As Markus closed the distance to the central altar, the golden sphere of inverted time expanded, pulsing in synchronization with his own heartbeat.
The initial illusion created by the intense temporal refraction dissolved as he stepped through the altar's inner boundary. What hovered above the shattered stone pedestal was not a crystalline fragment or a sundial relic—it was a floating, pristine leaf of golden parchment, shimmering with living, fluid runes that were identical to the ones etched into his soul space.
It was a Lost Page torn directly from the Book of Time.
[SYSTEM REGISTER: REFINED IDENTIFICATION]
>> Target: Codex Page 03 (Aspect: Chrono-Stasis & Rewind Vector)
>> Origin: The Book of Time (Primary Soul-Bound Codex)
>> Resonance Index: 100% Absolute Harmonization
>> Condition: Unbound / Seeking Codex Matrix
Inside Markus's mind, the Book of Time opened to its first few pages. There, right after the introductory laws of chronological perception, lay a jagged, empty binding seam—the exact location from which this page had been severed eons ago during the breaking of the primordial world.
The wild, chaotic temporal storm that had created the Chrono-Mire, spawned the Time Wraiths, and locked the elven rangers in stasis hadn't been an act of malice. It was simply the raw, uncontained power of a single page of absolute law radiating without a binder to anchor its authority.
Markus did not need spatial chains or sealing pins to claim this treasure.
He stood before the altar, closed his eyes, and released his spatial concealment shroud. Extending his right hand, he relaxed his mental defenses and let the golden light of the Book of Time pour out from his chest, illuminating the entire mountain peak in a blinding, divine radiance.
"Return," Markus commanded softly.
The floating page shuddered. The living golden runes covering its surface flared with joy, answering the call of their true master. The page floated toward Markus, turning into a stream of liquid gold light that seeped directly into his palm, flowing up his arm and plunging into his soul space.
THUMMMMM.
A soundless, cosmic shockwave erupted from Markus's core as the lost page snapped back into the binding of the Book of Time. The jagged seam vanished, replaced by a seamless line of glowing golden thread as Page 03 locked into place.
A flood of ancient, fundamental knowledge washed over Markus's consciousness:
Chrono-Stasis Mastery: The mental strain required to lock an entity or area in time was reduced by 80%. He no longer suffered severe mental burnout when processing multi-timeline vectors.
Localized Temporal Inversion: He could now instantly rewind physical states within a localized spatial pocket without triggering temporal shear backlashes on his own body.
The moment the page fused back into the codex, the source of the regional anomaly ceased to exist.
The swirling vortex of gray clouds above the mountain peak rapidly shattered, dissolving into clear, lavender-tinted primordial air. The orbiting rings of mountain rock gently settled back into the earth, and the rivers of inverted water reversed their flow, returning to normal gravitational vectors.
Across the entire Chrono-Mire, the chaotic temporal fields collapsed into absolute stability.
[REGIONAL STATUS UPDATE]
>> Zone: Ex-Chrono-Mire (Normalized Primordial Sector)
>> Chronal Turbulence: 0.00% (Absolute Baseline Restored)
>> Temporal Shear Risk: Dissipating
Far down at the base of the mountain, where the elven vanguard squad had been trapped in the amber-like stasis bubble, the gray light vanished with a soft, glassy pop.
Captain Feylin blinked, her hand completing the motion of drawing her wind-infused arrow as if not a single second had passed. She took a sharp breath, her eyes frantically scanning the surroundings for the temporal shockwave that had been about to swallow them.
"Form up! The fog—" Feylin shouted, before her voice cut off in complete bewilderment.
The suffocating, gray temporal fog was gone. The floating, petrified rocks were resting peacefully on the ground. The oppressive, skin-prickling static electricity in the air had been replaced by a gentle, cool breeze carrying the fresh scent of mountain air.
"Captain..." one of the elite rangers whispered, pointing up toward the peak with a shaking finger. "Look at the mountain."
The dark, storm-shrouded peak was bathed in the warm, ethereal light of the primordial sky. Standing on the highest ledge, silhouetted against the twin moons, was the tall, quiet figure of their rear-guard scout, his stardust cloak fluttering softly in the wind.
Feylin stared in absolute awe. She didn't know what had transpired on the summit, nor did she understand how a single cloaked auxiliary scout had dispelled a forbidden land's century-old curse in a matter of hours. All she knew was that the terrifying, timeline-twisting wasteland had been neutralized, and the northern border of the elven domains was finally safe.
