The desert cracked under their power.

Kael and his divine double clashed, every strike rewriting the sand into glass and the stars into streaks of gold. Lightning didn't flash — it rewound. Mountains rose and fell in seconds, reality struggling to keep up with the weight of two creators tearing at each other's essence.

Jorah and Eira could only watch from afar as gods unmade the horizon.

"You ever get the feeling," Jorah muttered, ducking under a falling chunk of sky, "that Kael's the problem and the solution?"

Eira didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the battle, on the way Kael's every movement seemed more desperate — not out of weakness, but exhaustion. "He's breaking," she whispered.

Kael's blade met his double's with a sound like shattering history. Sparks of divine energy exploded outward, forming and erasing constellations in the same breath. Kael's hand trembled — not from fear, but from the weight of understanding.

He wasn't fighting an enemy.

He was fighting the part of himself that refused to let go.

His double — radiant, flawless, cruel — smiled with divine arrogance. "You can't win this, Kael. You built me to last."

"Yeah," Kael grunted, blocking another strike. "And I also built self-destruct buttons into everything I make."

He slammed his hand against his double's chest. Light burst outward. For a heartbeat, Kael saw everything — every life, every prayer, every fragment of himself scattered through creation. The divine double staggered back, eyes wide.

"You'd erase your divinity?" the double hissed. "For what? Mortality? Revenge?"

Kael's expression hardened. "For freedom."

He twisted his blade — and with it, time itself. The double's form cracked, divine light spilling out like molten glass. The desert howled. The flame atop the temple guttered, flickering between gold and gray.

"I am you!" the double roared.

Kael smirked through blood and dust. "And that's your problem."

He brought the blade down.

The impact split the sky. The Empire of Dawn shattered — temples crumbling into dust, idols dissolving into air. When the light finally faded, only Kael remained, kneeling in the ruins of his own divinity.

Eira and Jorah rushed to him. He looked up, tired but alive. The glow in his eyes had dimmed — not gone, just quieter.

Jorah blinked. "So… you just killed your godhood?"

Kael chuckled weakly. "More like grounded it. No more infinite power, no more cosmic tantrums."

Eira tilted her head. "Then what are you now?"

He stood, sheathing his sword. "Someone who remembers being a god — and is finally done arguing with himself."

The horizon trembled once more, but not from battle. Something else stirred — deep beneath the desert, a pulse like a heartbeat. The sound of something ancient waking up.

Kael turned toward it, frowning. "That rhythm…"

Eira looked at him. "You know it?"

"I should," Kael said. "It's the same frequency the Chrono Blades sang with — before they were scattered."

Jorah's brow furrowed. "You mean those cursed swords you made when you were still trying to impress time itself?"

"Those cursed swords," Kael said, "are the only thing that can kill what killed me."

Silence followed — heavy, sharp.

Eira spoke first. "You're saying you want to find them again."

Kael nodded. "Every last one."

Jorah groaned. "Kael, we just finished watching you punch a god version of yourself into nonexistence. Maybe take a nap before you start hunting reality-breaking weapons?"

Kael ignored him. He was staring at the horizon, where faint blue lights shimmered in the sand — distant, calling. His hands clenched.

"They took everything from me," he murmured. "My first life. My world. The people who betrayed me… they used my creations to end me. And I let them. Not this time."

Eira watched him, her expression unreadable. "Revenge, then?"

Kael's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Call it... correction."

Jorah sighed. "Great. Angry Kael's back. I'll start packing bandages."

Kael looked at him. "You don't have to come."

"Yeah," Jorah said dryly, "but then who's gonna stop you from rewriting the continent again when you sneeze?"

Eira smiled faintly. "And someone has to remind him not to lose himself again."

Kael looked between them — his oldest friend and the living embodiment of balance. For a moment, something like gratitude flickered across his face.

"Then let's start where it ended," he said. "The desert of Sol'Rahn. That's where the first Chrono Blade fell."

Eira frowned. "You mean the blade you buried?"

Kael's smile turned cold. "The one they dug up."

He turned away from the ruins, cloak fluttering in the shifting wind. Behind him, the Empire of Dawn faded into dust, its light extinguished. Ahead, the sands began to ripple, revealing the faint outlines of forgotten ruins — and the whisper of time itself.

As they walked, Jorah muttered, "So, no more fighting yourself, huh?"

Kael chuckled softly. "Nah. I've got better people to fight now."

Eira looked sideways at him. "You think vengeance will heal you?"

He didn't answer for a long moment.

Then: "No. But it'll keep me moving."

They walked until the stars turned silver and the three moons aligned above them — an omen older than gods. Somewhere far away, the Chrono Blades pulsed in answer, awakening after eons of silence.

Kael felt it in his bones — the pull of destiny, the taste of unfinished business.

He grinned, eyes glinting like fractured light. "Guess the hunt begins."

Eira sighed. "You sound almost happy."

Kael looked at her. "After everything I've lost, I finally know what to do."

He drew his sword, pointing it toward the glowing horizon.

"Time to reclaim what's mine."

The desert wind howled in reply — not in defiance, but in recognition.

And somewhere deep beneath the sands, the first Chrono Blade stirred.

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