Chapter 9: When Time Stood Still

  The silence in the Alexandrit Palace was deceptive. A moment ago, it had been filled with calm concentration, but suddenly a swirl of black mist sliced through the air – and out of it stepped two familiar silhouettes. Taro and Shin.

  Lazuli looked frightened, but her facade remained steadfast.

  “Taro... what a relief that it's you – and not the Black Orlov.”

  Taro took a few steps forward, his voice sharp and pressed with urgency:

  "Guardian Zircon is dead. The attack is underway. An iron arrow has pierced her – she hangs lifeless on the wall. Jaseol is currently fighting the lower followers. I feared that an attack had already taken place here as well.“

  ”Calm down,” Lazuli replied in a firm voice. ‘I have the support of my closest advisor, Granit. The gates of the palace are protected.’

  Shin was silent. His eyes did not rest on those present, but on the door – or rather, on the glowing seal that pulsated above it.

  “This seal... it carries an indescribable power. Do you feel it too, Taro?”

  Taro nodded barely visible. But another thought echoed inside him: This aura... it is identical to that of Zircon. Does that mean...

  He stepped forward. “What is this seal, Keeper Lazuli?”

  Lazuli gently placed her hand on the surface. “I cannot answer that question. Only Zircon knew the truth behind this door.”

  Taro understood. He put a hand on Shin's shoulder. “Come. We are no longer of use here. Jaseol needs our support.”

  Shin hesitated for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the seal – then he turned around, stepped into the mist that enveloped him like a veil. Taro followed him, and in the next moment the room was empty again.

  But not for long.

  A rush of air – like wind hissing through rock – announced his return. A new portal opened. This time not out of black mist, but suffused with violet light.

  Granite looked up. Something was wrong.

  “What—?” he began, but he didn't finish the sentence.

  Because in the next moment, the room burst into darkness. A sword, shrouded in raging mist, broke through the portal. Shin was back – with an attack that shattered an entire column of the palace and hurled Granite across the room.

  Lazuli – or rather, the voice that came from her – cried out in shock:

  “Master Granite!”

  Taro emerged from the mist, his voice now sharp as a knife:

  “And now... tell me who you really are.”

  Lazuli seemed surprised. But not frightened. “How did you know? We didn't make any mistakes...”

  Taro folded his arms. “Since the day you received this letter. Your aura flickered, just for a moment. And every time, with each attack of the Black Orlov... it was Granit who informed you. It was always he who knew when and where. And then: the letter. A betrayal disguised as a warning. And another thing... Lazuli has the blessing of truth - she should have known that Zircon is not dead. Because the seal... is still alive."

  A moment of silence.

  Then the crunching of stone. Granite rose from the rubble. His gaze was dark, his presence crushing.

  “For a brat like you... you're surprisingly perceptive,” he snarled, dust and small stone splinters clattering from his shoulder. “But you couldn't even break through the first layer of my stone armor.”

  He stepped forward, each step shaking the ground.

  “I am Granit. Leader of the Black Orlov.”

  His gaze slid to Taro. “Now you answer me something: How could you enter the portal?”

  Taro smiled coldly.

  “Spatial magic works on only one level. All portals exist in the same dimension. You left it open – we just followed the path.”

  Granit grimaced.

  “Another spatial magician... what an unpleasant coincidence.”

  With a single gesture, he made the ground shake – a massive boulder broke free from the stone under Taro and Shin and hurled them into the air.

  “Shin!” Taro shouted as he jumped. “Now's the time. Show me what you've learned!”

  Shin reacted immediately, smashing the flying rocks with his sword. But Granit's tactic was clear – for every rock destroyed, two new ones flew. More and more rock came loose from the wall, ceiling, and floor – it was as if the palace itself was fighting against them.

  “Keep on destroying!” Granit shouted. “Every blow will hasten your end!”

  Then he turned to Lazuli – or rather, to Obsid.

  “This will buy us time. Break the seal!”

  Obsid stepped in front of the door, his third eye open on his forehead. Again and again, he hurled magical waves against the glowing pattern – but the seal did not budge. No crack. No reaction.

  Granite ground his teeth.

  “Then there is only one way left for us... We kill Zirkon – for good. Go to the others. To Lila and Red. Kill Zirkon once and for all and bring me her corpse. I'll hold these here at bay.”

  A portal opened behind Obsid, and he stepped through.

  “Follow him!” Taro shouted.

  “Got it!” Shin called back, his body already enveloped in mist.

  “You stay here!” Granit thundered – and threw an enormous boulder at Shin.

  But Taro threw himself in front of him, was hit hard and thrown back. At the last moment, Shin heard his voice:

  “Don't you dare die...”

  Shin smiled briefly – then he disappeared in the fog.

  Granit stepped out of the shadow of the ruin, his presence as heavy as the weight of the mountain itself. His eyes rested calmly on Taro – too calmly.

