Elden sank into an endless void, the world dissolving into a maelstrom of colors and half-formed images. The Witching Hour's laughter faded as he plunged deeper into the nightmare realm. A strange sensation engulfed him—as if submerged in water, yet still able to breathe.
He found himself in a warped version of Mnemosyne's grand archives. Towering shelves stretched impossibly high, their contents shifting like mirages. Whispers of forgotten knowledge swirled around him, fragments of memories dancing like leaves in a storm.
"Elden."
He turned to see his father, Edward Vortis, standing before him. But something was off—a slight shimmer at the edges, a too-perfect recreation of memory.
"An interesting choice," Elden mused, his keen mind already at work. "But flawed."
The image of Edward flickered, revealing glimpses of a broken, bloodied form. "Why did you kill me, Elden?" it asked, voice filled with accusation.
Elden's eyes narrowed. "You're not my father," he stated firmly. "He left me clues leading to Gertrude in Empyrea. He knew I was innocent."
The false Edward snarled, its face contorting into something inhuman. It lunged at Elden, but instead of dodging, Elden stood his ground. As the creature's claws raked across his chest, Elden felt no pain—only a ripple of distortion.
"Interesting," Elden muttered. He reached for his Wellspring, calling upon his chrono magic. The power responded differently here—wilder, less predictable. Elden wove a complex pattern in the air, combining chrono magic with the dream logic permeating this place.
The archives blurred and reformed, becoming a swirling vortex of memories. Elden saw flashes of his childhood, moments of learning and discovery with his father. He used these as anchors, stabilizing points in the chaotic dreamscape.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. Elden found himself surrounded by a host of nightmare creatures, each wearing the Witching Hour's face. They circled him, their mouths open in silent screams.
Elden's mind raced, analyzing the situation. He couldn't fight them all directly—but perhaps he didn't need to. He closed his eyes, focusing on manipulating the fluid nature of this dream world. When he opened them, he was no longer in the archives but standing on a vast chessboard.
"Let's make this interesting," Elden called out. "A battle of minds, bound by law magic."
The Witching Hour simulacra coalesced into a single figure, seated across the chessboard. "Very well," it hissed.
As they played, the pieces came to life, battling across the board. With each move, Elden felt the dreamscape shift, reality bending to the outcome of their game. He poured all his analytical skill and foresight into the match, knowing that far more than a game hung in the balance.
Hours or perhaps days passed in the span of moments. Finally, Elden moved his queen. "Checkmate," he declared.
The Witching Hour's avatar screamed in fury as the dreamscape shattered around them. Elden found himself in a featureless gray expanse, victorious but wary.
---
Gertrude Soulsinger stood on a battlefield, the air thick with smoke and magic. A figure emerged—a younger version of herself, fiery red hair whipping in the wind, eyes blazing with ambition.
"Look at what we've become," the younger Gertrude sneered. "A cautious old woman, hiding behind laws. We could have ruled!"
Gertrude felt the weight of her old battle staff, its familiar warmth both comforting and tempting. "I chose a different path," she said steadily. "A wiser one."
The nightmare laughed, the sound filled with youthful arrogance. Tendrils of raw, destructive magic lashed out, seeking to overwhelm Gertrude. But she was ready, calling upon her mastery of law magic to weave a shield of order around herself.
The battle that ensued was cataclysmic. The younger Gertrude unleashed storms of fire and brimstone, her power unfettered by conscience or control. Buildings crumbled, the very earth split beneath their feet. It was a display of what Gertrude might have become had she chosen the path of fury magic.
But for all its fury, the younger Gertrude's magic was chaotic, undisciplined. Gertrude met each attack with precision, her law magic creating barriers of unbreakable bindings that even the most powerful spells couldn't penetrate.
As the fight reached its climax, Gertrude saw an opening. She thrust her staff forward, unleashing a wave of golden light that washed over the battlefield. The chaos stilled, order reasserting itself. The nightmare version of herself dissolved like mist in the morning sun.
But before Gertrude could catch her breath, the dreamscape shifted. She found herself face to face with the Witching Hour, the dream witch's eyes glowing with malevolent power.
The world around them twisted, reality bending to the Witching Hour's will. Gertrude felt her worst fears trying to claw their way into her mind. But she stood firm, her mastery of emotion and law forming an impenetrable barrier against the assault.
As the vision faded, Gertrude found herself in the gray expanse. She saw Elden in the distance and began to move towards him, her resolve stronger than ever.
---
Galen stood in the center of his village, frozen in an endless moment of time. Villagers went about their daily routines, unaware of the temporal prison binding them. But Galen's eyes were clear, his mind sharp with the wisdom of countless repeated days.
The weight of recent events pressed down on him—the revelation of the time loop, meeting Elden and Gertrude, the truth behind the cosmic hand he'd witnessed, the realization that he failed to save the village after all. The memory of Equinox's torture lingered, her attempts to extract his fear from the day of the Shattering still raw in his mind.
"It's your fault," a chorus of voices whispered. "You killed them all. You never saved anyone."
