Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Pyramid of Entropy greeted Grak the Axe's group with a grey, suffocating suspension that clogged the nostrils and settled on the armor in a thick layer of centuries-old dust. Grak walked ahead, his massive figure enveloped in a dense dome of stability. As a Herald, he possessed colossal reserves of power, and although the Temple's aggressive environment constantly "tested" his defense, his inner reserve remained deep and reliable. For a knight of such rank, maintaining such a sphere was hard work, but far from the limit of his capabilities.
His legendary axe, clutched in his right hand, served as a conduit: from the blade emanated barely perceptible rings that quelled temporal distortions before they could touch the detachment.
"Don't lag," Grak boomed. His voice, amplified by the density of his Vessel, sounded clear, despite the fact that beyond the dome, sound itself disintegrated into hissing overtones.
Liana moved to the commander's right, peering intently into the grey twilight. Her "Guiding Branch" Spirit worked in passive mode, helping her detect the slightest changes in the corridor's structure. She saw how time in this pyramid behaved like a mad artist: here an obsidian block looked as if it had just been hewn from the rock, and just a few inches away, the stone crumbled to dust.
Suddenly, Grak stopped before a pile of grey ash in which the outlines of human bodies could be discerned. Amid the dust, a scrap of blue cloak with gold trim glinted dully.
"Enemies," Grak stated, his face unchanged. "The Rakesh Dynasty sent their best here, but even their strength didn't save them from their own haste. They entered a zone of accelerated decay."
Liana crouched, pointing to a steel helmet lying nearby. Before the knights' eyes, the helmet's metal became covered in deep, rusty sores, thinned, and literally melted, turning into a handful of rusty crumbs. Not even bones remained of the Rakesh warriors—in this place, time devoured the very memory of flesh.
"We're lucky to have you with us, Commander," Liana said quietly. "Without your sphere, we'd have joined this collection of dust long ago."
The path led them to the edge of a colossal rift dividing the corridor. There was no bridge, but hundreds of stone fragments hung in the air like frozen birds. The problem was that these fragments were constantly changing their state. Liana watched one slab instantly turn to sand, only for a new piece of stone to materialize in its place, only to begin disintegrating again a second later.
"My sphere only stabilizes what's inside it," Grak approached the very edge of the chasm. "I can't 'freeze' all this chaos at once. We'll have to cross in stages."
Liana stepped forward. Her "Guiding Branch" Spirit flared with a soft light. The girl extended her hand, and thin, ghostly threads of power stretched from her palm, beginning to weave themselves into the chaos of the flying stones. She wasn't trying to stop time; she was merely seeking those fragments whose rhythm was most predictable and safe.
"Commander, I'll mark the path," Liana said with concentration. "These slabs... I can sense their 'life cycle.' Step on those I mark with my Spirit."
Grak nodded, acknowledging the usefulness of her skill. Liana marked the first slab with a bright green spark. The commander stepped onto it, holding the protective dome over himself and the two other knights. As they landed on a fragment, Grak would, with his power, "imprint" it into the present moment, not letting time destroy the foothold. It was a perfect interaction: Liana found a loophole in the chaos, and Grak turned that loophole into a reliable bridge.
The crossing took several minutes of intense effort. At one point, a slab under Soren's feet began to rapidly crumble, but Liana timely thrust out a "Guiding Branch," creating a flexible support from her power that held the knight until Grak seized the initiative, stabilizing the zone with his Herald will.
When they finally reached solid ground on the other side of the rift, a heavy rumble sounded behind them—the sector they had just crossed finally collapsed into a cloud of dust.
Grak straightened up, his breathing steady, and his eyes shone with cold resolve. The commander's inner energy was still great, and he showed no signs of exhaustion. He simply gripped the axe handle tighter, peering at the massive doors ahead.
"The enemies are close," Grak boomed. "I sense active resistance behind this barrier. It seems the Rakesh people managed to get through their sectors and are now waiting for us."
He looked at Liana, and in his gaze flickered a rare approval. "Good work, Warrior. You saved me a lot of strength. Get ready. Behind those doors, we'll need not only your instincts but also your readiness to kill."
From behind the doors came the clang of steel and sharp commands in the language of the Dynasty. The enemies weren't just waiting—they were preparing to meet the Order of Order, and Grak was ready to give them a battle where time would no longer matter.