  “You really put your trust in this boy?” he said, his voice sounding like bursting stone. “Do you know what is at stake? If he fails, not only he will die. Zircon. This whole structure of hope, called Stonehead - everything will disappear.”

  Taro wiped the blood from his mouth. “You'll be surprised what this boy is capable of.”

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  A brief tremor went through the ground. Then – with a sinister crash – all the rocks in the room fell down. But they did not stay down. Bit by bit, they rose again, formed into grotesque figures, into warriors of stone – lifeless, but with a single goal: to kill Taro.

  Granite stepped forward slowly, his voice dripping with derogatory scorn:

  “We learned quite a bit while we were controlling Lazuli's body. One name in particular stood out...

  Taro Moussou. Outlaw. The man who supposedly wins every fight in his head.”

  He grinned maliciously. “Or should I call you Checkmate?”

  Taro didn't bat an eyelid. “A clever opponent thinks he has an advantage if he knows his opponent's name. But what use is my name to you... if it's the last one you hear?”

  Granit bared his teeth.

  “Kill him!”

  The stone soldiers stormed forward. One after another, they threw themselves at Taro. Blades of rock, fists like boulders – Taro dodged, struck back, crushed them with precise, powerful blows. But they kept getting back up. An endless stream of ore and hatred.

  Granite stepped aside, placing a hand on the ruined column. The rock reformed into its original shape – then he hurled it across the room like a mighty lance.

  Taro couldn't get out of the way. The column tore through the ranks of the stone soldiers – and through him. A dull thud, bones splintered, blood spurted. He staggered back, his body marked by countless wounds. But he was still standing.

  Granite laughed. “With only one arm, you're nothing. Not against mass. Not against me. You're... boring. Outlaw scum.”

  Taro gasped, his vision blurred. But he fought on. Strike after strike. Again and again. The soldiers fell – and stood. Fell – and stood.

  “It's not enough. I'm losing strength. Should I...? No. Not yet. If I take this last step, it's all over. Then I can no longer follow Shin's path. I... have to hold on.”

  A piece of Granit's stone armor broke off. Granit picked it up and formed it into a huge axe.

  “Then I'll do you a favor, Moussou – and finish it myself.”

  The blows became more powerful. Taro's movements slower. More and more cuts, blood, pain – and then: silence.

  Suddenly – like a crack in time – a presence stretched through the room. Powerful. Heavy. Omnipresent. The aura that now permeated the palace made even the rock tremble. Granite froze.

  “What... is this presence...?” he whispered.

  Taro felt it too.

  So he has... come in person.

  Taro seized the opportunity, charging through the ranks of stone soldiers, straight for Granite.

  “Foolish,” Granite hissed. “To think you could catch me off guard.”

  He swung his axe, bringing it down with such force that it split the air itself – and struck.

  Taro was crushed. His body shredded.

  Granite stepped forward. “Why didn't you block? Do you want to die?”

  But even as he spoke... something changed.

  The scene repeated itself.

  The blow. The storm. The moment.

  And yet: Taro stood. Unharmed. Distant from Granite. The aura – the same. The look – the same.

  Granite winced. I... just did that...

  Taro moved. Again. The same attack. The same run.

  Granite swung his ax again. “That's impossible...”

  Taro spoke softly, but unmistakably: “Chest – blow.”

  He dodged to the side, ducked under the ax, gathered all his strength – and released it with a single blow. His fist hit Granite square in the face.

  The impact sent the leader of the Black Orlov flying across the hall. With an ear-splitting crash, he slammed into the seal – the glowing, ancient gateway.

  And for a moment... time stood still.

  The moment paused. The world seemed to hold its breath for a heartbeat. And then – a soft, barely audible click, like the swing of a pendulum. The ancient door of the palace opened slowly, as if it had been forced to bow by time itself.

  A man entered. His steps were light, but each one reverberated as if the world were listening to him. The air around him vibrated slightly – not with power, but with... order. Structure. It was the same man who had appeared to Sana. And yet... he was more. Much more.

  He moved through the room as if he had never been part of this world – and yet was completely anchored in it. No dust touched his cloak. No shadow dared approach him.

  He stopped in front of Taro, who was breathing upright, covered in blood. The man slowly raised his hand, drew back his hood – and revealed a face that seemed to defy aging. But it was his eyes that changed everything: two gear-like seals, green as the finest viridian, in endless motion. The left circle ticked softly – like a clock that does not measure what is coming, but what is passing.

  “You knew I was coming, didn't you?” the man said, his voice like a memory of something that had not yet happened. He looked at Taro's condition, the blood, the wounds.

  “These wounds seem to be bothering you more than expected...”

  He stepped closer, reached out and touched Taro's chest.

  A faint glow seized his right eye—the pointer began to turn backwards. The pain, the sweat, the open wounds—all of it began to fade. The skin healed. The blood disappeared. The traces of the fight became memories of a future that never happened.

  The man watched silently as the scars closed, as if he were just adjusting an old mechanism.

