The loops had blurred into each other. Days, weeks, months — maybe years — Hine could no longer tell. Every moment inside Ronova's grasp was pain, sharpened and precise, designed to crush her mind into surrender.
But she never broke.
Even when her knees shook, when her breath came out ragged, when the dark weight of despair threatened to crush her ribs, she clung to the one thought that had carried her this far.
Mavuika. My sister. My reason to keep breathing.
Hine stood in the same hollow chamber again, her wrists raw and bleeding against invisible bindings. Ronova watched her with the detached amusement of someone observing an insect struggling against glass.
"You should have shattered by now," Ronova said, her voice smooth and venomous, her dark robe fluttering around her like the shadow of a storm. "Every mortal breaks. Every god breaks. Yet you... remain. Why?"
Hine's chest heaved, but she forced her trembling legs to lock in place. Her voice came out hoarse but steady. "Because I am not leaving her behind. Not ever."
Ronova tilted her head, studying her as if Hine were some strange puzzle. Then, with the smallest flick of her hand, the loop reset.
Agony swallowed her whole.
Hine came back to consciousness what felt like moments later, gasping and shuddering on the cracked marble floor. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, too fast, too heavy. Everything hurt.
She whispered, barely audible, "Istaroth... please. Please... help me."
For the first time, time did not reset immediately. The loop... hesitated.
A soft wind stirred the silence, carrying the faint chime of something distant, like bells under the sea. Then she heard the familiar voice, layered and ancient, neither close nor far.
"You are fraying," Istaroth murmured. "The threads that bind you to this existence are thinning."
Hine clenched her fists. "I don't care. Just... give me more time. Please. I am so close. I can feel it. I cannot stop now. Not when she's out there waiting for me."
Istaroth's presence wavered like a shifting tide. "You think you can outlast death itself. You think you can endure beyond what mortals and gods were ever meant to bear. But every breath you take in this loop carries a cost you cannot see. When that cost is due, even I will not be able to rewrite it."
"I don't care about the cost," Hine said. Her voice cracked, but her eyes burned with unyielding fire. "Whatever it is. Whatever happens to me. I just need to get her back. Please, Istaroth... I will take the risk. All of it."
For a long, trembling moment, the world was silent. The loops around her seemed frozen, threads of time shivering but still.
Then the presence of the God of Time deepened, almost suffocating in its enormity, like standing at the edge of infinity.
"You are reckless, Hine," Istaroth said softly. "Reckless... but not faithless. And that is why you have reached me, even here, in the deep shadow of Ronova's dominion."
Hine closed her eyes and let the sting of tears burn through the exhaustion. She didn't dare move, didn't dare speak, afraid the moment would shatter if she breathed too hard.
"You do not understand what you ask for," Istaroth continued, their voice no longer distant but immediate, close enough that it felt like the words brushed against her ear. "Slowing the loops, even slightly, will send ripples through the principles that hold this plane together. The rules of the heavens do not bend without consequence. Every fracture will call attention... and you will not be ready when they arrive."
Hine forced her head up. Her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat and blood, but her eyes never wavered. "Then let them come. Let everything come. I will not stop until I find her. Please, Istaroth... help me."
The god did not answer at first. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of eternity, until Hine thought her heart might tear itself apart waiting.
Then a single whisper cut through.
"So be it."
The air shifted. Time itself slowed, the grinding of the endless loops easing like a clock's gears hesitating under unseen hands. The sharp sting of the next reset did not come. Instead, there was... space. A fragile, stolen pocket of time where Hine could draw in a full, steady breath without the crushing weight of Ronova's will dragging her down.
Relief, sharp and almost painful, coursed through her.
"I... thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking on the words.
But Istaroth's reply was not gentle.
"This reprieve will not last," the god warned. "You will recover, yes. You will find moments to think, to plan, to hold your strength. But every adjustment I make frays the tapestry further. Ronova will sense it soon. And when she does... she will not hesitate to make you pay for every second I have stolen for you."
Hine wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand and let out a trembling laugh, small and humorless. "She already wants me dead. What's a little more hate on the pile?"
There was no reply to that, only the hum of threads weaving and unweaving in unseen dimensions.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Hine stood on her own feet without collapsing. Her body still ached, her mind still swam in the fog of exhaustion, but the unbearable weight of constant resets had lifted, just enough for her to feel the fire in her veins again.
She tilted her head up, whispering toward the unseen presence. "I don't know if you can hear this... but thank you. I don't know how long I can keep going. But I'll try. I promise I'll try."
Somewhere beyond the fractured edges of time, Istaroth's voice came again, softer now, almost like an echo.
"Do not mistake my aid for salvation. I can buy you time, Hine, but I cannot fight your war for you. That path remains yours alone to walk."
"I know," she said quietly. "I never expected anyone to fight it for me." She lifted her chin, a flicker of steel hardening her voice. "I just needed a chance. And you gave me one. That's enough."
The chamber around her shimmered, and the threads of the slowed loop trembled, fragile but holding. Somewhere in the darkness, she could feel Ronova stirring, sensing something wrong but not yet certain what.
Hine braced herself, drawing strength from the fleeting calm that Istaroth had carved out for her. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but her mind — her will — was steady.
Mavuika. Hold on. Just hold on a little longer.
In the quiet between seconds, Istaroth spoke one last time, the words threaded with something that almost felt like sorrow.
"Remember this, Hine. Every borrowed moment comes with a price. Be certain you are willing to pay it when the time comes."
Hine did not flinch. "I've already decided. Whatever the cost, I'll pay it. Just keep the door open long enough for me to find her."
And with that, the presence faded, leaving her standing alone in the hollow room, heart steady for the first time in what felt like forever.
Ronova's shadow began to creep back in, dark and suffocating, ready to resume the cycle.
But this time, Hine was ready.