It was no longer survival.
It had become a war.
The square was half ash and fractured stone. Smoke curled through splintered beams. Somewhere behind me, the clock tower let out a long, broken chime—and then fell silent.
Clara moved first. No words, no hesitation. Her thread flared, crystalline and sharp, pulsing outward in calculated bursts as she pulled two more civilians clear of a collapsing shopfront.
Erich was next. He limped into motion, blood still trailing from his temple, but his thread surged with each step. He blinked twice—then blurred into Helene's path, striking her side with a precision that only came from instinct honed through pain.
She staggered.
Not far. Not enough. But it was the first time she moved back.
I followed the opening, thread clicking at my fingertips. I blinked, time bent, and I struck. My palm grazed her shoulder—a minor impact.
But her coat tore.
Helene spun, eyes narrowing. The light behind them had deepened into something cold. Measured.
"Is this what resolve looks like?" she said. "Scraps stitched together with desperation?"
She extended both hands.
Thread erupted from her palms—converging into a spiraling arc of violet, black, and white. It lashed outward, slicing through stone and air alike.
Clara threw up a pulse.
Erich moved again.
I dodged late, and pain lanced across my side.
Konrad was still in the center—still protecting the civilians. Still unmoved. But I could see it in his shoulders. He was beginning to fail.
His thread flickered.
Helene launched another attack.
This time the thread twisted mid-air—into shards that split, duplicated, reformed. Like a kaleidoscope of ruin.
Erich tried to block one. It flung him back into rubble.
Clara shielded another, but it still clipped her—left her thread sparking, unstable.
I barely caught the third—then blinked into open space, reappearing behind Helene.
I struck.
She caught my wrist.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
She twisted, and I fell.
The ground tore beneath me from the impact.
Then came the sound.
A low, grinding hum.
I looked up.
Above the square, suspended in the sky, a sphere of layered threads began to form—gold, violet, and pulsing with fractured time.
It was aimed at the civilians.
We all saw it.
Konrad moved.
He limped toward the center, not fast—but deliberate.
The sphere descended.
No one could reach it.
No one but him.
And then—
His thread snapped.
No sound. Just a weight pulled from the world.
My heart sank.
From that moment, everything went silent. As if time itself held its breath.
Then came the light.
Not violet. Not gold.
Bronze and green.
It spread from his chest—like a second heartbeat forcing itself into the world. Threads burst outward in arcs, weaving into each of us.
A tether.
Konrad opened his mouth.
But none could hear his words.
The sphere stuck.
It imploded into him.
A collapse.
Time bent inward.
Everything paused.
Then—sound slammed back into the world.
Like a dam breaking. Like a scream held too long.
A single, shattering heart beat of return.
Then Konrad dropped.
One knee. Breathing hard. Pale. Shaking.
Everyone remained unharmed.
His thread remained intact.
But I could see the cost.
He was changing.
His skin cracking, pale by degrees, like color was being pulled from him. His breath came in short bursts. His eyes were no longer steady.
He bled. Everywhere.
Erich stood, watching him. Unable to move.
Clara, silent, eyes wide—not with fear, but recognition.
"KONRAD!" I screamed, as I rushed for him.
He looked at me. Smiled. Only for a moment.
Helene's voice cut through the quiet.
"Fascinating," she murmured.
She stepped forward.
Konrad tried to rise fully—but staggered.
Erich blinked in again, his movements slower now, half-broken. He collide with Helene's side—driving her back a step.
She retaliated instantly.
A backhanded pulse of threadlight sent him flying again—slamming him into a pillar that cracked on impact. Yet he remained unharmed.
Clara stopped shielding the civilians, aiming her pulses at Helene.
I surged forward, reactivating my thread.
Helene turned.
I blinked—behind her, strike.
She caught my arm again—but this time I slipped free.
My fist connected.
She staggered. Just barely.
Then she striked, driving an impact that froze me in place, my insides felt like they tore apart. But then it was gone. No pain. No harm.
Konrad took another breath.
His thread widened.
I felt it—his thread pulling tighter around us.
My wounds had dulled.
Clara's cracked thread had realigned.
Erich moved again.
But Konrad's face had gone shallow.
His knees shook.
He was holding everyone together.
At the cost of himself.
And suddenly.
Helene stopped.
She didn't speak.
Just vanished.
The light dimmed.
The tension lifted.
And Konrad—thread frayed, breath barely there.
The silence that followed wasn't peace.
It was aftermath.