The void was an endless sea of shadows, an expanse so vast and featureless that even the concept of time seemed to dissolve into its depths. Surrounded by maddening silence, Silas floated in the darkness, his form feeling weightless and disoriented. The final moments of his life had been a chaotic blur—a fierce battle, an enemy's blade, and then this: the silence of nothingness.
Out of nowhere, a piercing light ripped its way through the darkness of the void. It was a beacon of hope in his darkest moment. The light dimmed slowly, leaving the void faintly lit as a figure emerged, cutting through the shadows with ethereal grace. She emitted an aura that glistened silver, her face covered by a shiny helmet, and her body draped in a blue cloak that matched almost seamlessly with the void. She approached with an air of authority commanded by an instant presence of compassion. The void pulsed gently, as if responding to her divinity. This is when Silas realized he was not worthy.
"Welcome, Prince Silas. I am Brynhilda, and I will guide you to your final resting place among the honored ones," she said in a calm, soothing voice that sang harmoniously in his ear.
He stared solemnly as she gently took his hand and undid the lock on his watch, the light she emitted reflecting off the golden color. Confusion flickered across his features as he looked at her, and she smiled ever so gently.
"It stopped when you died; you won't need it anymore," she said soothingly.
She held his hand, and in an instant, they appeared in a hall that stretched out in a vast expanse. Its walls and ceiling were adorned with intricate designs that seemed to flow and shift like the tides of time itself. The air was cool and tinged with a faint, metallic scent—a subtle reminder of the countless clocks and watches that filled the room. Every surface was covered in timepieces of every imaginable kind. Grand clocks with ornate gold cases stood side by side with delicate pocket watches, their faces adorned with a myriad of complex designs and symbols. Some were large and stately, while others were small and whimsical, each with its own unique character.
The centerpiece of the hall was a colossal, celestial clock that hung majestically at the far end. Its face was a grand expanse of shimmering stars and constellations, moving in slow, graceful orbits. The clock's hands, made of a brilliant, radiant metal, traced patterns that seemed to capture the ebb and flow of time itself, marking not just seconds and minutes, but the very essence of existence. Beneath this grand timepiece, the floor was a mosaic of thousands of even smaller clocks and watches, each encased in a transparent dome. The watches varied from antique timepieces to modern marvels, from cheap to priceless, their hands paused forever at the moment their owners took their final breaths. Silas stared at Brynhilda, who held his treasured timepiece, its hands now forever stuck at six minutes past twelve.
"So, betrayed by your brother, huh?" she asked informally but innocently nonetheless.
"Half-brother," he replied calmly, a bitter taste in his mouth. The memories rushed back as he spoke, and the stale feeling of betrayal washed over him once more.
"Is there a chance you saw what happened?" he asked softly. She shook her head in denial.
"Why?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Silas stared at her, a neutral expression on his face.
"Then you would know why I need to do this…" he said as he floated toward her.
"You can't go back, my Prince," she said in a horrendous, high-pitched tone that caused a crack in the transparent dome. "I'm sorry, but what is done is done."
"As long as my watch isn't in one of these glass cases, I am not trapped here. It's not as if you can kill me again."
"Your ancestors were all honored with a home here. Wouldn't you like to be with them?" she tried to negotiate.
"Fuck them, they're dead. My people are in danger. So tell me, Brynhilda, are you going to keep me a prisoner here?"
Brynhilda found herself backed into a corner, surrounded by choices. Her mind raced rapidly, bouncing between the moral dilemma of releasing Silas or keeping him here by force. She looked at the young man, her smile showing pure happiness for once in thousands of years.
"The prophecy is true…" she said softly, throwing him the watch. He caught it in disbelief. "By rewinding that watch, you will be dishonoring the All-Father's invitation to live among us in his halls, and in death, you won't be allowed to return again."
"Thank you, Brynhilda. I will never forget this," he said gratefully as he began to rotate the wheel on the watch.
"Yes, you will, Timekeeper. You mortals forget everything that's a good deed and solely cling to the bad."
His body slowly started to disintegrate as his vision blurred.
"Timekeeper?" he asked in a tone of confusion, staring at her for an explanation. She looked back, but before he could get his answer, his body disappeared. Again, he floated weightlessly through the dark void, but this time, there was no beacon of hope in the form of light to guide him, no gentle pulse as he floated backward. He stared uneasily at the watch attached to his wrist, deep in his mind, wishing he were dead.
The tunnel of darkness eventually gave way to an eerie stillness. The oppressive void that had swallowed him seemed to dissolve, leaving behind a chilling silence. Emerging from the nothingness, he awoke with desperate gasps, each inhale a frantic attempt to reclaim life. Silas found himself lying in the very spot where his execution had taken place, the remnants of his past torment painfully tangible.
Miraculously, all his wounds had healed—flesh restored and pain erased. Yet, the scars remained etched into his skin, distinct reminders of the violence and struggle he had endured. These marks were not merely physical; they carried the weight of past suffering and a history that refused to be forgotten. The air was different now, charged with a new kind of energy. He could feel the weight of his past and the uncertain path ahead, each scar a testament to the battles fought and a silent challenge to face whatever lay beyond this strange resurrection.
Silas managed to stand up, though his legs felt numb and heavy with each step. Each movement was a challenge, as if his body resisted every effort to move forward. He knew he had to make it back to the palace, no matter how difficult the journey would be. The pain and discomfort were overwhelming, but the urgency of reaching the palace kept him going. Every step was a battle, but he pressed on with determination, driven by the pressing need to return to safety and find refuge.
After walking for what seemed to be an eternity, he could finally see the towers of the Solstice Citadel breaking over the scenic view of the hills that tried desperately to cover it. The Citadel was strategically built on the plateau of the highest hill in the region, giving a panoramic view of the land surrounding it. Silas kept walking forward; the citizens of the city looked at him, whispering and pointing as he passed. Some fell to their knees and screamed, "My Lord!" while the majority watched in sheer horror as he weakly made his way to the House of Ardentis.