The air outside the clock tower was sharp and cold — unnaturally still.
Kael stepped out first, his boots splashing through puddles that reflected a sky tinted violet instead of blue.
Voltixol was there… but not the one he knew.
The neon skyline was dimmer, buildings built from older alloys, older tech. Streets curved differently, as if the city had been redesigned decades ago. Holographic signs flickered weakly — the kind used in the Reconstruction Era, long before Kael's time.
Rykas scanned the surroundings, blades still drawn.
"Tell me we didn't just step back a few blocks."
Kael shook his head. "No. We stepped back years."
They walked through the empty street. Every sound — the hum of dead billboards, the faint hiss of rain — echoed too clearly, as if space itself was thinner here.
Kael's mind raced. Chrono-Reversion… if that's what this is, then time itself has fractured.
The golden light in his veins had faded, but the faint ache behind his eyes told him it wasn't gone — just waiting.
Rykas nudged him. "Look."
Across the road, a public broadcast screen flickered to life.
Static cleared, revealing the city's old symbol — and then, a date:
YEAR: 426 of the Reformation.
Kael's stomach dropped. That was seventy years ago.
They took shelter under a shattered awning.
Kael leaned against the wall, his pulse hammering. "We didn't just slip through time. We… landed in a version of Voltixol that shouldn't exist."
Rykas sheathed one blade, keeping the other ready. "You're saying we're in the past?"
"Or a mirror of it," Kael murmured. "A fold… a leftover timeline."
He stared at the rain again. It fell slower here. Each droplet hung for a fraction longer before touching ground.
Reality itself felt like it was lagging.
"Kael."
Rykas pointed at something ahead — a silhouette moving through the mist.
A tall figure in a hood, dragging a long staff behind him, its tip glowing faintly with blue light.
Kael tensed. "Someone's here."
The figure stopped under a flickering lamppost, head turning slowly toward them.
For a moment, his eyes glowed faintly — not human, not machine.
Then, without a word, he turned and started walking away.
Kael moved forward instinctively. "Wait!"
But as soon as he stepped off the curb — the figure vanished, dissolving into light.
They searched the area. Nothing. Only the soft hum of the city-that-wasn't.
Kael crouched where the man had stood. There, etched faintly into the cracked pavement, were runes — circular, similar to the ones in the tower.
He brushed his fingers over them. "He knew this place."
Rykas frowned. "Maybe he built it."
Kael didn't answer.
In his mind, the voice from before — that half-familiar whisper he'd heard in the golden vision — echoed again:
"Find the Anchor. Or time will devour itself."
He looked up at Rykas, eyes distant.
"There's something we're meant to find here."
Night began to fall.
The streets dimmed until only the faint violet glow remained. Kael and Rykas found shelter in an abandoned transit hub — an old AI-operated terminal half-buried in rubble.
Kael activated one of the remaining consoles. It blinked to life with a low hum.
"Accessing… historical data," it said in a smooth, outdated tone.
Then, across the cracked holographic surface, an image appeared — Eryndor, younger, his name listed among missing researchers of the Mother Oil Project.
Kael's heart stopped.
"Eryndor was here," he whispered. "Seventy years ago."
The console flickered and died.
Kael stared at the dark screen for a long moment, his reflection mixing with Eryndor's ghostly image.
Rykas placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then maybe he's the key to going back."
Kael's eyes hardened. "Or maybe he never left."
Outside, the rain finally stopped.
The thirteenth chime echoed once more in the distance — faint, but real.
Kael and Rykas turned toward it.
The next path was waiting.