  Then he let go. Stepped back. Looked at the great seal on the door.

  “According to the law of the king...” he murmured, “you are hereby officially stripped of your title as an outlaw. And, as the law requires, sentenced to death.”

  A brief smile passed his lips.

  “Just not today. Isn't that what you wanted to hear... right?”

  The hand in the left eye stopped for a single moment – exactly one minute had passed.

  Then, without a further sound, time turned again. The pendulum swung back, the moment was gone. And the man – gone.

  Taro looked down at his body. No wounds. No weakness. “I thank you... one last time.”

  The calm evaporated as Granit rose from the debris. Dust trickled from his shattered body. His stone armor had peeled off, disintegrated. Only his raw, pulsating power remained.

  “Not bad...” he wheezed, his voice more hoarse than before. “You almost killed me.”

  His eyes sparkled with a lust for battle. “I don't know what just happened. But we're going to end this once and for all!”

  From the remains, Granite formed a new axe, huge, raw, filled with the energy of a fading warrior. Taro tore off his tattered shirt, his gaze determined. Then they charged.

  They crashed into each other. Fists against rock. Every blow a tremor. Every punch a promise of destruction. The walls of the palace burst under their force, columns broke, the ceiling crumbled. Alexandrit trembled.

  Taro dodged a blow, jumped back, attacked again and again – but Granit was faster. His axe grew, an arm of stone formed, heavy as a colossus, and he swung again. The axe thundered down on Taro – who caught it, held it, but Granit hurled him like a toy through the hall. Taro crashed into a wall. Blood sprinkled the floor. But he stood again.

  With a loud scream, he charged forward, kicked Granite in the pit of his stomach – so hard that even the axe splintered. For the blink of an eye. Then it reformed.

  The fight seemed endless. Wild. Two warriors – ready to fight to the death. And they laughed. Laughed while they fell, stood, fell – because this fight knew no end.

  Granite – his body a monument of stone. Taro – his will and mind sharper than ever.

  They raced through the remains of the palace, through rock and dust. Every blow, every dodge – an echo of pure violence. It was no longer a fight. It was a war between wills. Between destinies.

  Granit smashed his giant rock axe against one of the columns, shattering it completely – and with it the foundation of the room. Taro jumped aside, rolled across the floor, and came up panting. The scratches on his body – countless. Blood dripped from his wounds, his clothes torn, his bones on the verge of breaking.

  “YOU'RE STILL HOLDING ON?!” Granit roared and sent thousands of stone splinters shooting out of his armor. They drilled into walls, floor – and into Taro.

  But he didn't stop. Just a twitch. No sound.

  Just a look. Glowing. Hard.

  “I'm not done yet.”

  Taro pulled one of the splinters out of his shoulder and hurled it at Granite – not to kill him, but to provoke him. And it worked.

  Granite charged. The axe grew again. Wider. Heavier. Taro dodged, his movements erratic. Then he leaped along the wall, turned, kicked with full force at the axe handle and hurled it out of Granite's hands.

  But Granit slammed his head into Taro's chest, knocking him through an archway – the stone shattered on impact.

  Taro staggered, coughed up blood, held his ribs. He laughed hoarsely:

  “That was... painful.”

  Granite gritted his teeth, his skin began to crack – not from Taro's attacks, but from the overuse of his own power.

  “I... will... prevail!”

  He grew. Even bigger. His limbs mutated, covered in stone and pure rage.

  But Taro stood up again, too. Covered in blood. No arm. No protection. Only pure determination.

  And then—they clashed again.

  A blow from Granit made the ground tremble, the ceiling splintered, light seeped through cracks in the palace's sky. Taro dodged, stepped back, stepped forward—each step bought by pain. He let himself be hit, just to get closer. Just to finally break Granit's chin with a left hook.

  But Granit countered. An elbow – straight into Taro's skull. Then a punch to the stomach, one to the chest – and Taro flew again.

  He landed on his back, his breathing ragged.

  The stone on his back – the seal.

  Granit stepped closer. Breathing heavily. Wounded.

  But still standing.

  “You are... tougher... than I expected... but... now... it ends.”

  With all his strength, he formed a final stone hammer, bigger than anything he had ever created.

  He raised it. Slowly. Trembling. The ground beneath him shook and cracked under the load.

  And then – at the moment the hammer fell – Taro jumped under the hammer, rolled to the side at the last second, jumped and pushed off with his last ounce of strength.

  His left fist – bloodied, trembling, weak – hit Granit square in the face.

  One last blow. A human blow.

  Granit froze. His body swayed.

  Then the hammer broke and Granit fell. Like a fell colossus.

  He crashed to the ground. The rock crumbled under his weight.

  Taro – breathing heavily, completely exhausted, his legs gave way.

  He slowly sat down at the seal, his back against it.

  His eyes half closed, his voice barely more than a whisper:

  “Now it's up to you... Shin.”

  A smile on his lips.

  The narrator spoke: The winner is Taro Moussou.