High above, Markus looked down at the squad, his silver-blue eyes flashing with quiet satisfaction beneath his hood. With another page of the codex safely reclaimed, his foundation was stronger than ever—and the primordial world had plenty more secrets left to yield.
Markus descended the steep obsidian steps, his stardust cloak fluttering softly against the cool mountain air. The gray, suffocating temporal fog was completely gone, replaced by the crisp, uncorrupted atmosphere of the primordial sky.
Halfway down the slope, he met Captain Feylin and her five elite archers. Having been freed from the temporal stasis, they had rushed up the mountain path to investigate the sudden dispersal of the anomaly.
When Feylin saw Markus walking down alone, her eyes didn't linger on his safety. Instead, her gaze snapped to his hands, his cloak, and the clear, calm skies above the peak.
The relief in her expression rapidly curdled into something far darker—a sharp, burning glare of unadulterated avarice.
"You took it, didn't you?" Feylin asked, her voice dropping into a harsh, demanding register. She raised her hand, and behind her, the five elven archers instantly spread out into a tactical arc, nocking wind-infused arrows onto their recurve bows.
"Took what?" Markus replied calmly, his voice remaining flat and expressionless under his hood.
"The core of the anomaly," Feylin hissed, step-by-step letting her greed overwhelm her martial discipline. "A regional distortion of this scale doesn't just evaporate. There was a sovereign-tier artifact at the top of this mountain—an object capable of manipulating time and space across an entire domain. You're just a auxiliary scout! An item of that caliber belongs to the Elven High Council!"
Markus stopped five paces away from her. Beneath his shroud, his silver-blue eyes turned icy cold.
He didn't need a system scan to read her intentions. Feylin had no intention of handing the artifact over to her council either. A relic that could control time was a weapon that could rewrite the power dynamics of the entire continent. The moment she realized Markus had claimed it, her mind had already calculated the gain of silencing a nameless scout and keeping the prize for herself.
"You are making a fatal miscalculation," Markus said softly.
"Hand over whatever you obtained at the peak," Feylin commanded, her bowstring pulled taut, glowing with lethal, compressed Wind Law. "Or we will bleed it out of your corpse!"
Markus didn't argue. He didn't offer a warning, nor did he bother revealing his true identity to make her hesitate. To a sovereign, a loose thread was simply something to be burned before it could unravel the grand design.
If word leaked back to the elven council or neighboring empires that a human possessed a page of the Book of Time, the resulting war would disrupt every foundation he was currently building at the academy.
He simply raised his right hand and flicked his wrist.
Combining his newly upgraded Page 3 Time Law with his spatial mastery, Markus unleashed a volley of Chrono-Spatial Blades.
Unlike standard physical or magical attacks, these blades did not travel through the air. They existed simultaneously in the present microsecond and the next, bypassing all atmospheric resistance, kinetic shields, and wind barriers instantly.
Clack.
Before Feylin's fingers could even release her bowstring, six invisible, golden-silver crescent lines flashed through the air.
Time froze for the elven squad for a fraction of a second. Then, without a single scream, the wind arrows dissolved into harmless sparks. Feylin and her five archers stood rigid for a moment before their bodies cleanly bisected at the chest, collapsing onto the cold obsidian stone in complete, silent ruin.
The mountain path returned to its absolute, eerie quiet.
Markus looked down at the fallen elves. There was no remorse in his eyes, only the cold, pragmatic logic of an absolute ruler. In the primordial wilds, weakness was a death sentence, but foolish greed was an invitation to execution.
Extending his hand toward the mountain bedrock, Markus activated a localized spatial compression field.
The solid obsidian stone beneath the bodies violently groaned and split open, forming a deep, narrow fissure deep within the mountain peak. With a subtle flick of his fingers, Markus used a spatial wave to sweep the bodies, their weapons, and every trace of spilled blood down into the dark abyss.
Thrum.
He slammed his hand downward. The obsidian walls of the fissure folded back together under crushing spatial pressure, fusing the stone back into a perfectly smooth, unbroken slate floor.
There was no blood, no shattered weapons, and no footprint left behind. The mountain top looked as pristine and untouched as it had for thousands of years.
To the Elven High Council, Captain Feylin and her squad would simply become six more names added to the endless list of scouts who had ventured into the dangerous, unforgiving depths of the Chrono-Mire and never returned.
Adjusting his stardust cloak over his shoulders, Markus turned away from the unmarked grave, stepping through a localized spatial tear to leave the silent mountain behind.