Galen closed his eyes, a single tear streaming down his face. He reached out to understand his visions. The frozen villagers blurred, their forms stretching and compressing as time bent around them. Galen experienced a thousand lifetimes in an instant—every joy, every sorrow, every mundane moment and extraordinary discovery.
"I remember," Galen said, his voice growing stronger. "I remember all of it. The good and the bad. And I won't let you take that away from me."
The whispering voices grew louder, more insistent, but Galen stood firm. He grasped the very fabric of the nightmare realm, his unique perspective allowing him to see the seams of the illusion.
With a twist of his will, he turned the dream inside out. The Witching Hour suddenly found herself trapped in the center of the village, her eyes wide with shock as she experienced the weight of countless repeated days.
"It's not easy, is it?" Galen said softly. "Living the same day over and over. But it taught me something important—how to see through illusions."
The Witching Hour snarled, struggling against the temporal loop. "Impossible! How are you doing this?"
Galen smiled sadly. "I've had a lot of practice."
With a final push of his power, Galen shattered the nightmare construct. The void around him cracked like ice, and he found himself standing in the gray expanse. In the distance, he could see Elden and Gertrude. With a mixture of triumph and sorrow, he began to walk towards them.
---
As the three came together in the featureless dreamscape, they felt a shift in the air. The Witching Hour materialized before them, her form flickering between a regal sorceress and a creature of pure nightmare. But there was a new wariness in her eyes as she regarded them, particularly Galen.
"How... unexpected," she said, her voice echoing strangely in the empty space. "It seems I underestimated you all."
Elden stepped forward, his eyes sharp with determination. "Your nightmares have no power over us," he said. "Whatever you're planning, it ends now."
The Witching Hour laughed, but the sound held a note of unease. "Oh, my dear boy. This is just the beginning."
She raised her hands, and the dreamscape shifted once more. They saw visions of a world in chaos—cities crumbling as cosmic distortions tore reality apart, countless lives snuffed out as past and future collided.
"This is the future the Cabal seeks to prevent," the Witching Hour said, her voice almost gentle. "A future where time itself unravels. We seek to rewrite reality, to create a world free from such dangers?"
But even as she spoke, Elden noticed inconsistencies in the visions—subtle details that didn't align with what he knew from his father's legacy tome. His eyes narrowed, recognizing the lies for what it was.
Gertrude's voice was cold. "And how many lives would you sacrifice for this 'perfect' world? How many souls would you condemn?"
The Witching Hour's expression hardened. "As many as necessary. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."
As they argued, Galen tugged on Elden's sleeve. "Elden," he whispered, "I can feel the edges of this place. It's like... like a bubble in time. If we work together, we can break it."
Elden nodded, a plan forming in his mind. He caught Gertrude's eye, a silent message passing between them. As one, they began to gather their power.
The Witching Hour's eyes widened as she sensed the buildup of energy. "No!" she snarled, her form shifting fully into that of a monstrous creature. "You will not escape!"
But it was too late. Elden's chrono magic, Gertrude's law magic, and Galen's time sense combined into a force that even the Witching Hour couldn't contain. The dreamscape shuddered, cracks appearing in the very fabric of the illusion.
With a sound like shattered ice, the nightmare realm collapsed around them. The Witching Hour's scream of rage was cut short as they were all thrust back into what seemed to be the waking world.
Elden, Gertrude, and Galen found themselves in the ruined chamber of the Empatheum, gasping for breath. The Witching Hour stumbled backward, her face contorted with fury and fear.
"This isn't over," she hissed, her form beginning to fade. "The Cabal will not be denied."
As she vanished, Elden turned to his companions. They were battered and exhausted, but alive. More than that, they had faced their deepest fears and emerged stronger for it.
"What now?" Galen asked, his voice small but determined.
Gertrude straightened, her eyes blazing with renewed purpose. "Now, we take the fight to them. It's time to uncover the truth about the Cabal, once and for all."
Elden nodded, feeling the weight of his father's legacy and the power of the Temporal Codex pressing upon him. But as they prepared to leave, a nagging doubt began to grow in his mind. Small details seemed off—the way the light fell, the too-perfect weather, the ease of their escape.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation he'd felt in the deepest part of the dreamscape. There—a faint ripple in the fabric of reality, almost imperceptible. Elden's eyes snapped open, his voice tight with realization.
"Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "Something's not right."
Gertrude and Galen turned to him, confusion evident on their faces. But before Elden could explain, the world around them began to waver, colors running together like wet paint.
"No," Galen whispered, his eyes wide with dawning horror. "We're still in the dream, aren't we?"
Elden nodded grimly. "A dream within a dream. We broke free of the nightmare, but not the dreamscape itself."
As the realization sank in, their surroundings dissolved completely. They found themselves in a stark, unfamiliar chamber. Cold metal bit into their wrists—Wellspring binding chains that suppressed their magic.
The Witching Hour materialized before them. "Bravo, young Vortis," she crooned, clapping her hands in mock applause.
"I do apologize," the Witching Hour said, her voice dripping with false sincerity, "but I have a rather important meeting to attend. My associates will ensure you're... comfortable."
As she vanished in a swirl of mist, her animal masked followers seized Elden and his companions. They were dragged deeper into the fortress, the clink of chains echoing through dank corridors.