Chapter 5: Chapter 5: The Twelve Hands

The sensation of falling through the Humming Man's hat defies description. One moment Ananke is standing triumphantly on a hillside, basking in the impossible success of saving Mirin, and the next she tumbles through what feels like folded space itself. Colours blur past her in impossible spirals, and the very concept of direction becomes meaningless.

Then, with a soft thump that barely registers through her disorientation, she finds herself on solid ground again.

The sounds of water fill her ears immediately. Not the gentle babble of a stream or the crash of ocean waves, but something far stronger and more consistent. A deep, resonant flow that seems to come from everywhere at once. The floors beneath her feet are dark stone, worn smooth by centuries of use, and the stonework around her speaks of an age beyond memory. Confused, she looks around herself, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

She stands inside what appears to be a cylindrical tower of impossible proportions. The structure stretches both up and down far beyond what her eyes can follow, disappearing into misty darkness in both directions. But rather than conventional floors, the tower is lined with inner balcony rings, each one connected to the next by graceful bridges and spiral staircases. Water runs through the hollow heart of the tower, but it flows upward instead of down, defying every law of nature she thought she understood. The impossible stream moves in complex patterns through massive gears and cogs that turn with slow, deliberate precision, powering some unseen mechanism deep within the complex. The water itself glows with a faint blue radiance, casting shifting patterns of light across the ancient stone.

There’s an audible tick, and the whole tower shakes ever so slightly just once.

“What? Where are we?” she asks, her voice small in the vast space. “How did we…?”

Her master appears beside her, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more urgent. He ushers her along without ceremony. “This is where we meet,” he explains tersely. “This is the Crux. The home and base of operations of the Twelve Hands.”

Ananke looks around in growing amazement. She sees people everywhere, easily hundreds of them, moving along the tower's many levels with purposeful efficiency. They carry thick tomes and rolls of parchment, their faces bearing the concentrated expressions of those engaged in important work she doesn't begin to understand. The scale of the operation staggers her. “Huh?” she asks as he hurriedly guides her somewhere, pulling her through a crowd of busy figures. All of them look at the Humming Man with clear recognition, offering welcoming nods or brief greetings as he passes. But they all shoot her strange looks, a few murmuring and whispering as she walks by. “I thought there were only twelve of you,” says Ananke, looking at some lady who is glancing at her. As they catch eyes, she quickly looks away.

“There are,” he says as they cross over an elegant bridge to the other side of the tower. The structure spans directly through the upward-flowing waterfall, which parts around the stonework as if by magic. He glances back at her, and for a moment the urgency in his face softens. “They like to call themselves Minutemen. It's very endearing, fine fellows. But they're really just bureaucrats, not chronomancers.” His tone carries a mixture of fondness and mild exasperation. “We do the fieldwork. They stay here and handle the papers.” His expression grows serious again. “Come along. Quickly.”

He pulls her forward with renewed haste. “Paperwork for who?” she asks, but never receives an answer as her master flings open a heavy wooden door.

A loud, excited scream erupts from inside, causing Ananke to jump backward in alarm. Before she can properly react, a flash of colour and movement shoots directly toward her.

“Bumble! You brought her!” an enthusiastic voice exclaims. Ananke can barely process what's happening before a strange dark-elven woman clad in brilliant, circus-like makeup seizes her face with both hands, examining her with gleeful intensity. “Oh, look at you! I absolutely adore your lashes.”

Ananke tries to pull away from the overly familiar stranger, but the dark elf's grip is surprisingly strong. Her master steps forward to intervene.

“Ananke, this is -”

“- You can call me Larry!” The colourful, clownish woman interrupts, releasing Ananke's face and extending her hand in greeting.

“You don’t… You don’t look like a Larry,” says Ananke as she takes it automatically, preparing for a normal handshake. She only realises as she says it that this was rude, but it’s the first thing that came out of her. The moment their palms connect, the woman's entire arm detaches from her shoulder and falls to the floor with a wet thud. Ananke lets out a surprised yell, jolting backward as the severed limb hits the stone. She stares in horror at Larry, whose right side flickers with temporal distortion before her arm simply reappears in its proper place, perfectly intact.

“Quite a grip you have there!” Larry jokes, laughing delightedly at Ananke's shocked expression, ignoring her remark apparently.

Ananke recognzies her. This is the same woman who was there a minute ago, back at the mine after she saved Mirin.

