Hine stumbled forward, her legs buckling beneath her as if they were made of glass. The world around her spun, a dizzying blur of muted colors and phantom whispers that clawed at her ears. Every breath burned her throat, sharp and uneven, like broken glass scraping against her lungs. She could not tell how long she had been inside the loop this time. Hours. Days. Years. It all bled together until even her thoughts felt like fragile threads barely holding together.
She fell to her knees. The cold stone beneath her palms grounded her for a moment, but it was fleeting. Her arms trembled, unable to bear her weight, and she collapsed completely. Her cheek pressed against the freezing floor. It was quiet for the first time in what felt like forever.
Her voice cracked when she spoke. "Istaroth… please."
The name left her lips like a prayer, soft and desperate. She had whispered it before, in the hollow spaces between endless cycles, but never this raw. She could feel her body betraying her, muscles screaming for rest, her mind clouded by fatigue that no sleep could touch. She wanted to give up, to just stop and let the loop claim her, but something inside her would not let her quit. Not yet.
Time bent around her. The stillness of the loop stretched thin, fragile, as if someone had pressed pause on the relentless cycle. The echo of her plea lingered in the air like the fading toll of a distant bell.
"You are breaking," Istaroth's voice finally came, quiet and low, a whisper at the edge of her consciousness. "Your body was never meant to endure this."
Hine let out a broken laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "I know. But I cannot stop. Not yet. Please… give me more time. Just… a little more."
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. She thought, for a heartbeat, that the goddess had left her. That maybe this was the limit, the point where she would finally snap and be erased entirely. But then the air shifted, heavy with something unspoken, and Istaroth's presence wrapped around her like an invisible thread.
"Time is not mine to give," Istaroth murmured. There was a weight in her tone, a deep ache as though she carried the burden of every second she ever bent. "Every moment I slow, every pause I create, unravels the balance of what must be. The principles above have begun to take notice. They are not forgiving."
"I do not care," Hine whispered. Her fingers curled against the stone floor, nails scraping weakly against the rough surface. "If it means I can hold on long enough… if it means I can fight back… then let them notice."
The goddess was quiet again, as though considering her words. Hine could almost picture her, standing at the edge of time itself, threads of endless possibilities spinning around her hands.
"You are stubborn," Istaroth said finally, a strange softness breaking through the usual detached calm of her voice. "It is dangerous to want so fiercely. To fight against what is already written."
"Then let me be dangerous," Hine rasped. Her throat was raw, but the fire in her voice refused to die. "Please… I just need more time."
Istaroth sighed, the sound like a thousand clocks winding down at once. The stillness around Hine deepened, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the crushing pressure of the loop eased. Her breathing steadied, though her body still trembled with exhaustion.
"You will have it," Istaroth said. "A moment to gather yourself. Nothing more. Do not mistake this for mercy, Hine. This is a debt you cannot repay."
Hine closed her eyes, her lashes damp against her skin, and allowed herself to lie still. It was strange, how quiet it was without the constant weight of the loop pressing against her ribs. She could almost feel the tension leaving her muscles, even if it was temporary.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice so faint it barely reached her own ears.
"You thank me now," Istaroth replied, her voice softer, almost distant. "But one day, you may curse me for it. Time bends for you because I allow it. And when it snaps back, it will demand something in return."
Hine wanted to respond, to say she did not care, that she would pay whatever price was asked, but the words would not come. Her strength had run out, leaving her heavy and hollow.
She drifted somewhere between sleep and consciousness, her mind floating in a haze. In the distance, she could still hear Ronova's laughter, sharp and cruel, like the scraping of a blade against stone. The ruler of death was waiting, patient and unyielding, and Hine knew that this fragile reprieve would not last.
Memories crept in through the quiet. Faces blurred by time. Voices that had once been warm now fading into silence. Every loop had taken something from her, and yet she still clung to the pieces that remained. It was all she had left.
"Do not forget why you fight," Istaroth said, her voice threading through the dim fog of Hine's mind. "Even in this stillness, do not forget."
"I won't," Hine whispered, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. She had no idea how much longer she could keep that promise, but she meant it. She meant every broken syllable.
The pause stretched, long enough for her to think that Istaroth had vanished again, but then the goddess spoke once more.
"The principles will not allow this to continue unchecked. They already stir. I have bought you moments, nothing more. Use them wisely."
Hine's eyelids fluttered open, though her vision was still blurred and shaky. She stared at the dimly lit walls of the loop, familiar and suffocating all at once. Even here, in this moment of stillness, she could feel the ticking of an unseen clock, counting down to the moment she would be thrown back into the storm.
"Moments are all I need," she said, her voice steadier this time, though it trembled at the edges. "I will make them enough."
Istaroth said nothing after that, but Hine could feel her presence lingering, a quiet reminder that she was not entirely alone in the endless repetition of her suffering.
Hine stayed on the floor until her breathing evened out, until the trembling in her hands subsided enough for her to push herself up to a sitting position. Every muscle ached. Her body screamed for her to stop, to surrender, but she forced herself to move. To stand.
When the loop began to stir again, she was ready.
Or at least, she told herself she was.