Valley of Borrowed Time

The wind in this new realm did not blow—it echoed. It moved like memory, brushing past Gao Mingyu and Li Xuan as if it recognized them from a story once told in whispers. The sky above was no longer cracked and bruised, nor was it clean and clear. It was... paused. Like a page mid-turn. Sunlight hovered at the edge of dawn, never brightening, never dimming.

They stood on a narrow path cutting through a valley blanketed in frozen mist. Not cold—just still. Like breath held by the world itself.

Li Xuan crouched beside a strange flower: its petals shaped like clock hands, frozen mid-bloom.

"Time doesn't move here," she whispered.

"Or it forgets how to," Mingyu replied. His fingers brushed against a stone that blinked. Literally blinked. A carved eye flickered open and shut before falling dormant again.

They were in the Valley of Borrowed Time—an interstitial space where time was neither borrowed nor owed. The Archive had deposited them here for a reason.

But it hadn't warned them about the shadows.

The first one arrived just before dusk—which was curious, because dusk never came.

Mingyu was leaning against a twisted pine, its branches shaped like hourglasses, when he saw it. A sliver. A ripple. Like reality had scratched itself.

It stepped forward—no face, no limbs. Just presence. A hollow outline flickering at the edge of visibility.

"Do you see that?" he asked.

Li Xuan nodded. "I see… something."

The shadow drifted closer. A whisper trailed behind it.

"Give it back."

They stepped back in unison.

"What does it want?" Li Xuan asked.

"I think… time. Our time," Mingyu said slowly. "It's a Collector."

There were stories about these. Spirits trapped between moments, cursed to collect time from others to continue existing.

And now, one had scented them.

They ran.

But running in the Valley was strange. Distance bent. Space folded. The trail behind them never stayed the same. At one point, Li Xuan swore they passed themselves—tired, older, and too slow.

"Did you see that?" she asked, breathless.

"Don't stop. Don't think."

The Collector pursued—not fast, but inevitable.

And then they reached the Mirror Tree.

It towered over the valley floor, its bark polished to silver, reflecting not their bodies—but their choices. Every branch shimmered with events that never happened. Mingyu saw himself leading armies. Li Xuan saw herself married, children running at her feet.

"Is it real?" she whispered.

"No," Mingyu said. "But it could be. That's what makes it dangerous."

The Collector paused behind them. It hesitated before the Mirror Tree.

And then it split—fragments of itself drifting into the mirrors.

A trap.

Each reflection twisted, then stepped out of the tree.

Ten versions of Gao Mingyu.

Ten of Li Xuan.

Each one smiling. Each one wrong.

The battle wasn't physical. It was internal.

Each mirror-self spoke, urging surrender.

"You can rest now," said a Mingyu with a crown of stars.

"You can heal," said a Li Xuan wrapped in golden silks.

But behind their honeyed words was the Collector, speaking through them.

Mingyu closed his eyes.

"I am not your wish," he murmured. "I'm what's left when wishes die."

His Tiger's Mark glowed faintly beneath his chest.

The ground cracked.

Time hiccupped.

And the Collector screamed—not aloud, but in pulses of memory and regret. It flailed through its puppets as Li Xuan raised her hand and summoned a tether from the Archive.

Words wrapped around her fingers. She wove them into a spell.

"A moment for a truth," she said.

The spell struck.

The Collector unravelled.

The reflections shattered.

Silence returned.

They sat beneath the Mirror Tree, shaken.

"That… was personal," Mingyu said.

"They always are," Li Xuan replied. "Collectors prey on what you want to believe."

"Then we must be really tempting," he muttered.

They laughed, softly. Not because it was funny—but because it kept the fear at bay.

Night never came. But the stars blinked into view above them anyway.

One star fell.

It landed a few feet away, taking shape.

A woman. Cloaked in twilight. Her eyes held calendars. Her breath ticked like a pendulum.

"You've borrowed too much," she said calmly. "This valley does not give freely."

Li Xuan stood. "We didn't choose to come."

"Few do. But now that you're here, you owe balance."

Mingyu frowned. "You're the Keeper, aren't you?"

She nodded once.

"Then what's the cost?" he asked.

She pointed at the Mirror Tree. "You must give it one truth. One you've never said. Speak it. Bury it. And you may leave."

They looked at each other.

Mingyu went first.

He stepped forward, laid a hand on the bark.

"I pretend I'm lazy," he said quietly. "But I'm just scared. I slept through my life so I wouldn't have to face what I lost."

The tree absorbed the words. Its bark pulsed.

Li Xuan stepped up.

"I knew Rui Lin would die," she said. "I had a vision days before. But I said nothing. I was… afraid I couldn't stop it."

The tree pulsed again.

The Keeper bowed.

"You may go."

A doorway of ticking light appeared in the mist.

Before they stepped through, Mingyu turned. "Will Damian find this place?"

The Keeper's gaze sharpened. "He already tried. But he does not trade in truths."

Li Xuan smiled faintly. "That's why he'll lose."

Together, they stepped into the light.

The doorway led not to peace, but to another crossroad—somewhere deeper, somewhere older.

But for now, they had survived.

And survival, in borrowed time, was its own rebellion.

*****************

No one escapes Damian for this long and survives. Either ways they both knew their luck might run out do soon. They had to be ready! Prepared! Mentally, Emotionally and physically. If they had tricks up their sleeves, now was the time to perfect them.

Running had been their way of living for a really long time now. They had to face their greatest foe and probably go see their creator or send their greatest foe to go see his own creator.