In a shadowy chamber that existed outside the boundaries of time and space, the Witching Hour knelt before Eternity. The cosmic being's form was shrouded in darkness, his face an ever-shifting veil of starlight. The only constant was the massive door behind Eternity, its twelve clock faces ticking in discordant unison.
"My Lord," the Witching Hour began, her voice steady despite the weight of Eternity's presence. She fought to keep her composure, acutely aware of the raw power that radiated from the being before her. "I bring news of our progress, but—"
Eternity's gaze fell upon her, ancient and unfathomable. The starlight that composed his visage swirled hypnotically, hinting at depths of knowledge and power beyond mortal comprehension. "Speak," he commanded.
The Witching Hour rose, her emerald gown shimmering with an otherworldly light that seemed to absorb the darkness around her. She straightened her back, projecting confidence even as a tendril of fear coiled in her gut.
"Elden Vortis, Gertrude Soulsinger, and the time-touched child are secure in the cells. However..." She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. "I've searched their belongings, but the Temporal Codex pages were not among them."
Eternity's form flickered, a ripple of distortion passing through the shadowy realm. The void itself seemed to shudder in response to his displeasure. "Explain," he demanded, his tone carrying an edge that could slice through reality itself.
"I suspect the pages have somehow fused with Vortis's being," the Witching Hour continued, her words measured and precise. "Perhaps we will need the extraction ritual to retrieve them."
A moment of silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken calculation. The clock faces on the massive door ticked louder, as if counting down to some cosmic deadline. Finally, Eternity spoke, his voice carrying the weight of eons. "Your observation is correct, Witching Hour. The pages have indeed become one with Vortis."
Eternity turned slightly, gesturing towards the great door. As he did, images flickered in the void – glimpses of Nadir and Dusk, their forms wreathed in temporal energy. "The extractions from Nadir and Dusk progress, though not as swiftly as I had anticipated. Their magic levels are... significant. Their resistance was expected, but their strength is impressive."
The Witching Hour's eyes widened at this revelation, realizing how little she truly knew of the grand design. She remained silent, waiting for Eternity to continue.
"Once their fragments are secured," Eternity mused, seemingly speaking more to himself than to the Witching Hour, "we will have enough to create another page of the codex. This can serve as a beacon, drawing out the other pages within Vortis." He turned his gaze back to the Witching Hour, his starlight visage unreadable. "Your task, is to assist Mnemion in expediting this process. The extraction must be completed with all haste."
"Of course, my Lord," the Witching Hour replied, bowing her head in understanding.
"See that you do," Eternity said, his tone carrying a subtle warning. "But do not forget your place. Your mastery of the Nightmare Path is impressive, but it does not elevate you beyond your station. The fate of the former hands should serve as a reminder of the consequences of failure."
The Witching Hour felt a chill run down her spine, remembering all too well the price Equinox had paid for her shortcomings. "I understand, my Lord. I would never presume to—"
Her words were cut short as Eternity raised a hand. The very fabric of the void seemed to compress around the Witching Hour, an invisible force constricting her form. She gasped, feeling the overwhelming power that Eternity commanded even while bound to this realm.
"A reminder," Eternity said softly, his cosmic visage unreadable, "that the limits of my reach are not as constrained as some might believe." With a subtle gesture, he released his hold, allowing the Witching Hour to slump forward, drawing in ragged breaths.
As she recovered, Eternity's gaze drifted to the massive door, a flicker of something akin to longing passing across his cosmic features. For a brief moment, his starlight visage seemed to waver, revealing a glimpse of something almost... human. "It is... unfortunate that I cannot attend to this matter personally.
The nature of my existence binds me to this place, at least for now." The vulnerability vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by cosmic indifference.
He turned back to the Witching Hour, his eyes burning with renewed intensity. "Assist Mnemion in completing the extractions of Nadir and Dusk. Their awakened fragments are crucial to our plans. Once secured, you will both proceed with the extraction from Vortis. Time is of the essence."
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The Witching Hour straightened, her resolve hardening even as she massaged her throat. The demonstration of Eternity's power had left no room for doubt or ambition. "It shall be done, my Lord. We will not fail you."
As she turned to leave, Eternity's voice echoed through the void one last time. "See that you don't, Moira.
The Witching Hour nodded, a shiver running through her form as she faded from the timeless chamber. As her presence vanished, Eternity turned back to the great door, his cosmic hands tracing the intricate patterns that swirled across its surface.
