The city was eerily silent, its once vibrant streets now choked with debris and the ghostly echoes of a life erased. Vertin, the Timekeeper, stepped carefully over broken glass, her suitcase clutched tightly in one hand. The Storm had already swept through here, leaving a trail of ruin and emptiness. Her heart ached with the weight of failure—she had arrived too late. Rewinding time, a power she wielded to correct the world's injustices, had only carried her back far enough to witness the aftermath, not prevent it.

The air smelled of smoke and ash. Shattered windows yawned open like hollow eyes, and the wind carried the faintest whispers of a past she couldn’t quite touch. Still, she moved forward, her calm demeanor masking the growing despair in her chest. She couldn’t give up. There had to be someone left—anyone.

Vertin’s boots crunched against the rubble as she entered the remains of what had once been a bustling apartment complex. Inside, the silence was suffocating. The walls, scorched and cracked, bore the marks of panic and chaos. Her fingers brushed against the edges of her suitcase, a sanctuary she carried for Arcanists—a space of safety, of life. But what use was safety if there was no one to save?

She combed through the building methodically, room by room. A child’s doll lay abandoned in one corner, its button eyes staring blankly. The sight nearly broke her resolve. Time was her gift, but it was never enough. The Storm always seemed one step ahead, devouring everything before she could act.

And then, she heard it.

A faint, fragile sound, like the ghost of hope. Crying. Her breath hitched as she froze in place, straining to locate the source. It was coming from somewhere above her—a faint, rhythmic sob that cut through the oppressive quiet.