The sign swung lazily in a wind that didn't exist.

The Last Pour.

It was a crooked little tavern perched on the edge of nowhere — half buried in sand, half shimmering in mist. Its roof was thatched with stars, its windows glowing with soft amber light that never flickered.

Kael stopped at the door, squinting at the sign. "Subtle."

Jorah folded his arms. "We nearly died fighting a cosmic version of you, and now we're stopping for ale?"

Kael pushed the door open. "Exactly."

Warmth spilled out. The scent of roasted meat, smoke, and something sweet like honey and thunder filled the air. Inside, the tavern was impossibly larger — tables stretching into infinity, patrons from every corner of time and legend drinking side by side.

A knight in bronze armor clinked mugs with a woman made of mist. A skeleton bard strummed a lute that played itself. And in the far corner, a dragon in human form laughed loud enough to shake the ceiling.

Jorah blinked. "We're not supposed to see this place, are we?"

Kael grinned. "We're not supposed to see a lot of things. Doesn't stop us, does it?"

He made for the counter. The bartender was polishing a glass that looked older than creation — a tall, ageless man with silver hair and eyes that reflected constellations.

Kael took a seat. "Two drinks. The strongest you've got."

The bartender smiled faintly. "You already know what the strongest drink here is."

Kael's smirk faltered. "…Do I?"

"You've had it before. The taste of endings."

The man set two cups down. One glowed faintly with golden light; the other shimmered dark as midnight.

Jorah eyed them. "I'll take the one that doesn't taste like an apocalypse."

Kael took the gold one. "Suit yourself."

He drank. The liquid burned through him like memory — the first war, the first betrayal, the first time he laughed after dying. Every life he'd lived in fractured timelines bled through his mind in flashes of color.

When he set the cup down, he wasn't sure which Kael had just taken the sip.

The bartender spoke softly. "You've been busy, Timebreaker."

Kael stiffened. "Haven't heard that name in a while."

"You shouldn't have stolen the First Blade," the man continued. "It wasn't meant to exist twice."

Kael's gaze darkened. "It wasn't meant to be left lying around either."

Jorah muttered, "Oh good, he's arguing with immortals again."

The bartender chuckled. "You're not here by accident, Kael. You felt the pull, didn't you?"

Kael hesitated. "The pulse in the blade. Yeah. It started after the echo died."

The man nodded. "Every time a fragment dies, the balance shifts. You've awakened something old — something waiting for you."

Kael leaned back. "Let me guess — another cosmic horror with my face?"

"Worse," the bartender said. "Someone who remembers who you were before all this began."

The tavern's lights dimmed slightly. A door opened at the far end, and the air changed — thicker, colder, almost nostalgic.

A figure stepped through.

She was cloaked in twilight, hair silver as starlight, eyes burning with quiet fury and sorrow. The moment Kael saw her, the world seemed to pause.

Lyra.

Jorah blinked. "Oh. Oh no. It's her."

Kael rose slowly. "You're supposed to be—"

"Gone?" Her voice was steady, sharp. "You erased me. Or tried to."

Kael swallowed hard. "That wasn't me."

She stepped closer, her presence bending the light around her. "You say that every time. Every timeline. Every loop."

The bartender quietly walked away. Even the dragon in the corner stopped laughing.

Lyra stopped just in front of him. "Do you even know how many versions of me you've lost?"

Kael's throat tightened. "All of them."

"And yet," she said softly, "you keep making new ones."

Her gaze flicked to the blade at his side. "The First Chrono Blade. You really did it. You merged with the loop."

Kael managed a crooked smile. "You always said I had control issues."

Lyra didn't smile back. "Do you know what that sword does when it's whole?"

"Enlighten me."

"It doesn't rewrite time," she said. "It decides what time remembers."

Kael's smirk faltered. "That's… not possible."

Lyra's eyes gleamed. "Then why do you think no one remembers your original self, Kael? The god who started this?"

He froze.

The tavern groaned, the walls warping slightly like the space itself flinched at her words.

Kael whispered, "You mean—"

"You've been erasing yourself," Lyra said. "Every victory, every loss — you overwrite the memory of who you were. You're a walking paradox."

Jorah looked between them, alarmed. "Hold on, are we saying he's… killing his own history?"

Kael's knuckles whitened around the cup. "If that's true… then what am I now?"

Lyra's voice softened. "What's left of a god who ran out of versions to destroy."

Silence. Only the faint ticking of a clock behind the bar — a sound that hadn't been there before.

Kael laughed — a low, broken sound. "So what, I just stop? Let the universe reset itself?"

Lyra shook her head. "No. You finish it. One last rewrite. But this time… you don't make yourself the center."

He met her gaze. "And what happens to me?"

She smiled sadly. "You vanish — for real."

Jorah muttered, "This is the part where you say no, right? Please tell me we're not considering cosmic suicide again."

Kael looked down at his glowing cup. Then at Lyra. Then at the blade on his hip.

His grin returned — faint but real. "Guess it's one hell of a last drink."

Lyra sighed. "You never change."

"Maybe that's the problem," Kael said quietly.

He raised his cup. "To endings, then."

Lyra clinked hers against his. "To remembering what should be forgotten."

They drank. The tavern lights flared — gold and white, swallowing everything in radiance.

When it faded, only Jorah remained at the counter, staring at two empty cups and a sword lying where Kael had been.

He picked it up carefully. The blade was silent now.

Outside, the stars began to fall — one by one — tracing new constellations across the void.

And somewhere, a familiar voice whispered through time:

"Even gods need a drink."

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