The city breathed.

Not metaphorically — it literally breathed. The glass towers rose and fell like lungs, their surfaces shimmering with strange, mirrored light. Every inhale came with a soft hum, like the ticking of a thousand synchronized clocks.

Jorah stood at the edge of a marble street that stretched endlessly into the horizon, his hand gripping the Chrono Blade. Behind him, the ruins of the old world — or whatever passed for it now — had vanished completely.

He was somewhere new.

Somewhere alive.

Somewhere wrong.

The people moved like dancers in a loop — precise, mechanical. A woman bought an apple, smiled, paid, and did it again. A boy tossed a coin into a fountain, caught it, and repeated the same motion. Over and over.

"Okay," Jorah muttered. "Creepy clockwork city. Check."

He tapped the nearest glass wall. It rippled, showing a faint reflection of his face — and, for a blink, Kael's grin behind him.

"Kael?"

No answer. Only the faint hum of the city. The sword felt colder now, heavier — its light dimmed to a heartbeat's flicker.

"Don't you dare vanish on me now," Jorah said under his breath. "You're my only source of exposition."

The sword pulsed weakly. Then, faintly — a voice.

Not… gone. Just quiet.

"Yeah, well, don't do that," Jorah said. "It's creepy. And I'm already talking to myself enough for people to start worrying."

You're not alone, Kael whispered. This city — it's a construct. A rewrite trying to stabilize.

"Stabilize what?"

Kael didn't answer immediately. When he did, the tone was grim. Reality itself.

Jorah's gut twisted. "Oh. Good. Just that."

He started walking, trying to make sense of the endless symmetry. Each street looked the same, each building reflected a dozen versions of himself. It was like walking inside a memory that didn't belong to him.

As he turned a corner, a figure appeared — a woman in white robes, her face obscured by a porcelain mask. Her steps were silent, her presence… heavy.

She spoke first. "You shouldn't be here."

Jorah blinked. "Lady, that makes two of us."

The masked woman tilted her head. "You are an anomaly. A variable without context."

"Story of my life."

Her gaze turned toward the sword. "That artifact doesn't belong in this iteration."

Jorah tightened his grip. "Yeah, well, try taking it from me."

The air rippled. The woman's hand rose — and the world paused. Every sound, every flicker of light froze mid-motion. Even the air thickened like honey.

Jorah could barely move. "What… what did you just do?"

She stepped closer, her voice calm, analytical. "This iteration of time has been rewritten thirty-seven times. The last stable anchor was corrupted — by him."

Kael's voice flared faintly through the blade. Don't listen to her.

The masked woman's head turned sharply. "Ah. There it is — the echo."

She's lying, Kael hissed. She's one of the Architects.

"The who now?" Jorah rasped, struggling to move.

"The Architects," the woman said smoothly, ignoring Kael. "We built the original chronology before he—" she nodded toward the sword, "—fractured it beyond repair."

Jorah frowned. "You mean Kael?"

"Kael Vorrion," she said. "The god who laughed at fate. The one who believed time could be rewritten through will alone."

Kael's voice grew harsher. Don't let her twist it. They made the loops. I broke them.

The woman's tone sharpened. "He calls it freedom. We call it contagion."

The pressure around Jorah's body grew heavier — like invisible hands were trying to crush the air out of him. He clenched his jaw, forcing his arm to lift the blade. "If you built time, you might wanna fix your product warranty. This thing's defective as hell."

That made her pause. For the faintest second, Jorah thought he saw amusement flicker behind the mask.

"You have his defiance," she said softly. "But you're not him."

"Thank every god for that."

The pressure eased. The woman stepped back. "He will wake soon. When he does, the collapse will begin again."

Kael's voice was fading fast. Jorah… don't let them reset me.

"Reset you?!" Jorah hissed. "What does that mean?"

They want to rebuild the timeline from the start. Wipe every rewrite, every version — including me.

Jorah turned to the masked woman. "You're planning to kill him."

"Kill?" she repeated, almost kindly. "No. Correct."

"Same thing."

Her mask tilted. "You misunderstand. He was never meant to exist. He's a paradox — a self-aware god created by temporal recursion. Every loop strengthened his consciousness. Every death multiplied him."

Kael's voice wavered. Jorah… she's not wrong. But I chose to live anyway.

Jorah swallowed. "So what? You're saying he's just… a side effect of broken time?"

"An echo," she said. "A dream that refused to end."

"Then maybe he's the only real thing left."

The woman didn't respond immediately. Her hands lowered, and for a moment, Jorah thought she might actually understand.

Then her tone turned cold. "This world cannot sustain anomalies. You both must be purged."

"Oh, come on!" Jorah groaned. "Do you people ever just talk things out?"

He swung the Chrono Blade. The city screamed.

Glass shattered in waves as the street folded in on itself. The masked woman blurred, splitting into multiple copies — each stepping forward, each speaking the same words in unison.

"Time must remain pure."

Jorah gritted his teeth. "Then you're gonna hate me."

He drove the sword into the marble.

The ground exploded. Light shot through the cracks, tearing through the looped figures, the towers, the sky. The woman screamed — a thousand voices at once — before shattering into motes of silver dust.

The hum of the city died.

Silence.

Then Kael's voice — faint, fading, but proud. You did it.

Jorah staggered, catching his breath. "No. I think I just made things worse."

The city was gone. Only the hourglass remained, hovering in the void, its sand now black.

And inside the glass — Kael's reflection, eyes closed, smiling faintly.

Find me, his voice whispered, softer than ever. Before they do.

The hourglass cracked.

Jorah looked up as it shattered into light — and everything went white.

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