“Look, I don’t know what happened. One minute, he was there, and the next… it’s like time itself had slipped between my fingers.”

The grizzled sellsword sat slumped at the bar, his armor smeared with dirt, the faint scent of burnt leather hanging around him. His companions gathered closer, listening to his story with rapt attention. The man hadn’t touched his drink—not a good sign for someone who’d been hired to track down and deal with a spellcaster.

“I thought I had him,” the sellsword continued, his voice low and shaky. “This Chronomaster kid—we’d cornered him outside the ruins of some old temple. He looked young, soft—no threat at all. I figured he’d be easy coin. Just another upstart playing with magic he didn’t understand.”

He paused, staring at his hands as though the memories were etched into his skin. “That was my first mistake.”

The sellsword’s tone grew darker, heavier. “He didn’t even look scared. Just stood there, hands clasped behind his back like he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did—hell, maybe that’s why everything went sideways.”

One of the other mercenaries leaned forward. “What’d he do?”

The man’s face twisted in frustration. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I was rushing him, blade drawn, thinking I could end it quick, and suddenly I wasn’t rushing anymore. I was frozen in place, every muscle locked. And I swear… I swear I could see him walking circles around me like it was nothing. The kid raised a hand, and I felt it—time pulling at me, warping everything. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think straight. Everything blurred.”

The crowd murmured uneasily, sensing the unnaturalness of what he described.

The sellsword shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory. “Then, like that”—he snapped his fingers—“I was back to normal. But everything had changed. My sword was on the ground, my footing was off, and he was standing ten feet away now, smiling. Smiling, damn it.”

He grabbed the drink he hadn’t touched before, knocking it back in one long gulp. “That wasn’t even the worst of it,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What happened next?” one of his companions asked.

The sellsword set his glass down, his knuckles white against the table. “He didn’t throw fireballs or summon beasts like some flashy mage. No, this kid did worse. He threw time itself at me. Threads of golden light spun out from his fingers, twisting through the air and wrapping around us like nets. My mates—they started moving slower, like they were caught in honey. Their blades felt heavy, their swings clumsy. And him? He was faster—faster than I’ve ever seen. Dodged every blow like he knew where they were coming from.”

Another mercenary leaned closer, her face pale. “Did anyone manage to land a hit?”

The man gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, one of us did. Gregor—it was Gregor who managed it. Got close enough to swing. But just as his blade should’ve cut the kid in two, it bounced off like it had hit a wall. A barrier shimmered in the air, flickering like broken glass. And Gregor—he wasn’t moving anymore. Just standing there, frozen mid-swing, his eyes darting back and forth like he was trapped in his own head. Time, again.”

The sellsword shook his head, the bitterness rising in his voice. “The kid didn’t kill us. That’s the thing. He could’ve, but he didn’t. Just stood there after he’d got Gregor frozen, staring at us like he was studying mice in a maze. When he finally let us go—when time snapped back into place—he said something.”

“What did he say?” another voice asked.

The sellsword clenched his jaw. “‘Time is borrowed. You’ve wasted enough of mine.’ Then he turned and walked away, like he’d just decided we weren’t worth the trouble. Not a scratch on him. Us, though? We were stumbling over ourselves, too dizzy to fight back.”

The tavern was silent for a moment, heavy with the weight of what he’d just described. One of his companions, a wiry woman with a dagger at her belt, broke the silence. “You’re lucky, you know. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve frozen all of you forever. Or worse. I hear Chronomasters can rewind time—not just their own, but yours too. Make you relive the same moment, over and over, until you’re begging for mercy.”

The sellsword scoffed, though his voice lacked conviction. “Yeah, I got the message. They’re not the kind of people you piss off.” He leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Maybe it’s time for me to rethink this whole sellsword thing. Plenty of ways to make coin without crossing magic-wielders who can bend the damn rules of reality.”

He glanced down at his empty glass, his fingers tapping against the wood of the table. “Time, eh? Guess it’s about time I do something worthwhile with mine.”