“Larry, there's no time for theatrics,” the Humming Man says firmly, grasping the eccentric woman's shoulder. “We have an emergency.”

“No time? Oh, nonsense,” Larry replies with casual dismissal. “I've been waiting here an entire week since I heard you found a new twelfth! I’m dying to know if it's me who's dead or not, aren’t you?”

“There's a discrepancy,” the Humming Man explains, lowering his voice as he looks at the clownish dark elf. He leans closer to her elongated ear. “A severed individual,” he murmurs, whispering the rest of his explanation in words too quiet for Ananke to hear. Larry's eyes widen dramatically as she absorbs the obviously sensitive information.

A moment later, Ananke barely has time to dive sideways as Larry literally separates in half. Her legs slide beneath Ananke while her torso flies overhead. The two halves reconnect by the door as Larry leans out into the corridor, her painted face transformed by panic.

“EVERYONE!” she screams at the top of her considerable voice out into the tower. A hundred faces stop and look up or down toward her.

“Wait, stop!” the Humming Man hisses after her urgently.

“DISCREPANCY!” shouts Larry as if crying alarm. The single word echoes throughout the tower with supernatural amplification, reaching every level and corner of the vast structure.

The effect is immediate and dramatic. The casual atmosphere of scholarly work erupts into controlled chaos as hundreds of people break into coordinated sprints. Papers fly everywhere as the Minutemen abandon their more mundane tasks. Crystal lights embedded in the walls shift from soft blue to pulsing red, bathing everything in an ominous warning glow.

Ananke presses her back to the wall, her heart racing in her chest as the warning signal red flashes before her eyes, the same as it had done back then during the war. Something surges in her guts, her eyes scanning the walls, the air, waiting for the blasts to come. She can’t breathe fast enough to catch up with her pulse.

The Humming Man clutches his wide-brimmed hat, pulling at its edges in visible annoyance as he surveys the pandemonium around them.

A door across the corridor opens, revealing a large chamber where several figures have already gathered. Her master glances at the assembled group, then back at Ananke, who has her hand on her heart, trying to hold it down as she exhales. “Here we go,” he remarks with resignation. He stops for a moment to study Ananke as she calms herself. “Wait for me to get back. Don't touch anything.” He adjusts his robes and hat with deliberate care before walking into the room.

Larry floats after him with her characteristic disregard for conventional movement. She pauses at the threshold, leaning back toward Ananke with conspiratorial mischief. “Check your pocket,” the colourful chronomancer whispers, then disappears into the meeting chamber.

The heavy door closes behind them with a solid thunk, leaving Ananke standing alone in the corridor as the sounds of organised chaos ring out around her.

Confused and curious, she quietly reaches into the pocket of her purple apprentice robe with a shaking hand as she tries to settle her jitters.

Her cold fingers encounter something unexpected, a small, warm presence that definitely wasn't there before. She pulls out a tiny grey hand from her robe’s pocket, of all things. As she stares at it in bewilderment, the disconnected hand’s fingers open to reveal a small piece of candy inside of it in a colourful paper wrapping.

The grey hand snaps its fingers with an impossibly sharp sound, points its index finger at her in the same motion in what seems like a gesture of acknowledgement, then vanishes completely.

Ananke stares at the mysterious gift, then looks back up at the sealed door that separates her from whatever momentous discussion is taking place beyond. The red warning lights continue to pulse, and the sounds of the activated Minutemen echo through the tower's vast spaces.

What in the world has she gotten herself into? What did she do?

image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]

Ananke sits there nervously in the corridor, rolling the mysterious piece of candy between her fingers. The sweet catches the dimming light from the fading warning crystals, creating tiny splashes of colour that leak across her palm. The alarm has settled down. Nervous, she puts it away, playing instead with the silver coin she had in her pocket. Ananke studies the obol, spinning it loosely between her fingers as she waits.

She has obviously noticed that she's caused trouble.

Honestly, she was expecting to be praised for her breakthrough, for her first actual demonstration of real chronomancy. She used magic. Real magic. She did it. As far as she knows, nobody in her family ever had magic. They were just normal people. Ananke wishes she could tell them.

Some part of her is genuinely proud, brimming with accomplishment even amid her nervousness. She did something incredible. She saved a man's life through sheer force of will and newfound power. Ananke sits there, anxious but unable to suppress a small smile as she thinks of Mirin, who will continue his days never knowing what terrible fate she prevented.

