The fossilized bones behind her collapsed with a crash, and the space rift twitched violently before falling into a dead silence.
The time fragments in her palm pulsed with an ancient rhythm—it was not a gift of power, but a whisper from the vast stream of time and space to its conqueror.
Clutching those three fragments laden with ancient-time power, Si Lingle clearly felt the pulse emanating from her palm—both gentle and heavy.
This did not feel like a blessing of power, but more like a direct whisper from the source of time, weighty and ancient.
She could feel her immortal power being inexorably drawn and consumed by the shards, as evidenced by the reverse flow of silver-gray blood from the wound on her palm—the fragments were testing her qualification to wield them.
This was no place to linger.
