Sebastian couldn't tell how much time had passed or how many times he'd rewound the clock.
Each rewind felt like an eternity, a blur of moments dissolving into an indistinguishable haze that left his mind feeling frayed and his soul yearning for a solid foothold in the shifting sands of time.
What he knew was that he had lost count. Countless iterations, each one an exhausting effort to master Miles' spell and dissect the intricacies of the ballistas' schematics.
But finally, he succeeded. He had learned to weave the spell; what he needed to do was just incorporate it into his runes, but that could and had to wait.
The knowledge of the ballistas had become so ingrained in his mind that he could now assemble and disassemble them with the effortless precision of a master craftsman, even in the darkest depths of night or in the throes of a fever dream.
However, keeping memory of this was going to be a problem, hence why he wanted to learn Miles' spell.
