Cael didn't notice it at first.
The loss.
It wasn't dramatic.
There was no pain.
No dizziness.
No sudden realization.
Just…
Absence.
He was halfway through the back alleys when he slowed down.
Not because the Empire was close.
But because something felt… wrong.
Not outside.
Inside.
Like a word at the tip of his tongue that refused to exist.
He turned into a narrow passage between two rusted buildings and leaned against the wall.
His chest still rose and fell too quickly.
His hands trembled.
His wrist burned faintly.
He looked down.
The numbers glowed back at him.
03:13:00:02
Still counting.
Still real.
Still his.
But something else was missing.
Something small.
Something that shouldn't matter.
A memory surfaced.
Or tried to.
A voice.
Soft.
Warm.
Calling his name.
"Cael."
He frowned.
Who—
The voice slipped away.
Like water through his fingers.
He pushed off the wall and kept moving.
Don't think about it.
Don't stop.
Survive first.
Understand later.
The Lower District was quieter now.
Too quiet.
People had locked themselves away.
No one wanted to be seen when the Empire hunted.
Because being seen meant being remembered.
And being remembered meant being investigated.
Cael reached the abandoned stairwell he used as shelter.
Three flights down.
Hidden.
Safe.
Or as safe as anything could be here.
He closed the door behind him.
And only then—
Allowed himself to breathe.
Silence filled the room.
Broken only by distant sirens.
And the steady ticking of time.
He sat on the floor.
Back against the wall.
Eyes closed.
Trying to think.
Trying to remember.
The moment came back.
The freeze.
The whisper.
The second he stole.
His chest tightened.
Not from fear.
From something else.
"Give me a second."
He had said that.
He remembered saying it.
He remembered the pain.
He remembered the world stopping.
So what did he lose?
He searched his memories again.
For something familiar.
Something grounding.
Something human.
A kitchen.
Small.
Warm.
A pot boiling.
Laughter.
But the face—
The face wasn't there.
He opened his eyes.
His breath caught.
Someone had been there.
Someone important.
Someone who—
Nothing.
He tried again.
Harder this time.
Forcing the memory forward.
A hand touching his hair.
A voice telling him to eat slowly.
A quiet song—
Gone.
The realization hit like falling.
He didn't remember her.
He didn't remember his mother.
Cael pressed his hand against his mouth.
Not in grief.
Not yet.
Because grief required connection.
And the connection—
Was missing.
All that remained was knowledge.
A hollow fact.
I had a mother.
But he couldn't recall her face.
Her voice.
Her name.
Only the feeling that losing her—
Should hurt more than this.
His hand trembled.
"What did I do…?"
The whisper returned.
Calm.
Patient.
Almost kind.
"You borrowed."
Cael's jaw tightened.
"That was one second."
Silence.
Then—
"Time does not forget."
His pulse pounded in his ears.
"It collects."
A chill spread through his body.
"So every time I use it…"
The whisper didn't answer.
It didn't need to.
Cael looked at his wrist again.
03:12:59:11
Still ticking.
Still counting.
Still pretending everything was normal.
But now he understood.
Borrowing didn't just cost time.
It cost truth.
Identity.
Connection.
Existence.
And somewhere—
Something was keeping score.
Far above the Lower District—
Inside the golden towers of the Upper City—
A projection flickered to life.
A timeline.
Most of it flowed smoothly.
Predictable.
Controlled.
Perfect.
Except for one fracture.
A thin crack in certainty.
A name appeared beside it.
CAEL
Then flickered.
As if the future itself wasn't sure it should exist.
A man watched the instability in silence.
For the first time—
In a very long time—
He felt something unexpected.
Interest.
Back below—
Cael leaned his head against the wall.
Exhausted.
Not from running.
Not from fear.
But from the quiet horror of knowing—
He had already begun to disappear.
And this—
Was only the first second.