The chill of the night wrapped around the city like an unwelcome embrace. Sam moved through the winding streets with his senses heightened, every sound a possible threat, every shadow a potential enemy. The encounter with Gideon and the watchers had left a storm churning inside him. The weight of his responsibility, the Elder's warnings, and Mara's watchful presence compounded his anxiety. He knew he was being observed, not just by those he trusted but by forces he had yet to fully understand.
Sam's footsteps carried him to an abandoned courtyard bordered by ivy-clad buildings. The moon cast pale light across the cobblestones, their cracked surfaces crisscrossed with dark veins. He wasn't alone. Figures emerged from the edges, their shapes solidifying into human form. Their movements were synchronized, too fluid to be ordinary.
"Stay sharp," Mara's voice whispered from the shadows, making Sam's pulse spike. She was somewhere nearby, but he couldn't pinpoint her presence. He took a deep breath, the hum of energy simmering beneath his skin as he prepared for what was to come.
The figures closed in, and Sam noticed they wore dark tunics that looked ancient, their designs unfamiliar. Their eyes glinted unnaturally under the moonlight, revealing their intentions. These weren't just watchers; they were hunters.
Sam raised his hands, focusing on the time energy within. The first attacker lunged, and Sam sidestepped, manipulating the seconds to slow his opponent's advance just enough for him to evade. He spun around, extending his arm to push back another, feeling the surge of power sap at his strength. The fight was chaotic, each movement demanding precision. Every mistake risked tipping the balance too far, drawing time's punishment.
A sharp pain sliced across his shoulder as one of the attackers broke through his guard, the sting of a dagger tearing into flesh. Sam staggered back, vision blurring momentarily. The attackers moved in, and instinct took over. His eyes landed on a glint of metal—a knife lying discarded near the edge of the courtyard, likely dropped by someone long gone. He dove for it, rolling to avoid another strike as his fingers wrapped around the hilt.
The blade was simple, unremarkable, but in Sam's grasp, it pulsed with potential. He channeled his energy into it, imbuing it with the essence of time. The world around him seemed to hold its breath as he swung, the knife cutting through the space between moments. One of the attackers froze mid-motion, their expression trapped in a second that refused to pass. Another fell back, disoriented as Sam used the newfound edge to shift the fight in his favor.
The knife wasn't perfect—it trembled with the strain of holding the energy, its form not built for such power. But it bought him precious moments, turning the tide. Mara leaped into the fray, her movements a blur of practiced strikes and agile dodges. Together, they managed to drive the attackers back, sending them retreating into the dark with narrowed eyes promising future confrontation.
When the last of them disappeared, the silence that followed was suffocating. Sam's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the knife clattering from his hand as exhaustion set in. Mara was at his side in an instant, her eyes scanning him for injuries.
"That was reckless," she muttered, pressing a cloth to his bleeding shoulder.
"Reckless saved us," Sam replied, wincing as pain flared. His gaze drifted to the knife, now lying motionless and unremarkable. It had served its purpose, but he knew he needed more—a weapon forged for this kind of power, capable of enduring the strain without crumbling.
Mara followed his eyes and nodded, understanding without words. "If you're going to keep up with them, you'll need something better."
---
The Elder's Forge
The following day, back in the sanctuary, Sam found himself standing before the Elder in a room filled with relics and the scent of burning sage. The wound on his shoulder throbbed, but he ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.
"I need a weapon," Sam said, his voice steady. "One that can withstand time's power."
The Elder's eyes narrowed, studying him. "A blade that dances with time's essence is rare, and forging one requires more than just skill. It demands understanding—true mastery."
"I'm ready to learn," Sam insisted.
The Elder's gaze softened, a rare moment of pride slipping through. He moved to a chest carved with symbols, its hinges creaking as he opened it. From within, he withdrew a sword in its early stages, its metal gleaming with an otherworldly sheen.
"This is the beginning," the Elder said, placing it before Sam. "You must complete it yourself. Infuse it with your journey, your failures, your victories. Only then will it accept the flow of time."
Sam reached out, fingers grazing the blade. It was cold, yet it thrummed with potential. He knew this was just the start. The knife had been the spark, but this sword would become an extension of himself—a tool, a shield, a reminder of the balance he fought to protect.
Mara appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you."
Sam met her gaze, determination burning in his eyes. "Then it's time to get started."