The third wave struck like a command.
The sky folded. The air snapped. The square split open, time unraveling from its seams. All around us, moments bled together—children cried in echoes, buildings aged and reverted, torches blinked in and out of light.
Konrad didn't move.
He stood at the center, holding back the collapse, his thread tethered to the civilians behind him. His jaw clenched. Blood ran from his eyes. And still, he didn't let go.
Helene didn't wait.
She raised her hand, and something sharp spiraled from her palm—thread, coiled like a blade, but shifting, shifting, always shifting. She hurled it toward Clara first.
Clara didn't flinch.
She raised her hand, threadlight rippling outward. A defensive pulse bloomed around her—a silent shimmer of will. The blade slowed. Bent.
Then split into three.
One curved toward me. Another toward Erich. The third reversed back toward the civilians.
"Konrad!" I shouted.
He turned—barely. His thread shifted, fracturing to cover the civilians again. The third blade struck his back.
He dropped.
Only for a moment.
Then he rose again.
Erich lunged toward Helene, his threaded accelerating him into a blur. She barely blinked.
A pulse of violet light erupted from her eyes, freezing him mid-step.
"You move fast," she said. "Not fast enough."
She waved her hand—Erich was flung backward into a wall of frozen time. He didn't get up. He couldn't.
I surged forward, activating my thread—step, blink, closed the gap. I reached her—
And she wasn't there.
I blinked—she was behind me.
"What is it like?" she whispered. "To be cursed by time."
Then I felt the wave.
I turned too late.
It hit me like a memory. A moment from nowhere—pain I hadn't earned. My knees hit the stone. Threadlight buckled.
Konrad reached for me, barely steady. He tried to block the second strike with his own body—no thread, just will. It didn't work.
We both went down.
But he rose first.
Clara moved. Silent. Precise. She shielded two more civilians—her thread flaring like fractured glass. She didn't falter, didn't speak. Just moved, like she already knew where to be.
Helene watched her.
"So quiet," she said. "It doesn't suit you."
She flicked her hand. The ground beneath Clara cracked—sending a rupture through the square.
Konrad leapt in front of it.
Another hit. Another drop.
He rose slower this time.
"I pity you," he breathed.
Helene turned to him.
"Don't," She said. "It's too amusing."
She moved faster than before.
Threadlight spiraled from her arms, arcing across the battlefield like ribbons of frozen lightning. The first wave cut through a rooftop. The second spiraled toward the civilians Konrad still guarded.
He stepped between them, again.
The impact hit like thunder. His thread split into arcs, wrapping three civilians in gold—one blinked out of sync, then stabilized.
But Konrad staggered back.
Blood from his lip. His hands trembling.
"I can't hold them all," he murmured.
But he didn't stop.
I reached for him. Trying to help.
Helene lifted both hands this time.
A new shape formed—something wide, coiled like a net. It shimmered, laced with temporal hooks. A trap.
She hurled it toward the civilians.
Clara stepped forward.
But Konrad was faster.
He moved like a boulder thrown into a flood—brutal, solid, immovable.
He caught the wave mid-air. Let it wrap around him.
Time pulled in every direction.
I saw the skin on his arms begin to crack, not from fire—but from age, distortion, collapse.
And he still didn't let go.
Clara reached toward him. Not in touch. Just an instinct.
But she stopped herself.
Erich stirred beside the wall—one leg twisted. He pushed himself up with a goran, reached for his thread. Couldn't stand.
I turned to Helene.
She smiled.
She wasn't done. Not yet.
She flicked her wrist again. Thread unraveling through the air like silk on fire. It struck the ground and split into 5 burning paths—each one carving toward a person.
One for me. One for Erich. One for Clara. Two for the remaining civilians.
I stepped first—blinking just ahead of Erich—grabbing his arm and pulling him clear of the blast.
Clara raised her hands, threadlight pulsing. Her shield split the incoming fire in two, deflecting it around her.
Konrad moved next, throwing himself in front of the civilians. He caught the arc mid-air, forcing it to stall-frozen in its trajectory, held by sheer will.
But the last one hit.
I rewound—
Then I blinked behind Clara, hand on her shoulder.
The moment shifted.
She blinked with me.
Her thread unleashed, the same pulse—sharper this time—splitting the final arc just before it reached the last group.
Konrad was limping now.
Breath shallow. Light flickering in his eyes.
I felt his thread shudder. Not from force—but from strain. Like it knew he couldn't keep this up.
Another blast erupted from Helene's hand, splitting the stone path leading toward the chapel. The foundation collapsed. Part of the roof fell, striking two villagers trying to flee.
Erich moved—fast, sharper than before. He blinked between falling debris, grabbing one by the collar, the other by the arm. He dragged them both clear just as the rubble crashed behind him.
He rolled to a stop, panting, knees buckled.
Konrad turned—relieved for half a breath.
But his thread wasn't steady anymore.
It was unraveling.