The hands of the Chronophage trembled.
Their slow, inevitable crawl toward midnight — that apocalyptic strike that promised erasure of all things — faltered. For a moment, they did not move. Then, in a silence deeper than silence itself, they stopped.
Asher's breath caught in his throat. His flames flared violently, but even his inferno seemed small in that instant. He felt it — a shift, an overwhelming weight pressing down on reality itself.
This divine artifact was afraid.
The Time Wraiths froze as well, their crazed smirks vanishing. Their eyes darted upward, flickering with something Asher had never seen in them before. Not arrogance. Not rage. But dread.
"What… what is this?" one of them hissed, her voice breaking.
Another staggered backward, clutching at her chest as if her very existence was unraveling. "This… this wasn't supposed to happen! Why now suddenly?!"
Asher's gaze followed theirs.
And then he saw it.
