Countless bells passed as they filled each other in on what had occurred since they had last all been together.

No, Daine thought. That was not quite right. Time felt different here. Rawrer. More malleable. It was not just how the shadows bent unnaturally in the corners or how the air carried a stale weight. Without quite knowing why, Daine sensed that time was not passing in this realm as it did back in her own world. For whatever reason, there was no steady progression of seconds ticking by in order. Instead, she could have sworn that time bent and flexed in ways she could not fully grasp, as if it followed a different set of laws.

It was more than just individual moments being stretched or elongated. That would have been a simple explanation - and one she had experienced when utilising the Goddess's power - but this was far from that elegant simplicity. Time in this realm seemed to slip, loop, and even repeat, as if the space beyond the walls of this Keep was caught in some kind of invisible whirlpool, spiralling on itself. The little group may have shared their stories, voices echoing through the stone passages, but to Daine, it felt as though the same conversations had already been had countless times, only to fold back and happen all over again.

The sense of déjà vu was unnerving, and it clung to her thoughts like cobwebs.

Time is a river, the Goddess spoke in Daine’s mind, her voice like distant chimes carried on the wind. However, whether this was the echo of an old conversation or a new sending, Daine could not tell. And that was unnerving. You can never truly know at which point you enter.

Daine frowned; the Goddess's cryptic words - whether new or remembered - offering no comfort. She was not so sure of that. Time had not felt like a river in her experience. Rivers had an effortless, flowing grace, a natural course from beginning to end, whereas her life had felt more like a jagged road carved through stone—unchanging, relentless, and wholly without mercy. For her, time was an arrow, shot forward and straight, dragging her from one brutal battlefield to the next, toward inevitable decay. The flight of that arrow had taken her from the idealism of youth to the cruel realities of a Templar Ascendant, and there was no going back. There were no tranquil streams or lazy drifts. Time didn’t allow for that. It was relentless.

Even before Eliud had explained his non-appearance at Swinford, Daine’s faith in the Goddess’s wisdom had been wavering. Now? Well, she was beginning to wonder whether her patron had her best interests at heart.

"Are you alright?" Eliud’s voice broke through her musings.

Daine blinked, her eyes refocusing. Tears—she hadn’t even noticed them—had gathered at the corners of her vision. Eliud had moved closer, his face uncharacteristically soft with concern as he stood a little further down the stone passageway, away from the others.

She forced a smile, surprised by the warmth that seeing him again brought her. "Not really, no. You?"

Eliud’s purple eyes flashed with something almost like amusement. "Oddly enough, yes. You must remember, for the last few years, my life has consisted of isolation in a cottage with a giant lapdog and a sarcastic cat for company. I’m finding all this rather invigorating."

That made Daine laugh—truly laugh—for the first time in what felt like years. The sound startled her, as though her body had forgotten how to produce such joy. "An entire Sky Keep built to imprison little old you, eh? Who knew Logan Twilight had it in him?"

"Yes," Eliud replied, his voice dropping to a more serious note, "I’ll need to find a way to thank him. Something appropriately malevolent. Potentially involving radishes." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, meant only for Daine's ears. "She died, you know."

Daine’s brows furrowed in confusion. "Who?"

"Kirstin. She died escaping the cage. I thought I could easily overwhelm a feedback loop. I was wrong."

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The admission hit like a dull blow. Daine's gaze flicked toward Kirstin, who sat across the room, stroking Savage as though nothing were amiss. The girl had spoken glowingly of her new Skills and her unexpected Class Evolution, but there had been something off in the way she’d glossed over the details of how it had all come to pass. That haze now made sense.

"Do you have some new abilities we need to talk about?" Daine asked, her voice laced with forced brightness to mask the unease creeping into her chest. "If you've become a Lich since we last spoke, it would have been polite to lead with that. I have a reputation to uphold, after all!"

"The Goddess offered to resurrect her," Eliud said, not rising to her humour. "But I had to agree to a favour in return."

