclaim a Chronomancer who doesn't anchor himself."
Aaron clenched his fists. Focus. One breath. One step.
They emerged at the base of a spiraling tower. The Spire loomed above like a needle piercing the sky, its walls etched in moving script that shifted faster than the eye could follow.
As they began their ascent, the humming deepened into a pulse, and then—
A scream.
Aaron whirled. Behind them, the air tore open, and figures spilled out—twisted things wrapped in chains of shattered clocks and rusted gears. Their eyes burned with fractured light, and their movements bent the surrounding space.
"The Threadbane!" Serenya hissed.
Guards met the invaders in a clash of steel and flame. Time twisted violently. A soldier froze mid-swing, then aged a hundred years in seconds. Another exploded into flickering echoes, dozens of versions of himself blinking in and out of existence.
Aaron stared, horrified. "What are they?"
"Parasites," Serenya said, drawing her blade. They feed on instability. And your arrival has sent ripples they cannot resist."
"Then this is my fault," Aaron said, guilt tightening his chest.
"No," she said sharply. "This is fate giving us a chance to fight back."
She threw him a crystal—a shard humming with blue light. "It's a timestone. Channel your will into it. Bend the thread. Do something."
Aaron barely understood what that meant, but instinct took over. He clutched the stone. Something clicked. The world slowed—not stopped, but thickened. The movements of the Threadbane turned sluggish. The air became syrup.
Aaron raised his hand.
The runes in his robe flared. A ripple burst from him, catching three of the creatures mid-lunge. They paused… then unraveled into dust.
He staggered, dizzy. "I—I did it."
"For now," Serenya said. But that was just a taste. If you are truly to master time, you must go deeper. The Queen will send you to the Wellspring."
Aaron looked out over the burning courtyard, the sky bleeding violet, the citadel shaking.
This was just the beginning.
He was no longer just Aaron Cole. Not just a student.
He was a Chronomancer.
And time itself had declared war.
To be continued...