The flames were still burning when Kaen’s world fractured.

  The village, once nestled in the quiet mountainside, was now nothing but ash and rubble. The scent of smoke clung to his clothes, mingling with the acrid taste of blood in his mouth. His hands, shaking with rage, gripped the hilt of the ancient sword that lay beside him, a relic long forgotten by the villagers.

  But it wasn’t the sword that had saved him.

  It was a voice.

  "You are the last thread."

  The words had echoed in his mind the moment the assassins struck—frozen, fast-moving shadows from a time no one should have known. They were the king’s soldiers, the ones who rewrote time with every swing of their blades. They’d slaughtered everyone in his village, leaving nothing but the ruins of homes and shattered dreams.

  Kaen should have died. He had felt the cold, sharp edge of their blade pierce his side, had heard the sickening crunch of bone as they drove it deeper. His life had already begun to slip away when something inside him snapped.

  He reached for the sword, more out of instinct than logic. The moment his fingers brushed its hilt, a sudden jolt ran through his body.

  Everything stopped.

  The flames flickered back, their light softening in the air. The assassin's blade, still embedded in his chest, began to retract. In the space of a breath, time itself seemed to rewind.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Kaen could feel it, as if he was falling backward through space. The pain in his chest reversed. The blood that had soaked through his tunic flowed back into his wound. The assassin's cruel face, once a blur of viciousness, now froze in a moment of shock.

  Then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, time moved again.

  Kane's eyes snapped open.

  The assassin's sword was an inch away from his body, poised to strike. He was too slow. A heartbeat was all it took. The sword—his sword—cut through the air, shattering the assassin’s stance and sending him crashing to the ground. In the instant before the enemy’s body hit the earth, Kaen’s mind exploded with confusion.

  What had just happened?

  His hands trembled, not from the pain, but from the raw disbelief. He looked at the sword in his grip, its blade shimmering as though alive. The markings on the hilt glowed faintly, symbols he couldn’t understand.

  Five seconds.

  It had only been five seconds, yet it had felt like a lifetime.

  But the voice was still there.

  "The thread unravels. Time is your ally, Kaen. But remember this—use it wisely, or you will lose more than just moments."

  Kaen didn’t understand. He could barely catch his breath, let alone make sense of the power that surged through him. The assassin’s body lay motionless, but there was no time to rejoice. The battle wasn’t over. More were coming.

  With shaky hands, Kaen drew the sword up again.

  But as he did, a flood of memories surged within him—images of people he couldn’t place, faces he didn’t know, and places that had long been erased from his mind. It was as if his own history was slipping away, being replaced by fragments of another life.

  The memories… felt wrong. They weren’t his.

  His heart raced. He couldn’t hold on to them all.

  Not now.

  He had to move. He had to survive.

  Time was never his ally. But he had to learn how to make it his weapon.