The storm began inside his skull.
Time assassins moved through frozen seconds like dancers—fluid, brutal, synchronized. They wore ChronoCloaks: gear stolen from a future that hadn't been invented yet.
Damien fought with elegance, but the coil within his chest was flickering. He was weakening.
RIVEN had gone silent. Lyra was lost to the Rift.
One assassin, eyes glowing void-black, plunged a blade made of compressed time into Damien's heart.
He fell.
Time stopped.
Damien's last thought wasn't fear. It was victory.
Because something laughed inside him. And it said: "Finally, I'm free."