Serra Crystalstine's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

The warlord stood between Serra and the frozen vault. His crown bore clock pieces, and a timepiece turned slow in his belt. Burnt-orange threads trailed from his hands like smoke. Serra felt her chest clock drag. The number read 47, but the drain pulled at the seconds around it. She knew the truth at once. Charge him head-on, and he would empty her clock before her blade touched him. "Spread out," Serra said. "He can't drain all of us at once." Chronara moved left, fire wing flaring. Shimmer went right. Stellarwind held the broken doorway. But the warlord turned his threads on Serra alone. Her knees buckled. Cracks crawled up her cracked arm. He had picked her because she held the blade. Then a shape filled the ruined door behind Stellarwind. Broad shoulders, iron armor, a clock set in the chest. Serra had never met him, but Chronara stiffened. This was Hellstone Ironhold, the warlord who ruled by freezing time. He stopped one clock at a time, and he answered to no one. "You came down the shaft," Chronara said, low. "I follow my own hunts." Hellstone looked at the warlord, then at the vault. "He stole what I take by hand. That I won't allow." He cracked his neck. "One clock at a time. That's my limit." Serra understood. "Freeze his drain. Just for a breath." Hellstone raised a hand. The warlord's orange threads locked still in the air. The pull on Serra's chest stopped cold. Her clock steadied at 47. But Hellstone's face strained. Holding this clock meant holding only this one. "Now," he said. "I can't keep it." Serra charged. The warlord reached for his threads and found them frozen. He swung instead, a heavy fist. Shimmer's clock pieces slowed the moment for her, and she read the strike before it fell. "Left," she called. Serra ducked left. The fist missed. Chronara struck his flank with fire. A radiant cluster of crystal in his belt blazed, fiery cores and starlit sparkle, and Serra saw it was the heart of his drain. She drove the wing-blade into it. The blade sang. The cluster cracked. Stolen light spilled out and fell back toward the frozen vault. The warlord screamed. His threads went dark. Hellstone released the freeze and sagged against the door. The warlord dropped to one knee, cut off from his own stolen time. "The vault," Shimmer said. "Still sealed." Serra stood over the fallen warlord, blade humming. She had broken his drain, not the vault. The frozen light still held every stolen second behind its wall. And the blade's song had gone loud and bright, a beacon now, calling across the deep levels to whatever else hunted here. Hellstone pushed off the door. "He's down. But not dead." He looked at the glowing blade. "And you just told the whole realm where you stand."