But instead of celebration, it seems like everyone is deeply troubled by her success. Why?

She lifts her head, staring at the sealed door where the chronomancers, including her master, are holding their urgent meeting. She knows her master didn't expect her to succeed at saving someone who was, apparently, truly severed from all possible futures. But why is it such a catastrophic thing that she managed it in spite of that?

Is she in some kind of trouble for accomplishing the impossible? She didn’t do anything wrong.

Terror creeps into her chest as a horrible possibility occurs to her. What if she's going to lose her apprenticeship over this? Even though she believes her master should be impressed beyond measure, the look in his eyes suggests the exact opposite.

He looked scared.

What if she's ruined everything? What if he decides to stop teaching her? What if they use their temporal powers to send her back and make her forget any of this ever happened?

Ananke is already pacing, clutching her head in her hands as she hurries back and forth across the corridor in mounting anxiety.

She can't go back. She won't go back. She can't survive in that life anymore.

If they send her back to the alley, to the begging and the hunger and the endless cycle of desperation, she'll die. She won't last another month. The leaking silent despair that once pulled her toward that bridge is still inside her. It isn’t gone. She can feel it gnawing at the edges of herself in every quiet moment in life, even now. It should have been dispelled by her transformation, but now it feels stronger than ever, fed by the possibility of losing everything she’s only just gotten.

Her palms grow sweaty, and the piece of candy becomes sticky in her grip. Panic drives her to the door, where she presses her ear against the heavy wood, straining to hear what they're discussing. Her mind spins elaborate scenarios about this being the end of her brief, wonderful journey into a world where she matters.

But she can't hear anything through the thick barrier, which only makes her anxiety worse. The muffled sounds of voices reach her, but no words, no context.

“Hey,” whispers a familiar voice from somewhere above.

She looks around herself in confusion, then lifts her head toward an ornamental grate near the ceiling. Behind the metalwork, she sees a face that makes her rub her eyes in disbelief. It's herself. Another version of Ananke peers down at her from within what appears to be a ventilation shaft.

“You wanna know what they're talking about?” the other Ananke asks, carefully removing the grate from inside the duct and setting it down silently. The second version of herself reaches down, extending her hand. “In here. I can get you close enough to listen.”

“What are you?” Ananke asks, staring at her doppelganger in amazement.

“I'm you. We're me. I came back to help you out,” the copy replies matter-of-factly. She unfurls her fingers in an expectant gesture. “Let me have that candy, and I'll help you up.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“…Candy?” Ananke mutters, looking at the sweet in her hand. She hasn't had candy in longer than she can remember. This was supposed to be a rare treat, something precious. Her eyes dart between the confection and the copy of herself waiting in the vent. “Wait. Why did you come back to help me?” The implications make her head spin as she reaches up and grasps her copy's hands. The second girl strains with effort, pulling as Ananke scrambles up the wall and clambers into the narrow space.

True to their bargain, she hands over the candy.

“No reason. I just wanted this,” her future self replies casually, accepting the sweet and already beginning to fade at the edges.

“Wait!” Ananke whispers urgently. “What happens to us in the future? Why do we need the candy?”

Her copy looks at her with genuine confusion. “…’Need’?” she asks. The word is slightly muffled as she dissolves completely.

Ananke stares in quiet disbelief at the empty space where her future self had been, then shakes her head and begins crawling through the duct. The metal tunnel extends for several metres before opening into another grate that looks down into an extraordinary chamber below.

The room is perfectly circular and designed like a massive clock face when viewed from above. Twelve chairs are arranged around the perimeter, each one appearing to be from a different era and culture. Some are ornate thrones carved from exotic woods, others are simple stone seats worn smooth by age, and a few seem to be made from materials she doesn't recognise. Most of the chairs are occupied by figures engaged in intense discussion. There are two doors. One is the one blocking her way inside. The other one she isn’t sure about, but it’s rather ornate and perhaps even a little ominous, opposite to the entryway and up a small flight of stairs.

She recognises Larry's colourful appearance immediately and her master's distinctive hat and robes. His voice carries above the rest, though she still can't make out individual words. Several seats remain empty, their absence somehow ominous in the formal arrangement. The other faces are completely unknown to her, but their bearing and the way they command attention mark them as individuals of tremendous power and authority.

These must be the Twelve Hands. These are the other Chronomancers, to which she belongs… for now.

