Time passed differently now. I felt its shape in my bones, not just as moments ticking forward, but as the full weight of years compressed into insight. The kind of time that only made sense after you'd lost too much of it. Or changed too much within it.
Two years, seven hundred and thirty days, exactly as Stella had calculated through her tears when I left. But those numbers felt hollow now, inadequate to measure what had passed between departure and return. On Xerion Prime, time had moved like honey through crystal—thick with purpose, sharp with consequence. Every hour spent fighting Demon Marquises, every day dedicated to mastering new techniques, every week pushing myself beyond what human flesh should endure. All of it had led to this moment, sitting in an imperial car as Avalon City's familiar skyline drew closer through the glass.