"And that favour was leaving Swinford to its fate?" Daine’s tone was harsher than she intended, but the sting of betrayal still lingered from the City's fall.

Eliud shrugged with a casualness that she knew belied the pain he was feeling. "I’ve always told you not to trust any of the Pantheon."

Daine thought of Old Gant, 'You should never trust a god,' he’d said, one too many ales deep by the fire. 'They have their games, and they don’t care for the pieces.' Daine had laughed at him back then. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She doubted the resurrected Stonehand was, either.

"I only mention it," Eliud continued, his tone lightening again, "because I’m not sure how well I’ve helped her deal with it."

Daine followed his gaze to Kirstin, who was smiling softly as Genoes, ever curious, asked her question after question. "You mean you’ve kept her appallingly busy, infuriated her beyond measure, and never actually talked about it?"

"You know me too well. It’s good to have you back, my Lady Darkhelm."

The sincerity in his words made Daine pause. Eliud had always been a puzzle to her, his glib wit masking a depth of feeling she rarely got to see. But here, now, something in him had shifted. He looked more alive than she had ever seen him. It was as if the constant peril and uncertainty had unlocked something in him, a vitality that lay dormant in the years of isolation. She held his gaze a moment longer than she meant to, and when she finally looked away, her chest felt tight.

"And Genoes?" she asked, eager to shift the conversation. "What do you think about what he said?"

Eliud’s face darkened slightly as he considered the boy. "That he seems to have access to almost limitless Skills? I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve never encountered anything like it before, and as you know, I’m quite the well-travelled genius."

"Modesty aside…"

"What he describes is theoretically possible," Eliud said, his tone shifting into the serious, scholarly mode Daine had always loved. In another life, she thought, he would have made an extraordinary Professor. "Think of it this way: every person’s available Skills are tied to their Class. Someone without a Class should have access to none. Or to all. Certainly one of the two."

"I’m glad your recent ordeals haven’t dulled your ability to be cryptic."

Eliud’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "If being embalmed and hurled into Mount J'Zark didn't rob me of my ability to amuse and amaze, nothing will. Although," his expression grew thoughtful, "I admit, the possibility of Genoes outstripping me in terms of raw power is unsettling."

Daine’s smile faltered. "You truly believe he has that kind of potential?"

"He hasn’t chosen a Class," Eliud said, "which means, according to everything we know about how the world works, he shouldn’t be able to access Skills. Think of it this way: you were born a Farmer. Had our mutual friend not intervened and stolen you away for a life of swords and sandals, the Skills available to you would have been very different indeed. Daine Orban, Farmer, is not Lady Darkhelm, Knight of the Road. No," Eliud smiled, "pardon me. Is not a Templar Ascendant. You could have trained with a sword forever and a day, and Daine the Farmer would not gain any of the Darkhelm's Templar Skills. These are the facts of the realm as we know them."

"But not for Genoes?"

"It appears not. And yet, here he is, manipulating mana in ways even I can not begin to explain. He mirrors Skills—ones he has not even formally acquired—using only his intuition. Something - do not ask me what, or I may lose my composure - is pressuring him to define what he does into a named Skill, but he seems to have no difficulty in resisting that compulsion. Genoes opened the portal that summoned us here, of that I have no doubt. I just have no idea how he was able to do it."

Daine glanced at Genoes, who was giggling at some joke Donal had made, utterly oblivious to the weight of the conversation surrounding him. A child, innocent and untouched by the dark realities of the world—yet with the power to bend reality itself.

"You’re saying that boy, without a Class, without any training, summoned us all here?"

"No," Eliud said, his tone grave. "What I’m saying is, as far as I understand it, Genoes has the potential to do just about anything he wants."

Daine felt a coldness settle over her at his words. The power Genoes wielded, unchecked and undefined, was more dangerous than anything she had ever encountered.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, the Goddess’s laughter echoed, soft and unsettling.