She presses her ear to the vent, listening.

“It's true, Mister-Mister,” says Larry's comical voice as she drapes herself casually sideways over an ornate, plush chair that's just as colourful as she is. The furniture appears to be upholstered in the same vibrant, circus-like patterns that adorn her clothing. “I went back myself. I saw it. She stopped the severance.”

‘Went back’?

So that’s what that was, after she saved the miner. Larry went back to see if it really happened. That’s why she saw her there.

“That's just not possible,” responds a deep voice belonging to a man Ananke doesn't recognise. His tone carries the weight of absolute authority, the kind of certainty that comes from countless years of experience.

But Larry appears entirely unimpressed, draping one leg over the other with theatrical nonchalance. “Like I said, it's real. Go back and look for yourself if you want to,” she remarks casually, examining her colourfully painted fingernails with studied disinterest.

“Then we must correct the timeline immediately,” declares another voice, this one belonging to a sharp, elegant woman in winter furs and jewellery whose eyes scan the room with predatory intensity. Her tight posture suggests she is someone hardened and well-studied.

“And what do you suggest we do to 'correct' the timeline?” asks yet another voice, this one surprisingly high and melodic. Ananke's eyes widen as she realises it belongs to a fairy. The tiny winged figure sits on what appears to be a specially sized chair, her expression sceptical.

A few of the others look at her, their eyes saying more than their quiet lips. “We have done it before. I will do it again,” the elegant woman replies, leaning forward without backing down. “If this miner was supposed to die, then I will make sure he does.”

Bodies shuffle in their seats. “Those were different circumstances. And it's too late for that now,” the fairy argues with surprising vehemence. “It could just make things worse if he dies now.” The animosity between the two is clearly personal, years of philosophical disagreement showing themselves in their mannerisms toward one another.

“What about the girl? Our newest member?” asks the authoritative man from before, directing his attention toward Ananke's master. “You're telling me this was her first manifestation?”

Ananke turns her eyes, watching her master. The Humming Man, uneasy, stands in the middle of the circle and nods in response. “I've never seen anything like it, Richter,” he replies in a close, casual tone as if talking to an old friend, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and concern. “Temporal anomalies, but they’re controlled. She's moving freely through time.” He receives some raised eyebrows at this statement, which Ananke can’t really grasp the full meaning of at the moment. “- But separately,” he adds, which elicits a much more dramatic and sudden response from the assembled chronomancers.

This seems to have riled them. She’s not sure why.

‘Seperately’? The only thing she can think of is that he’s referring to these copies of herself that she keeps seeing. They’ve just started appearing all of a sudden now.

A commotion erupts immediately. Voices rise in heated argument about something being impossible. Ananke notices that several of the Twelve Hands seem to have fundamental trouble accepting the concept of what they’re hearing, rejecting it entirely.

“This is dangerous,” replies the older man, Richter, as he looks at her master.

“I agree,” replies her master, nodding once.

But the older man goes on, despite the placation. “We cannot, under any circumstances, ever circumvent the grand order for our own spontaneous personal desires,” booms a voice from the group, speaking loudly enough to silence all other discussion. The authority in those words fills the circular chamber. “Especially those born from the heat of stubbornness. You know this.”

Everyone turns to look at her master, who responds with careful diplomacy. “She is young, Richter. Far younger than we were when we first manifested,” the Humming Man explains, gesturing with his hands for calm. His eyes sweep the circle of faces that are searching through his movements and words for some sort of safety and confirmation. “And she's passionate, emotional. I am doing my best to guide her to be more observant.” He pauses, meeting their gazes. “But it's barely been a few weeks. It will take time. Her mind is touched by the death of the war, and I think you will all find some understanding for that,” he adds with some charge to his final statement that she doesn’t catch the depth of.

But for a moment, everything seems placated.

Ananke thinks her master has successfully defused the dangerous situation brewing in the chamber. She can’t help but notice the quiet nods and trusting looks that her master is allowed. He seems to be known and held in high esteem by everyone in the circle.

But then Richter lifts his head and speaks with a calm, strained voice that suggests he's exercising considerable restraint out of respect for his colleague. “You know, as well as I do, that we cannot, under any circumstances, condone this behaviour.” The words carry hidden implications that make the air itself feel heavier. He looks at two of the other members of the council, the blonde cold woman and the elven man. “I suggest we restart our endeavour,” he says to the two of them. They exchange a look.

