The desert wind howled across the ruins of the Spire. The air shimmered with dying fragments of magic, and Kael could feel them brushing against his skin—tiny memories of moments that had already been erased.

He walked ahead in silence, the Chrono Blade strapped to his back. Its cracked surface still glowed faintly, the light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Jorah trudged behind, muttering something about cursed swords and suicidal heroes.

They stopped at a ridge overlooking a valley of broken time. The landscape bent in impossible ways—mountains twisting midair, rivers flowing backward, fragments of people frozen mid-scream.

Jorah shuddered. "Yeah, this looks like a great place to camp. Maybe we pitch the tent right next to the screaming waterfall of souls?"

Kael didn't answer. His gaze was locked on the blade. He could feel it now—something stirring inside. A pulse of intent.

Then, the voice came.

"You should've stayed dead."

Kael froze. His hand drifted to the hilt, but he didn't draw it. "You again," he said softly.

"Me? No. Us."

Jorah tilted his head. "Who are you talking to?"

Kael ignored him. The blade vibrated faintly against his back, humming like a heartbeat.

"You thought merging with me would silence the echoes," the voice whispered. "But I am every Kael you've ever been. Every laugh, every betrayal, every death. You can't cage a storm."

Kael exhaled slowly. "I don't need to cage it. I just need to aim it."

That earned a soft chuckle. "Still arrogant. Still pretending control is anything but another lie."

Jorah squinted. "Kael, seriously, are you talking to your sword? Because if it starts talking back, I'm out."

"It already is," Kael muttered.

"Fantastic." Jorah rubbed his face. "First reflections, now voices in steel. What's next, the sand starts singing?"

The blade's hum deepened.

"You mock because you fear," it whispered through Kael's mind. "You know what happens next. The memories will return. The fractures will open. And you will break again."

Kael closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat—he saw flashes.

A battlefield drenched in red. A god kneeling before him. His own hand cutting through light itself. A thousand realities screaming in unison.

He gasped, stumbling.

Jorah caught his arm. "Whoa, whoa! What did you see?"

Kael's pupils glowed faintly blue. "Not what. When."

The voice chuckled again. "Ah. You remember the First Fracture."

Kael's breath hitched. "Show me."

The blade pulsed once, then again—harder, faster—until the world around them began to distort. The wind stopped. Sound vanished. The desert dissolved into silver light.

Jorah's eyes went wide. "Kael… what did you—"

And then everything inverted.

---

The light reformed into a city suspended in the sky—impossibly vast, glowing with golden energy. Towers of glass and stone stretched to infinity, floating above an ocean of clouds.

Kael staggered forward, breath catching. He knew this place.

"Chronion," he whispered. "The city of beginnings."

The sword pulsed in approval. "The world before time was written. Before you broke it."

Jorah's mouth hung open. "We're… in the past?"

Kael didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the far end of the city—where a colossal forge stood, glowing with molten energy.

And at its heart stood him.

Younger. Sharper. Wild. Laughing as he hammered a blade that shimmered with the light of eternity.

The first Chrono Blade.

The echo of Kael looked up suddenly, as if sensing them through time. His grin was wicked. "Ah, I remember this moment."

Jorah backed away. "Oh, no. Not another one."

Kael frowned. "That's… me. Before the loop."

The echo spread his arms. "Before everything. Before the gods, before the war, before your little moral crisis." He gestured to the half-forged blade beside him. "You made me for one reason—to cut reality open and see what bleeds."

Kael shook his head. "No. I made it to stop them. To free us from fate."

The echo laughed. "Same thing."

The sound echoed through the city, shaking the air. Time rippled.

"He is the memory you buried," the blade whispered. "The first fracture. The truth of what you are."

Kael stepped forward. "Then I'll end him."

Jorah threw out an arm. "Whoa, hang on! That's literally you! What happens if you kill yourself again?!"

Kael smirked. "Guess we'll find out."

He drew the Chrono Blade.

The echo's grin widened. "Finally. I was wondering when you'd catch up."

Their blades met—past and present colliding in a burst of blue fire. Time bent, sky screaming. The ground shattered into fragments of frozen seconds. Every strike echoed across universes, rewriting reality with each clash.

Kael fought with fury, but the echo matched him blow for blow, laughing all the while.

"You forgot the joy of it, didn't you?" the echo taunted. "The thrill of unmaking!"

Kael's blade sparked, his eyes blazing. "I remember enough!"

The echo lunged, locking swords. "Then remember this!"

Their blades crossed—and in the collision, Kael saw everything.

The gods kneeling before him. The creation of time. The laughter that tore existence apart. The reason he shattered the Chrono Blade in the first place.

It wasn't to save the world.

It was to escape it.

The realization hit like a blade through the heart. Kael stumbled, the light fading from his eyes.

The echo smirked. "Now you see. You didn't die a hero. You died laughing."

Kael's fury flared. He roared, swinging with all his strength. The Chrono Blade screamed as it cleaved through the echo's chest.

The city fractured—cracking, splitting apart. The forge imploded, collapsing inward. Kael fell to his knees as the light consumed everything.

---

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the desert. Jorah was shaking him.

"Kael! Wake up!"

He gasped, clutching the blade. It was silent now.

Jorah's eyes widened. "You disappeared for a second. What happened?"

Kael looked at the sword, his reflection fractured in its cracked surface.

"I met myself," he whispered. "The first one. The one who broke it all."

Jorah frowned. "And?"

Kael's grin returned—dark, tired, knowing. "He's dead."

He stood, sheathing the sword. The cracks along its surface glowed a steady blue now—quiet, almost content.

But deep inside, beneath that silence, the faintest whisper lingered:

"Are you sure?"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.