Aelric left Blackroot Hollow at dawn, his gear refined, his soul heavier.
With his cloak of whispering silk, Kara's soulweave charm, and the Chrono Severance strapped to his back, he moved like a phantom between trees and time.
He didn't return for glory.
He returned for answers.
Disguised as a mercenary, he entered Larethien, the capital of the elven kingdom—a city of crystal spires, golden bridges, and magic-infused nature.
Three months of absence had changed everything.
His elder brother Faelan had declared himself sole heir.
Rumors spread of a rebellion in the eastern woods—blamed on "rogue outcasts."
The royal court was gripped by fear of a phantom thief, who had stolen three sacred relics linked to the gods of time.
Aelric knew better. Those relics were being taken for a reason.
In the shadows of a moonlit street, he confronted an informant—Cym, a halfling spy who once owed him a life-debt.
> "They say the High Priest is performing rituals beneath the palace," Cym whispered. "Old, illegal magic—divine rewrites. He's trying to alter prophecy itself."
> "Why?" Aelric asked.
> "Because of you. There's a line in the Ancient Scrolls… 'The child with the severed hour shall return, bringing ruin or renewal.' They think you're the Severed Hour."
Aelric clenched his fists.
The prophecy was about him.
As he moved to leave, an arrow struck the wall near his face. Assassins—draped in priest-vestments, glowing with temporal glyphs—emerged from the shadows.
> "By divine law," one growled, "you are a breach in time. You will be erased."
Aelric smiled, drawing Chrono Severance.
> "You're late."
He vanished, blade already mid-swing.
The alley cracked with displaced time.
Their fight would echo in seconds not yet written.