“Richter. Cease your whispers,” says her master sharply. The two men look at each other from close range, tension crackling between them as the older man looks back his way. “She doesn't know what she's doing,” the Humming Man replies firmly. “This… event was a mistake. Let me continue to teach her. I want to teach her.” His voice grows more insistent as he addresses the entire assembly. “I know this is unprecedented, but I'm asking you this personally. Please. There’s a reason she’s been set in our path by the powers that be. We mustn’t just disregard that fact.”

The eyes of the crowd turn, the argument moving back and forth from one man to the other.

Richter rises from his chair, positioning himself at eye level with her master. “We do not do this work to get what we ‘want’,” he states with hard factuality. “We are not the Witching Hour,” he continues with emphatic disgust. “- To which it sounds like she would be a boon t-”

There's no time for anyone to react. Ananke covers her mouth to quiet her shock as her usually peaceful master suddenly grabs the other man by the collar. “If you finish that sentence, Richter, there will be a second new chronomancer by this time tomorrow,” he threatens with deadly seriousness.

There’s an electricity in the room.

Ananke doesn't fully grasp the situation, but something swells in her chest as she realises that he's defending her. After all the trouble she's caused him, after her confusion and mistakes, he's in there on her behalf, about to get into a fight. A wave of gratitude mixed with a tiny, little bit of shame washes over her. She'll try to do better from now on to keep her temper with him.

The tension in the air becomes literally palpable as magical sparks ignite between the two men, who look ready to escalate to actual violence.

Larry casually lifts one hand. “I had a place I'd have liked to be three days ago,” the clownish dark elf observes with theatrical boredom. “Can we just take a vote?”

Richter pushes her master’s hand away and brushes himself off with wounded dignity. Both men glare at each other before turning to Larry, who continues examining her nails. “Given the limited context and information we have,” drawls Larry, sounding deeply disinterested. “- do the Twelve become eleven for a day until a new replacement is… acquired?” The question's phrasing carries a very heavy implication. “All in favour?”

“Larry,” warns Richter.

“Yeah, yeah,” replies Larry, waving him off and rolling her eyes. Ananke’s not sure what that’s about.

“Chronomancer Murkan is not here to cast his vote,” says the fairy. “He is still away on his task.”

“We need not worry about him,” replies Richter coldly.

Ananke's heart races as the full meaning hits her. They're voting on her actual, literal future.

Will they kill her?

Or will they ‘just’ go back in time and prevent her from ever meeting her master? She has no concept of the true extent of these people's power. But that would just be killing her too, in a different way. Her fingers grasp the grate tightly, squeezing the metal.

She watches in horror as Richter raises his hand, followed by the elegant woman, then several others with visible reluctance.

It's easily half of the assembled room.

“All opposed?” Larry calls out, lifting a lazy finger herself. Ananke's master lifts his hand alongside a few others, but they're clearly in the minority. Some seats remain empty, tipping the balance against her.

A stone falls in Ananke’s guts.

They've voted to eliminate her.

“This is absurd,” her master baulks, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You can't be serious!”

At that exact moment, the grate that Ananke has been pressing herself against gives way. She lets out a sharp, terrified yelp as she plummets to the floor below. The metal clatters loudly against the stone.

She sits there, bruised and mortified, looking up at the circle of powerful faces staring down at her for a moment. “What are you doing?!” her master demands, seeing her. “Are you alright?”

“- And there we have the final confirmation we need of her unsuitability,” Richter says with grim satisfaction, studying her as she sits there on the ground. “Vorskaya. Jandal,” he says, as the two others behind him rise to their feet.

Larry leans over from her chair, stretching upside down with impossible flexibility. “Right on time. We were just talking about you,” she says cheerfully. “Can I see something real quick?” she asks playfully. Before Ananke can protest, Larry grabs her wrist and stretches Ananke’s arm up into the air. “Hold that right there for a second, buttercup.”

“What? I -” Ananke begins, looking around the room as she struggles up to her feet, the rest of her body chasing after her raised arm.

The chamber falls silent.

Her master stares at her raised hand, then back at the other chronomancers. He almost laughs. Larry returns to filing her nails.

“The vote is now even,” he declares, stepping protectively between Ananke and the others. She blinks, looking at him and then up at her own raised hand. She has cast her own vote. Several voices rise in protest. Her master blocks them off. “Fledgling or not, she is one of the Twelve,” he snaps as some decry her vote as illegitimate. “Her opinion carries the same weight as anyone else's, on this matter or any other.”

