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We just have to keep pressing. Keep distracting her. Long enough for her to trip. Long enough for her leash on Caspian tosnap. Long enough to matter.

But I don’t know how much longer we can hold.

Branwen didn’t bind children. She didn’t craft her weapons out of soft souls. She boundus. We weren’t meant to clash like this—against each other, against the very gods we once were. We were forged from the same ash, born from the same cursed dust. Brothers without blood. Mirrors sharpened into opposites. Each one of us a counter to the next.

Rage and pride. Sloth and gluttony. Envy and greed.

We were never meant to win against one another.

We were meant to burn.

And that’s what this is now. Not a battle. Not even a rebellion.

It’s a slow, inevitableburn.

And I just hope, when it’s over, there's something left of us worth saving.

Time doesn’t shatter. Itstretches—elongated and strained like a heartbeat held too long in the chest. The battlefield stutters into slow motion, every particle of ash and fractured magichanging mid-air like it's been caught in glass. The Hollow breathes around us, and in that breathless space, I feel the shift.

Elias has done something I haven’t seen him do in years.

He’strying. Not deflecting. Not wisecracking. Not sliding through the chaos like it can’t touch him.

He’srunning.

And gods, I can't look away. Because for a second—just a second—I’m not sure it’s really him. The image of Elias Dain, in motion, full-speed, is so foreign it almost breaks my brain. I didn’t think he had it in him. Not really. I always figured the sloth thing was more than a Sin—it was structural. Something wired into his bones. Something even the bond with Luna couldn’t pry out.

But he’s moving now. Hard. Fast. Intentional.

And the world bends around him.

Orin notices. I see the way his back stiffens, like a man watching prophecy unfold in front of him. His hand closes loosely at his side, and for a moment, he’s not the ancient observer. He’s a damn anchor. His power spreads into the ground in slow, measured pulses—bracing. Absorbing. As if even he doesn’t know how far this ripple will go, but heknowsit will break something when it does.

Elias keeps going.

Unstoppable. Unapologetic. His face pulled tight with effort I’ve never seen there. It costs him to do this. That’s the thing. People forget the price. His power isn’t flashy, but itdrains. Slowing time? It drains him of more than magic. It takes memory. Movement. Sometimes evensense. He doesn't use it unless it's necessary.

Which means this is.

And then—

Silas.

Time doesn't touch him. Of course it fucking doesn’t.

Silas storms through the frozen second like he’s been waiting on Elias to get with the program. His body flickers in and out of focus, clone after clone shedding from his shoulders like shadows trying to outrun him. But at the center of it, there’soneSilas. Real. Reckless. Grinning like a lunatic high on chaos. His boots hammer the ground, tearing toward Elias with wild purpose.

And I brace—because they’re going to collide. Silas doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t dodge. Heleans in, like hewantsto crash.

But Elias?

He doesn’t blink.

Hecatcheshim. Fucking—plant-feet, grip-wrists, full-body momentum—catcheshim mid-run like this is something they’ve practiced in secret, like they’ve been waiting for the moment time would finally give them the stage.

The ground cracks under Elias’s feet, a split vein of power ripping through the Hollow as he absorbs the impact. But he doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t even grunt. Just sets his stance andspins, dragging Silas with him in one clean, impossible motion.

“Go get her, pretty boy,” Elias mutters, voice so low it nearly disappears into the frozen air.