The day felt stretched, but not longer. Not slower. Just… wrong.
Ezra noticed it first.
Standing in the cemetery, shovel in hand, he waited for the usual signs of passing time—the morning mist burning away, the sun shifting the shadows of gravestones, the slow drift of clouds overhead. But nothing changed. The mist lingered unnaturally, the sun hung in the same place it had when he arrived, and even the air felt still, unmoving.
It wasn't that time was slow. It simply wasn't there.
Lior felt it too.
His shop carried the scent of herbs, fresh-cut stems still damp, bottles neatly lined on the shelves. But something was wrong. The air was too still, the leaves too green, the scent too fresh, as though the process of wilting had simply refused to begin.
And then, Fate arrived.
She tightened her grip on the folds of her deep-blue cloak, her steps measured but urgent as she made her way to the cemetery.
She needed Ezra.
She was not like them. Not like Life, not like Death—she was something else entirely, the weaver of what must be, the silent hand behind every inevitable outcome. But today, she stood before Ezra, and she looked afraid.
Ezra had always been steady—constant in a way few things ever were. Fate knew this, relied on it. Death did not shift, did not waver, did not allow uncertainty to take hold. But today, as she found him among the gravestones, Ezra's sharp grey eyes met hers with something rare. "Fate," he greeted, voice low, cautious.
She did not waste time. "Time is gone."
Ezra stilled, his hands resting against the handle of his shovel. "Gone?"
"Not stopped. Not slowed. Just… missing." Fate swallowed, forcing herself to breathe, even though she was not bound by breath in the way mortals were. "I cannot see beyond this moment. I cannot guide events. I do not know what happens next."
Ezra's grip tightened. "What do you mean, you don't know?"
Fate's jaw clenched. "I always know," she said, her voice quieter now. "But without Time…" She shook her head, dark strands of her hair brushing against her cheek. "There is nothing for me to see. Everything is frozen in possibility—endless, but directionless. I do not even know if this moment will last forever, or if the world will collapse under its own weight."
Ezra exhaled sharply, his cold breath mingling with the unnaturally crisp air. "What happens now?"
Fate met his gaze, and for the first time since her existence began, her voice carried the tremor of something dangerously close to fear. "I don't know."
And that was worse than anything.
***
The door to Lior's shop swung open violently, the bell above it rattling against the wood. Lior turned, startled by the force of Ezra's arrival. He took one look at him—his sharp, his cold skin seemingly paler than usual—and knew something was deeply, irreversibly wrong. "Ezra?"
"It's gone," Ezra said, breath short. "Time. Fate says she can't see anything. She doesn't know what happens next."
Lior's fingers curled around the edge of the counter, the warmth in his skin clashing against the unnatural stillness in the air. "That's not possible."
"Apparently, it is."
Lior's light-green eyes flicked toward the window. Outside, the streets looked normal—people moving, speaking, existing. But that was deception. A hollow imitation of life, because nothing was actually moving forward. "Everything relies on Time," Lior murmured. "The dead decay. The living grow. The seasons change. If Time is gone…" He stopped himself, unwilling to say it aloud.
Ezra did.
"Then everything stays. No aging. No decay. No endings. No beginnings."
The weight of his words settled into the shop, heavy as stone. Lior met Ezra's gaze, his expression tight. "If nothing ever changes, then what happens to us?"
Ezra's jaw clenched. "I don't know."
"And what happens to everyone else?"
Ezra remained silent.
Because for the first time in his existence, Death didn't know.
Ezra pressed a hand against the counter, grounding himself against the thought. "If nothing moves forward, does that mean nothing ends?"
Lior swallowed. "Or does it mean everything collapses?"
A sharp silence settled between them. Ezra exhaled, forced himself to think. "Best-case scenario?" he asked, though he already knew there wasn't one.
Lior hesitated, considering. "Time returns."
Ezra scoffed. "Worst case?"
Lior's throat tightened. "Everything stops—trapped in a single moment, unchanging, forever."
Ezra frowned. "Or…"
Lior looked up, gaze sharp. "Or?"
Ezra straightened, voice quieter now. "Or everything unravels. If Time holds reality together, what happens when the thread is cut?"
Neither of them answered. Because whatever came next—they wouldn't be able to stop it.
The world behind them remained unnaturally still, suspended in uncertainty. They had wasted too much time—ironic, given that time no longer existed. Ezra exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the unease pressing against his skin. "We need to stop guessing," he said. "If Time is gone, we need to find it."
Lior ran a hand through his pale hair, tension humming beneath his skin. "If Time has disappeared, what does that even mean?"
Ezra didn't answer, instead, he lifted his hand, fingers curling.
Shadows began to crawl—slow and deliberate, not cast by light but summoned by something deeper. They oozed from beneath Ezra's boots, stretched like fingers under the floorboards, slid up the walls in defiance of every natural rule. The warmth in the shop recoiled. The herbs hanging from the rafters wilted in an instant, their green fading to ash.
Lior's pulse stuttered.
The space in front of Ezra wavered. Then it split. It didn't tear—it peeled, reality pulling away from itself like a wound forced open. No light spilled out. No sound. Just a yawning absence, deep and endless and entirely without shape. It made Lior's skin crawl. Made his breath catch like it had nowhere to go. "Come on."
Ezra stepped forward without hesitation. Lior took a deep breath and followed.