“He's right,” Larry agrees, receiving several sour looks from the others as she overspeaks their arguments. She seems entirely unbothered as she rises to her feet in an exaggerated stretch. “Now, I think that's quite enough of this. If you'll excuse me, I have places I'd rather have been.” She begins walking away as the remaining chronomancers argue among themselves about decorum and protocol.

“Thank you,” Ananke says quickly, looking up at the colourful woman with genuine surprise.

“Oh, you don't thank me,” Larry replies, waving her off casually. She leans over Ananke toward her master, whom she drapes an arm over leisurely as she leans against him like an old friend at a tavern. “But you can,” she remarks, tilting her head toward him and staring upward through her eyes in an exaggerated fawning.

Ananke stares.

Oh.

Her master looks at Larry with oblivious gratitude. “Thank you, Larry. You've always come through for me,” he replies dryly, just nodding to the woman once. Her master just claps a hand on her shoulder as if she were an old war buddy. “I'll be sure to return the favour when you need me to.”

Ananke stares, her eyes moving from the woman to her master and back again.

“…I'm…suggesting,” starts Larry, her voice strained. “- that maybe we could have some tea?” she offers, flashing her eyes at him. “I know this lovely little place that shut down five years ago, down in Glamoril.”

Her master raises his hand politely. “Tea?” he asks, sounding entirely lost. “Right now of all times? I'd love to when there's a better opportunity, Larry,” he replies earnestly. “But I need to tend to my new responsibilities for now,” he says, completely missing the romantic invitation as he gestures toward Ananke. “My next apprentice needs me.”

She’s never had a romantic experience, but even Ananke can see that her master, for all of his worldly wisdom, is as thick as a barrel of old sludge scraped off the roads in winter.

“…Are you for real?” Ananke asks, unable to stop herself.

Both of them look down at her. Ananke points at Larry while addressing her master. “I'll keep myself busy here for a while. I'm not going anywhere anyway. Go.”

“Nonsense!” he replies, as if this were an absurd suggestion. “We must begin your formal education immediately so we can prove to these people,” he says with deliberate emphasis, ensuring the other chronomancers hear him, “- that you are fit for this position.”

Ananke nods. That makes sense. He's right.

But she also has an obligation to Larry, who helped save her. A debt is a debt. And when you live on the streets, you don’t let anyone keep a tab open on you for your own safety. Such things have a manner of accruing interest that she has no interest in having to pay back later.

Ananke takes a step forward toward him and then winces dramatically, suddenly falling down. “Ooh, ouch!” she hisses, grabbing her leg. She makes a pained, suffering face, widening her eyes. “I must have hurt it in the fall,” she says, showing him her leg as if there was something to see on it.

It’s perfectly fine.

“Are you alright?” her master asks with immediate concern. He glances up at the damaged vent, then back down at her. “…I hadn't considered. Forgive me.”

Ananke looks at him with her most pitiful expression, and he rubs the back of his head uncertainly. “Can we just take a little break first, please?” she pleads. “It's really sore.”

Her master sighs, rubbing the back of his head in resignation as he looks at her and then around the room. “…Very well. I would do well to consult with Larry on this matter anyway. You are safe within the Crux, but do not leave it without me. Do not touch anything. Do not disturb anyone. You can rest on our floor.” He sighs, muttering. “Perhaps we do need some time to organise matters,” he thinks out loud, rubbing his forehead.

Larry catches Ananke's eye and nods. Ananke nods back. Her master, lost in thought, fails to notice either of them.

They're even.

“It would seem that I have a free moment after all, Lar -” her master begins but never gets to finish. Larry grabs hold of his robe, and a second later both of them vanish in a flash of temporal energy.

Ananke stares quietly, amused, and can only wonder how this same childish deception has worked three times in a row now, especially on her master, who witnessed her use it twice before himself.

Is she really that skilled at acting?

Ananke stands alone in the chamber as the remaining chronomancers organise themselves into smaller discussion groups, which she most certainly does not feel welcomed into.

She quickly turns to leave before any further animosity can reach her directly. With careful steps, she makes her way out of the meeting room and disappears into the vast, mysterious tower that is now, apparently, her new home.

Although she supposes she hasn’t made the best first impression on everyone.