“The festival,” Zita choked out, the words ripped from her throat. “It’s all happening at the festival.”
Her brother and sister stared, their faces pale in the dim light of the Chronos Rest warding chamber. Rūta gripped Kazys’s arm, her knuckles white. “What festival? What do you mean, ‘all’?”
Zita didn’t answer. The Requiem’s ultimatum still echoed, cold and absolute. *A LIFE FOR A LIFE. REJECTED LOOPOLE. SELECTION REQUIRED.* It demanded a choice: Elanora or her kin. But the Hourglass Requiem was a parasite, not a deity. It presented a false dichotomy. There had to be another way. A way to cheat the parasite itself.
Fidget, perched on her shoulder, quivered violently, emitting a low, anxious hum. "Disturbance! A vast... unraveling!" The tiny sprite pointed a translucent hand towards Zita’s temple, where the phantom ache of the future still throbbed.
Zita closed her eyes. The visions of branching paths swam before her, each outcome stained with death. But what if the branches could be forced apart? What if the causality thread didn't just split, but *severed*? It was an ancient, forbidden theory, whispered only in the darkest corners of advanced chronomancy. A ritual so complex, so lethal, it was recorded as an unattainable madness for a solitary caster.
“I can’t choose,” Zita finally whispered, opening her eyes. Her gaze hardened. “I won’t. I’ll save them all.”
Kazys stepped forward, his expression grave. “Zita, what are you talking about? Save who? We’re here, we’re safe.”
“Not for long,” Zita said, the words heavy with a knowledge that chilled her to the bone. “Chancellor Valerija is framing Elanora. She’s set for public execution at the Sun’s Zenith gala. The same day Valerija plans to use the midday rites to unlock the ledger, and the same day the Coterie will come for you two.”
Rūta gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Elanora? But… why?”
“Because I slipped their net,” Zita said, throat raw. “Valerija marks me as an active threat now. She’s using the girl to draw me out, betting I’ll break cover.”
“So, we stay here,” Kazys insisted, his eyes desperate. “We let her die. It’s horrible, Zita, but you said it yourself, we can’t risk exposure. You said *our* lives were the priority.”
Zita looked at Kazys and Rūta, at their fear, their reluctant acceptance of a grim reality. It was their faces, their resigned despair, that solidified her resolve. She wouldn’t let them make that sacrifice. She wouldn’t make it herself.
“No,” Zita stated, a cold fire igniting in her gaze. “There’s another way. A way to have both.”
She left them then, before they could argue further, before their pleas could chip away at her newfound, terrifying certainty. Fidget clung to her shoulder, its anxious vibrations a constant drum against her ear. The journey back to the Veidota Institute was a blur of calculated risks and hidden pathways, Zita’s mind racing, sketching the precarious architecture of her plan.
She found Kostas in his sanctum, the stark stone walls offering no comfort, only an echo of his austere power. He was hunched over a spread of arcane scrolls, his brow furrowed in concentration. The warding glyphs on his threshold parted, acknowledging their fragile pact.
“You’re back,” Kostas said, without looking up, his voice a low rumble. “I had assumed the ‘safe retreat’ was more permanent. Your siblings?”
“They’re hidden,” Zita replied, stepping further into the chamber. “Not safe enough. Not if I abandon the prisoner, walking straight into the trap Valerija laid.”
Kostas finally looked up, his grey eyes piercing. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to split the timeline,” Zita stated, her voice flat, devoid of the tremor that wracked her nerves. “I’m going to create a temporal echo, a discrete branch where the prisoner lives, and another where my kin remain untouched. I’m going to occupy two coordinates at once.”
Kostas dropped his quill, the nib snapping against the desk. Kostas stared at her, his expression slowly shifting from skepticism to horror. He pushed himself away from the table, his chair scraping loudly across the floor.
“You’re mad,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not just forbidden, Vaitkus. It’s suicidal arrogance. The sheer force required to sever a continuum… the temporal backlash would tear you apart. Even if you succeeded, the paradox would devour the reality around you.”
“I won’t sever it,” Zita countered, her gaze unwavering. “I’ll *split* it. For a finite duration. Enough to save both sides, activate the Solstice Key, and then fuse the tracks back. A controlled divergence.”
“A controlled divergence?” Kostas’s voice rose, edged with fury. “There is no such thing! You’re talking about the ‘Kalpa Rift’ technique, a theoretical abomination that has never been attempted because every chronomancer with an ounce of sense knows it would unravel the very fabric of existence! And even if it didn't, the Requiem spell you carry… you think it’s just a burden? A tool?”
He walked towards her, his eyes blazing, his voice dropping to a dangerous intensity. “It is a parasitic construct, Zita. It feeds. It feeds on the disturbances, the paradoxes you create. Every time you twist the thread, every time you suffer a migraine, it grows stronger. If you attempt something as cataclysmic as a timeline split, it won’t just punish you. It will *consume* you. It will devour the architect of its greatest feast.”
Zita felt a cold dread settle in her stomach, but she pushed it down. “I know the risks, Kostas.”
“You don’t know anything!” he roared, slamming a fist onto the table. Scrolls scattered. “You are a child playing with cosmic fire! You think you can outsmart a spell designed to feed on temporal transgression? It will hollow you out, Zita. It will leave nothing but a husk for its own consciousness.”
Fidget’s anxious hum became a frantic chittering, vibrating through Zita’s entire body. The sprite seemed to sense the truth in Kostas’s words, the profound danger of the path she contemplated.
“Then it’s a price I’m willing to pay,” Zita said, her voice quiet but firm, a terrifying resolve etched into her features. “I won’t let them die. Any of them. I *will* save them all.”
She turned to leave, her decision made, her gaze fixed on the impossible task ahead. Kostas lunged, grabbing her arm, his grip like iron.
“No, Zita, listen to me! This isn’t a shortcut, it’s a trap! A sacrifice for a sacrifice, but the one you’re making is yourself!”
Zita pulled free, her eyes holding a haunted, determined glint. “I have to try.”
She walked out of the sanctum, leaving Kostas fuming behind her. His voice, hoarse with desperation, followed her down the echoing corridor.
“You’ll save them, but Zita Vaitkus will be the price!”