—
Elden stumbled forward, his wrists raw from the Wellspring-binding cuffs that suppressed his magic. The absence of his power left him feeling hollow, vulnerable in a way he hadn't experienced since his imprisonment in Mnemosyne. Behind him, Gertrude and Galen shuffled along, their faces etched with weariness.
Their captors, the masked guards of the Witching Hour, prodded them forward with their pointed spears. The guards' faces were hidden behind grotesque masks, each one depicting a different nightmare creature. Elden couldn't help but wonder if these were mere disguises or a reflection of the horrors that lurked beneath.
As they descended deeper into the bowels of the fortress, Elden became acutely aware of the strangeness of their surroundings. The air shimmered with temporal distortions, pockets of accelerated or slowed time that made the journey feel both interminable and instantaneous.
"Keep moving," one of the masked figures hissed, shoving Elden when he slowed to catch his breath. The guard's voice echoed oddly, as if spoken from inside his mind. The disconcerting effect only added to Elden's growing sense of unease.
As they rounded a corner, rows of cells lined the corridor, each housing a prisoner in various states of distress. Many bore the telltale signs of being time-touched: a woman aging rapidly in cycles, a man flickering in and out of existence.
"Your new homes," a guard sneered, gesturing to three separate cells. "Get comfortable. You'll be here for a long, long time."
The iron doors clanged shut, separating the companions. As the guards' footsteps faded away, each of them was left alone with their thoughts and the daunting task of survival.
In his cell, Elden Vortis sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, his mind racing. Despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him, he forced himself to focus, to catalogue the events of the past few hours. He reflected on his journey as a memory mage, starting as a talented 5-star prodigy in Mnemosyne. But now, with the power of temporal manipulation at his fingertips, he knew he had reached new heights.
The ability to grant himself a few precious seconds of extra time to cast more complex spells and trace intricate sigils was a game-changer. It elevated his memory magic to a level he had never dreamed possible. If tested, Elden was confident he would be ranked as a 6-star memory mage, a feat that would have been unthinkable just a few months ago.
And then there was his growing proficiency in emotion magic. Though he had not been formally evaluated, Gertrude had confided that she believed him to be at a 4 or 5-star level. This was nothing short of remarkable, considering that most mages took two decades of dedicated study to reach such mastery. Elden had achieved it in a matter of months, a testament to his innate talent and the intensity of his recent experiences.
But it was the teleportation magic that truly astounded him. Elden knew that even for the most gifted mages, short-range teleportation was a feat reserved for those at the 7 or 8-star level. Long-range teleportation was considered all but impossible without the aid of powerful artifacts and intricate ritual circles.
Yet somehow, in a moment of desperation, Elden had managed to transport himself from the outskirts of Heartwood directly into the heart of the Empatheum. He had tapped into his memories, using them as a beacon to guide his magic across an unfathomable distance. It was an achievement that defied all known laws of magic.
Then there were the new abilities he had manifested. The future glimpse, allowing him to see potential outcomes and choose the path to victory. Closing his eyes, Elden visualized the temporal manipulation sigil he had glimpsed in that fateful moment. Its intricate patterns burned in his mind's eye, a promise of power yet untapped.
His hand drifted to his chest, feeling the spot where his father's legacy tome had melded with his being. He could still feel the power thrumming beneath his skin, the golden pages were now an integral part of his Wellspring.
As he paced his cell, Elden couldn't help but wonder if he could replicate that feat to escape their current predicament. But a glance at the Wellspring binders around his wrists quickly dashed that hope. These were no ordinary restraints – they had been modified and enhanced with anti-magic properties that prevented him from gathering even the faintest wisp of chrono energy.
Elden studied the binders closely, his keen mind analyzing every detail. The metal was unfamiliar, likely a rare alloy imbued with nullifying enchantments. The locking mechanism was complex, far beyond anything he had encountered before. It would take more than a jiggle and some clever temporal manipulation to break free.
As the days turned to weeks, Elden fell into a grim routine. He committed every detail of the guards' movements to memory, charting their paths and noting any weaknesses in their patrols. He listened intently to the whispers of his fellow prisoners, piecing together scraps of information about the Cabal's plans and the layout of the fortress.
And all the while, he never stopped practicing his magic. Even though the binders prevented him from actually casting, Elden ran through the motions of every spell and sigil he had ever learned. He visualized the flow of energy, the weave of time and memory, until it was as natural as breathing.