Reincarnated in Another World

Chapter 6 – The Weight of Time

Lincoln's POV:

The villagers' clapping still echoed in my ears many miles after we'd left them behind. At first, it was warmth, like perhaps I'd finally done something I could be proud of. But the farther we rode away from the smoke and darkness of the village, the more it became a weight, until the sound wasn't appreciation any longer—it was expectation.

And expectation wasn't so different from chains.

By the time we arrived back at our Castle, the sky was filled with orange and violet stripes. The gates creaked as the guards open it and hurried out to welcome us. They cheered, their shouts are so loud.

"To the chosen eight! "Someone yelled.

"To the heir of Duskbane! " another shouted, and before I could hold it back, the chant was picked up.

I slid off my horse, almost falling from fatigue, but all I could manage was to try to smile. If they ever saw my shaking hands, and the subtle burn that remained in my chest where the Chrono-Forge ticked, they did not remark.

Cedric greeted us in the courtyard, his keen eyes looking at each of us individually. His eyes lingered on the dried blood along my sleeve.

"You lived," he stated bluntly. Relief flared and was extinguished. "Good. Come on. The council need to be informed."

Council? My gut tightened.

We sat in the meeting room, the huge oak table spread with maps and parchment. Torches danced in their candelabra, casting shadows on the portraits of long-dead monarchs.

The council was already seated. Four men and two women, their robes adorned with the silver sigil of Duskbane. Their gazes trailed us as we entered, cold and calculating.

One of them—a man with a hawk's nose—spoke first. "So these are the prophesied eight? "

"They look… young," another whispered.

"Unproven," a third added.

Cedric lifted a hand, that make them quite. "They battled the Darkborn today. And won."

Whispers spread around the table. Some were awed, others skeptical.

"Tell us what happened," Cedric commanded, speaking to me.

Me. Of course.

I swallowed hard, explaining the battle to the best of my ability. My voice trembled when I talked of the shadows, steadied when I discussed the others' abilities, and trembled again when I confessed that I almost died twice. But when I told them about the villagers on their knees… I hesitated.

Their gazes too keen. Too ravenous.

"And you, heir," Hawk-nose leaned in. "What's your gift? What power does the Forge bestow upon you?"

The Forge whirred, reminding me that it was there. I recalled how time had drawn slow, how it had seared its path through my veins like flame. I recalled the darkness unraveling before my blade.

But I also recalled how my eyes had hazed afterwards, the buzzing in my ears, and how the world had slanted as if I were falling.

I wasn't prepared to tell them that. Not yet.

"It helps me fight," I muttered vaguely.

The council nodded among themselves, obviously not pleased. But Cedric didn't press the issue, and for that, I silently thanked him.

We were sent to bed after the meeting. The others go straight away to their rooms, laughing, bickering, and buzzing with adrenaline. I stood in the corridor, my legs felt heavy and still shaking.

That was when Ayaana stood at my shoulder.

"You're so pale," she whispered.

"I'm just tired," I grumbled.

Her eyes were direct, unwavering. "You used the Forge, didn't you?"

I drew breath sharply. "How—

"I sensed it," she replied. "The air warps when you're in contact with time. It creates ripples."

I gazed at my hands. They were trembling still. "Each time I do, it's as if it's devouring me."

She reached up, her fingers tracing my arm where the shadow had sliced through. Vines burst into bloom for an instant, sealing up the cut entirely. Her touch stayed a fraction longer than it needed to.

"Power always costs something," she said. "The question is whether you're willing to pay."

I was not even able to answer before she turned and disappeared, her dark hair swinging like a curtain.

Her words lingered with me long after she was out of sight.

Sleep was not easy to come. When it came, it wasn't rest—it was dreams.

I stood among a field of smashed clocks, their cogs strewn about like bones. Time was odd there—seconds crawling like years, then disappearing in an instant.

A shadow waited in the distance. Unlike the ones we battled in the village. This one was different. Taller. Smiling.

"You can't bear it," the shadow breathed. Its voice was my voice. "The Forge will shatter you. And when it does, the world will crash along with you."

I awoke gasping for air, sweat-drenched.

The pounding of my chest was louder than before.

The following morning, the castle was filled with rumors. Word of our triumph had spread quicker than dry grass catches fire. The servants inclined their heads as we walked by, guards saluted, and people lined up at the gates expecting to see us.

Someplace deep inside me should have been proud. Instead, all I could feel was an anxious gnawing.

At breakfast, Chris leaned back in his chair, grinning as servants refilled his cup. “Well, it looks like we’re celebrities now HAHAHA.”

“You mean trouble,” Amir muttered. “The more people know about us, the more enemies we’ll attract.”

Akira shrugged, tearing into a hunk of bread with her teeth. “Let them come. I’m bored already.”

Sky frowned. “Don’t be foolish. We’re not ready for another battle, not yet.”

Ayaana's eyes darted to me over the table, but she remained silent.

And me? I sat there, hearing them argue, the racing in my chest growing louder with each passing moment.

The world already assumed we were heroes.

But what if Ayaana was correct? What if the cost of my ability was something I couldn't pay?

That evening, out on the balcony of my room, I gazed out into the dark woods beyond Duskbane's walls. Out there, more Darkborn waited. Out there, the fate that united us was unrolling.

And within me, the Forge counted down like a clock running out.

A reminder.

A warning.

Or perhaps. A countdown.