The world was locked in place and time.
Its colors had dimmed. Sound had been stripped away.
Vell's mind moved more freely now, untethered by the usual weight of passing time. The favor had given him a sliver of freedom, and he pushed it as far as he could.
What could he do? What should he do?
The arc of violet lightning hovered in the air, frozen just before impact. The moment the favor ended, it would continue on its fatal path.
Vell studied the bolt closely. He could not name what it was.
It felt unnatural, crafted for a singular purpose: destruction. It was not magic, nor any other mere energy. It rejected the laws of both worlds, the natural and supernatural.
He moved Sonder first, pulling her from the path. That much he could do. But she would still be vulnerable. The valley had become a web of ruin, and more destruction awaited her when time resumed.
Any counter-spell would fizzle.
Any shield would delay it for less than a heartbeat.
Runes? Useless.
Bloodcraft? Too slow.
A portal, perhaps, but he had no way to know if the lightning and other destruction would simply pass through it as if it were mist.
He looked around the valley.
Everything remained frozen. The guests were caught mid-flight from the shattered stands. Soldiers stood half-turned, unaware of the devastation unfolding. Qualtagh's face only had shock on it. The Herald was expressionless, but its mask tilted as though admiring the chaos it had conjured.
It had no concern for its own life.
Vell's hands were already moving.
"Alright," he muttered, digging deep into the folds of his cloak.
From a hidden inner pocket, he drew out a charm made from braided black-ash twigs and strands of golden wire. He crushed it in his palm. Heat surged through his skin like wildfire.
The charm had come from a desert tribe far to the east. It was stolen from a mad priest who claimed he could outrun time. He only ever made two of them. After using the first, he was never seen again.
Now Vell could see if he spoke the truth. He could feel its immense power, but he didn't know what its limits were.
Vell's pulse quickened. His blood surged ahead of the world around him.
Next, he pulled a small pouch from beneath his sleeve. Inside was a fine white powder.
No mystery to it. It was a drug, valoryn. Illegal almost everywhere. No euphemism would soften what it was.
It was hard to produce and expensive. It supposedly made you faster and gave you clarity. And it actually worked.
Vell always kept a pinch tucked away for moments like this. Desperate moments. Moments that required speed, no matter the cost.
He inhaled it all, and the rush was instant. Fire in his veins, clarity like crystal.
Then came Dico magic.
He did not need complexity. He needed speed. He spoke the only two words required.
"Irm Eie."
His muscles surged. His nerves lit up.
Now he was ready.
He turned to his bag.
It rested at his hip, unremarkable as always. Wherever he went, it followed, even to events as formal as this one. It looked like an old leather satchel, worn thin at the edges, the stitching faded by time.
But its appearance was a lie.
Inside was something far greater.
A fold in space that he called his sanctuary, his vault, his graveyard, his arsenal, and his library.
His home.
It was not meant for others. Yet, here he was.
The teleportation platforms were too far away and would take too long to activate, and he couldn't redirect any of the destruction with any means he could think of right now, so his plans were to escape and take as many people with him as he could.
The bag unsealed with a quiet snap, its opening stretched wider than physics should allow, splitting into a vertical line in the air itself. Beyond it lay only darkness.
But within that darkness were shelves of forbidden artifacts, cages holding restless things, curses sealed in glass, and scrolls containing knowledge no one else should possess.
Somewhere, even in that vast place, a friend waited.
Vell clenched his jaw.
He hated doing this.
And then he moved.
Outside of time, Vell became something less than nothing, not even a blur. Just motion without reality to witness it.
His hands flew out, seizing anyone he could reach, pulling them from the frozen moment, and hurling them into the waiting dark of his bag.
The first, of course, was Sonder.
Then more. One by one. Two by two. A blur of limbs and motion. He gave no time for thought, only action.
Even Qualtagh's soldiers, caught mid-step, were taken. They were neither Kalandir nor Irath, and Vell didn't pause to weigh their worth. Close enough was enough.
Did they deserve to be saved? Did they deserve to die? He did not know. But he took them anyway.
Only two he chose to leave behind: Qualtagh himself and the Herald.
They were at fault. Qualtagh would survive, and the Herald's life was less than worthless.
They'd be replaced instantly with another Irath.
After what weren't even moments, the charm began to die. The fire in his veins from the drug roared and seared him inside out.
His breath came in gasps, and his vision blurred.
Each movement flayed and stripped off pieces of his skin.
He could feel time's grip creeping back in. Its invisible fingers curled around the edges of the favor he'd been given. The divine moment was decaying. Reality was impatient.
He grabbed two more and tossed them through.
He reached for another, but it was too late.
Time snapped back into place.
Lightning surged. Fire exploded. Shards of crystal exploded, and with them, the valley collapsed into chaos.
In the single beat between destruction and death, Vell threw himself through his own bag, taking it with him, through its own mouth.
The bag's mouth closed behind him and vanished, leaving behind no sign it had ever been there at all.