They entered a hall made of time.
Not bricks.
Not trees.
Moments.
Floating, ticking, whispering.
All wrapped around a clock.
But this clock had no hands.
Only a face.
Crying.
And smiling.
At the same time.
"I hate this," muttered Varn.
"It's beautiful," said Solin, though he clung to Amaryn's arm.
Flick stepped ahead. "It's a memory machine."
Elira looked closer.
The walls flickered.
With her memories.
And his.
And theirs.
The voice from the mountain returned.
Soft.
But cracked.
"Do you want to see what never was?"
No one answered.
The voice waited.
Then whispered.
"Step forward… and borrow time."
Solin stepped first.
A ring of silver seconds wrapped around him.
He blinked
and saw a boy with strong eyes reading stories to a smaller one.
Himself.
And a brother who never died.
Solin cried.
"I don't want to leave," he said.
But the second ring unspooled.
And the image vanished.
Sera went next.
She stood in a hallway filled with doors.
Every one marked with words like:
"If You'd Fought Back"
"If You'd Run Sooner"
"If You'd Asked For Help"
She opened one.
And found herself dancing.
Free. Laughing.
Whole.
But the moment crumbled into ash.
Each person saw a different truth-that-never-was.
Varn saw his friend live.
Amaryn saw her brother choose to stay.
Flick saw his hands hold a baby's, maybe a brother's?
Each time, the memory ached.
Each time, they stepped back.
Changed.
Sadder.
But clearer.
Only Elira stood still.
She stared at the clock with no hands.
And heard it whisper:
"You want to see it, don't you?"
She nodded.
The room turned.
And there, she saw it.
Her mother, holding her close.
Not screaming.
Just singing.
Her father, silent.
Dead?
Gone?
Never there at all.
And Elira
Smiling.
Whole.
Safe.
Then the clock split.
And time spilled out.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just wrong.
Suddenly, they weren't alone.
Time-things crawled from the walls.
Shapes made of regrets.
People with no faces, only clocks ticking in their chests.
One rushed at Sera.
Flick shielded her.
Another lunged for Solin.
Elira shouted, "Don't fight! They feed on what we wish for!"
Too late.
Amaryn kicked one—
—and it multiplied.
"Regret makes them stronger!" Varn yelled.
"So what makes them weak?" cried Solin.
"Maybe... acceptance?" Elira guessed.
She turned to the nearest creature.
"I miss her," she said.
"I wanted her to save me. But she couldn't."
The creature paused.
"I still cry," Elira whispered.
"I still ache."
The thing shuddered.
Then cracked.
One by one, the others followed.
Sera: "I forgive myself."
Flick: "Even without a past, I am someone."
Amaryn: "He left. But I stayed."
Solin: "I am afraid. And that's okay."
Varn: "I'll carry the guilt. But I won't bow to it."
The creatures faded.
And the clock?
It turned.
Once.
Without hands.
But with meaning.
A door opened.
Beyond it
Sky.
Real.
Open.
Filled with stars.
They stepped out.
Not untouched.
But stronger.
Elira looked back one last time.
And whispered, "Thank you."
To the time that almost broke them.
To the truth that didn't come easy.
To the girl she saw in the clock.
The girl she still was.
And still might become.