The impact of Elura's power knocked Kael back—but he did not fall into darkness immediately.
Instead—
He fell into memory.
Not his own.
Hers.
He stood beneath a burning sky, where dusk bled into smoke.
And there—
A woman stood on the dunes, not cloaked in void, but dressed in white.
Wind tugged at her braid.
Her hands trembled slightly—yet her voice was steady.
Before her stood a man—worn, scarred, carrying the weight of too many futures. But his eyes were still kind.
Elura stepped closer to him.
She placed her hand gently on his chest, right where the blade would later pierce.
And she whispered:
"Promise me… if I disappear—don't forget who I was."
The man's face broke.
He reached for her hand—grasped it like it was all he had left.
"I won't," he said.
"But if you disappear," he added,
"then let me become what remains."
The vision cracked.
Darkness surged in.
Kael gasped—
And that's when he saw the strike coming.
The void.
The blast.
The last thing he heard before losing consciousness…
Was her voice.
Not present. Not monstrous.
Just soft.
"Tharen."
Then—
A light burned across his vision.
And everything went black.
Kael gasped.
But he was not awake.
He stood in a place without sky or floor—only a floating platform among drifting shards of melted time and fractured weapons.
And at the edge, a boy sat—legs dangling, a toy sword across his knees, a smile too wide for comfort. Behind him stood the Anvil of Impossible Shape—folded corners, vanishing edges, an object that defied design.
Kael stepped forward.
"Are you… the Paradox Forge?"
The boy tilted his head, grinning.
"Oriun. That's my name. But sure, Paradox Forge works too."
"Why do you look like a child?"
"Why do you ask questions like you're not part of this?" Oriun laughed softly, flicking a melted coin between his fingers. "Small forms make it easier to hold big truths."
Kael frowned, uncertain. "What is this place?"
"Where lost things drift. Where threads the world forgot snarl together."
Shadows pulsed behind Oriun.
Another voice stirred—not loud, not harsh—but vast. It pressed against the edges of Kael's thoughts, calm yet endless.
"You are the Fracture," Zephan's voice came, steady as stone beneath storm. "The flaw untouched by equilibrium. You carry what the world denies."
Kael's chest tightened. He knew that voice from the visions. The space between dreams. The words he'd heard but never grasped.
"Why me?" Kael asked quietly. "Why show me this?"
Oriun's coin spun through the air, catching silver light before falling back to his hand. His smile was softer now.
"Because you're what they couldn't erase."
He tapped two fingers against Kael's chest—right over the mark.
"You're not just Kael. You're memory's consequence. You're the answer the world buried… and the thread they never severed."
Kael's throat tightened. His voice cracked.
"She's… gone."
Oriun's grin faltered—something distant, almost sorrowful filling his eyes.
"She was," Oriun admitted, then tilted his head. "But you're still here."
Zephan's voice returned, cool as the void, ancient as starlight:
"Her name was stolen. Her memory sealed. But promises fray… and at the edge of unraveling, you remained."
Kael's hands shook. He shut his eyes against the weight pressing down.
"What am I supposed to do?" His voice barely carried, raw with fear—fear of the unknown, of the truth they circled.
Oriun's answer was quieter than a breath—but it cracked the space between them:
"You're what comes after forgetting."
Above them, the void fissured.
Light bled down from the fractures—sharp, raw, endless.
Reality twisted.
Kael felt himself pulled upward—into the rippling current of unraveling time, into the unknown he'd been born from.
Oriun lifted two fingers in a casual farewell.
"Remind the world," Oriun called, "that nothing stays forgotten forever."
And then—
He was gone.
The abyss quieted.
Wind tore past Kael's face.
He gasped, breath catching on fire. The world spun—blurring rooftops, falling ash, screaming air.
He was being carried.
Graveth, arms locked around him, raced across the shattering rooftops. Paradox storms ruptured the skyline behind them.
"Stay with me, Kael. You're not done yet."
Kael tried to speak—but only smoke came out.
He forced his eyes open.
Behind them, the sky was splitting.
Elura stood in the ruins—her body still, yet everything around her trembled. Veins of paradox blazed through the air.
But she wasn't advancing.
Because someone—something equal—stood before her.
Saerion.
And for the first time—they saw his face.
No longer blindfolded.
His eyes burned—gold and white, twin suns seared by causality itself.
Causal Reversal surged from him like a storm barely contained.
The ground fractured before he stepped.
The clash of blades echoed before they touched.
The laws of time themselves bent in his path.
He was no longer the composed noble.
He moved like a man tearing fate open with both hands.
Every motion was a warning.
Not to Elura.
But to the world.
And still—he strained. Each second of balance came at a cost.
He could not stop her forever. Only buy time.
Below, Ayra and Sylvi sprinted through crumbling alleys. Fenric limped behind, sword guarding the rear.
Kael coughed, pain flaring down his spine.
"He's holding her back."
Graveth nodded, breath sharp. "Long enough for us to escape."
Another wave of paradox burst across the skyline. The statue in the distance—cracked and still watching—glowed faintly in the chaos.
Kael's mark pulsed once. Faint. Remembering.
Not power.
Recognition.
Something lost was slowly rising.
And through the smoke, Kael whispered—
"She wasn't always like this."
No answer came.
Only the sound of footsteps, wind, and a sky threatening to break.
The chaos had ebbed, but the silence it left behind felt just as loud.
Kael stirred, half-conscious, and felt arms under his shoulders—Graveth's. The others were there too. Ayra cleared rubble with fast, angry strikes. Fenric, bloodied but upright, muttered curses every time his foot dragged.
They moved through the broken city like ghosts—but they moved together.
In a narrow chamber behind a half-fallen temple wall, they found shelter.
Fenric slumped into the corner. Ayra leaned against the stone, blade still in hand, staring at nothing. Graveth stood at the entrance, watching the skyline. Not guarding. Just… listening.
Sylvi pressed her palm to Kael's chest.
Still breathing.
She dropped her bag beside him and tore through it with practiced speed. "Water. Cloth. Tonics. No light spells—his mark's unstable."
Fenric looked over. "He alive?"
"He's Kael," Sylvi said softly. "He always comes back."
"Yeah," Fenric grunted. "Well, next time he jumps into the abyss, I'm jumping first so I can punch him for it."
Graveth gave the ghost of a smile. Ayra said nothing—but finally turned her gaze toward Kael.
And then, as if they'd all agreed without speaking, they gave Sylvi space.
Because some moments didn't need the whole world.
They only needed the one person still holding on.
Kael blinked awake under flickering torchlight.
Sylvi was beside him, sleeves rolled, a smear of ash under her chin.
"You're terrible at dying, you know that?" she said without looking up.
He smiled faintly. "You said that last time."
"I'm still right."
She wiped his brow with careful fingers. Her hand trembled once—then steadied again.
Kael exhaled. "Did I scare you?"
"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," she muttered.
He looked at her—not just the silver hair or soft eyes, but the tension in her shoulders. The exhaustion hidden behind all her healing.
"You stayed."
"Of course I stayed."
"Even after what you saw?"
Her voice cracked. "Especially after what I saw."
She leaned in, and this time, when her hand found his, it didn't pretend to be for checking his pulse.
"I don't know where this path ends," she whispered. "But if it ends with you—I'll keep walking."
Kael closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them again with new resolve.
"We need to go back."
Sylvi searched his face. Then slowly—bravely—nodded.
"Then wherever you go..." she said, threading her fingers through his,
"I'm going with you."