Time didn't resume.
It staggered.
As if reality itself needed a breath after what just happened.
The battlefield was a mosaic of smoldering soil, splintered trees, and glowing shards from the creature's obliterated form. The corrupted giant was gone—reduced to fragments of light and ash that floated like ghostly snow. The silence that followed was unnaturally deep, broken only by the wind whistling through broken branches.
Six figures lay scattered across the battlefield like fallen titans.
Mira pushed herself upright with a grunt, her arms trembling. Her cloak was torn, her gauntlets cracked, and her hair was matted to her face with sweat and blood.
"Did… anyone else hear that scream at the end?" she murmured.
Kaeli, sitting against a toppled boulder, winced as she wiped grime from her cheek. Her usually pristine braids were half-untied, and her tunic bore burn marks.
"It sounded like... glitching music. Like something was broken inside that thing."
Selune limped forward, cradling her ribs. She glanced around, her voice calm, but heavy.
"We didn't just kill it. We purged it. Like deleting corrupted code."
Tanya knelt beside Veska, who was grinning despite her busted lip and bruised ribs. The warrior looked like hell—but in that battered grin was a spark of pride.
"You all fought like legends," Tanya said softly. "Hell, we made it look like a choreographed raid."
Veska chuckled, then winced. "I'm putting this on my resume."
Then they noticed.
Nyra wasn't moving.
Still lying on the battlefield, arms stretched out, eyes open—but eerily still. Her chest rose and fell, shallow. The glyph on her wrist glowed faintly, flickering like a dying ember.
Kaeli cried out first and rushed to her.
"Nyra! Hey—come on—don't you dare nap on us now!"
Mira stumbled over, kneeling on the other side. "She's breathing. She's alive. KAIROS? Say something!"
There was a pause—long enough to sting.
Then a voice, faint and digitized, filtered in through the air.
"System… stable. Architect vitals: low, but within threshold. Memory load: 88%. Recompiling."
Nyra's fingers twitched.
She blinked. Slowly.
"I hate that spell," she croaked. "Someone else can explode next time."
Mira let out a half-laugh, half-sob and punched her gently in the shoulder.
"You scared the hell out of us."
Kaeli sniffled, smiling through watery eyes. "You looked like a broken puppet. Don't do that again."
Nyra sat up shakily, propped between her best friends.
Then it happened.
A low hum echoed from deep in the forest. Familiar. Bone-deep.
Everyone turned.
The Chrono Obelisk—still standing—began to resonate.
Once.
Twice.
Then it pulsed.
The glyph on Nyra's wrist flared one final time—and then, without warning, part of it burned away in cascading particles. Like data being released. Like a lock being undone.
The Obelisk cracked down its center.
It shuddered.
And from the sky above, a swirling black circle opened—silent, but absolute.
Reality warped around it.
The Obelisk didn't collapse. It was pulled—like sucked pixel by pixel into the swirling void. No sound. No resistance. Just... gone.
A final chime echoed—less like a bell and more like the last note of a requiem.
Then silence again.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Selune whispered, "Did we just stop something... or wake something up?"
Veska stood slowly, her voice unusually sober.
"That wasn't just a creature. That was a message."
Kaeli hugged Nyra tighter. Mira reached for her hand.
And Nyra, eyes still locked on the now-empty sky, whispered back:
"Then we better listen closely."
Because whatever was coming next—it had started counting.
The sky turned gold.
Not from the sun—though dawn was finally breaking—but from the leftover haze of Essentia that hung in the air like embers refusing to die.
The battlefield was eerily quiet. The wind had settled. No more howls, no screams, no magic tearing reality apart.
Just… breathing.
And the soft, cautious footsteps of a village that had barely survived.
From the shattered treelines, the villagers emerged—some limping, some supporting each other, some still clutching weapons with white-knuckled hands. All of them paused when they saw the six figures at the center of the clearing—bruised, bloodied, but standing.
Tharen dropped his blade the moment he spotted Kaeli and Mira. His face was a mask of disbelief and raw relief. With a cry that cracked mid-throat, he ran—arms out, heart wide open. He pulled both daughters into a crushing hug, his usually stoic demeanor crumbling in real time.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Kaeli buried her face in his shoulder, trembling. Mira didn't say anything. Just held on tighter.
Selya rushed forward too, her robes torn, her arm in a makeshift sling. She dropped beside Nyra, who was sitting on the ground, legs stretched out, looking skyward like she was waiting for the stars to give her an answer.
"You… okay?" Selya asked, cautiously.
Nyra looked at her, then nodded once. "Define 'okay'."
"You're breathing. That'll do."
Nearby, Veska was being fussed over by a few worried trainees, waving them off like a grumpy cat pretending she didn't enjoy the attention. Tanya leaned on her scythe like a cane, eyeing the now-empty sky.
"I don't like that it left without a trace," she muttered.
Selune, always graceful even with blood in her hair, stepped beside her.
"It left a trace," she said, pointing subtly.
Everyone turned to Nyra's wrist.
The glyph was still there—barely. No longer glowing, but burned in like an old scar. Faint. Fractured. Dormant.
Kaeli whispered, "It's fading."
"No," KAIROS replied, voice hollow and low, echoing in only Nyra's ears."It's… waiting."
Later, as makeshift triage camps were set up and villagers started rebuilding what they could, Nyra stood alone by the old training archway.
The sun finally broke over the trees, golden and fierce. For a moment, the village looked peaceful—like none of it had ever happened.
But there were too many cracks. Too many reminders.
Burnt trees.Broken huts.Bloodstains in the soil.
And somewhere beneath it all—the weight of an ancient system restarting.
Mira joined her, holding two cups of water. She passed one over without saying a word.
"We kicked its ass," she said eventually, eyes on the horizon.
Nyra gave her a tired smile. "Barely."
"Still counts."
Kaeli appeared next, her voice soft. "Do you think it's really gone?"
"No," Nyra replied. "But I think… we passed the tutorial."
They all laughed, too exhausted to pretend they weren't afraid.
Behind them, villagers worked.
Life—bruised and bloodied—began again.
But the air still held a hum.
Not Essentia. Not magic.
Something older.
Watching. Waiting.
Somewhere far beyond the sky, the Chrono Obelisk pulsed—once—before disappearing from all known signals.
Just a whisper left behind.
"Protocol... synced."