The world spat them out like broken pieces of glass.

One moment, they were sprinting through the collapsing citadel; the next, they were lying in a dead field beneath a sky that flickered between night and day. Every few seconds, the sun would glitch — rising, setting, vanishing. It made Kael's stomach twist.

Jorah groaned first, rolling over onto his side. "If I never fall through a collapsing time dimension again, it'll be too soon."

Eira was already on her feet, breathing hard. Her cloak was torn, hair wild, and her eyes burned with the kind of fear she refused to name. She turned to Kael — and froze.

His reflection shimmered behind him. A faint double image, like a mirage in the air, moving half a breath too slow.

"Kael…" she whispered.

He knew before she said anything. He could feel it — that pulse under his skin, that second heartbeat. His shadow twitched against the dirt.

"He's not gone," Kael said quietly. "He's here."

Jorah scrambled up, clutching his staff like it could save him from reality itself. "Please tell me you mean that metaphorically."

Kael didn't answer.

The reflection stepped forward.

For a heartbeat, it was only a shimmer. Then light broke away, and Kieran stood before them — the same face, the same eyes, but sharper. His presence rippled through the air like static.

"Hello, me," Kieran said softly, voice both calm and venomous. "I was wondering when you'd stop running."

Eira's blade was in her hand before she could think. "Back away from him."

Kieran tilted his head, amused. "Still protecting him, Eira? You always did have a hero complex."

Kael's voice was steady, but his eyes burned. "You don't belong here."

"Neither do you," Kieran replied. "You think tearing at timelines makes you a savior? You've been breaking worlds just to feel like you're fixing something."

Jorah groaned under his breath. "Oh, good. Existential arguments with our evil twin. Totally fine."

Kieran turned his gaze on him — and Jorah's words died. He felt it — that weight of eternity pressing on his chest. Kieran smiled faintly. "You shouldn't be here, mortal. This is between me and the one who pretends he isn't me."

Eira moved between them, defiant. "If you want him, you'll have to go through me."

Kieran's eyes softened — not cruel, not mocking, but sad. "I already did."

Then the ground split.

A wave of Chrono energy burst from beneath them — the same glow that once bound the Blades together. Kael grabbed Eira, pulling her back, but Kieran was already moving, stepping through the fracture as if gravity didn't apply to him.

"Kael," Eira shouted over the roar, "you can't fight him alone!"

Kael's teeth clenched. "That's the problem. I'm not sure I can fight him at all."

The storm above flickered again — day, night, dawn, dusk. The sky fractured like a broken clock. And through it all, Kieran's laughter echoed, deep and resonant.

"You think destroying the Anchor Stone would stop me? You made me real when you refused to let go of what you lost. You needed me."

Kael's grip on the Blade of Paradox tightened until his knuckles turned white. "You're wrong."

Kieran's eyes gleamed. "Am I? Then strike me down, and prove you're not the same."

Kael lunged.

The world shattered again — light and shadow colliding, blades sparking in frozen air. Every strike sent ripples through reality, replaying fragments of their past: the first empire, the rebellion, the night Kael made the first paradox cut.

Eira could barely follow their movements. Time itself was bending — moments repeating, reversing, skipping. She saw Kael die three times in the space of a breath, only to rewind and stand again.

"Stop this!" she cried.

But they didn't hear her — or maybe they couldn't. The two Kaels were locked in a dance that defied logic, one trying to destroy, the other to undo.

Then — silence.

Kael's blade met Kieran's chest. There was no blood. Just light.

Kieran smiled faintly. "You can't kill your reflection, Kael. You can only break yourself trying."

He reached out, pressing a hand against Kael's chest. "But don't worry. I'll make it quick."

The world screamed.

Eira ran forward, calling his name, but a wall of raw Chrono energy threw her back. Kael fell to one knee, eyes wide, as Kieran's hand began to sink into him — merging.

Jorah shouted something — a spell, maybe — but his words were drowned out by the thunder of collapsing skies.

Kael gasped. "You— you're—"

"I am what's left," Kieran whispered. "The part you keep burying every time you pretend to be a hero."

Eira forced herself up, blood in her mouth. "Kael, fight him! He's feeding on your guilt!"

Kael's vision blurred. Memories flooded in — Eira's laughter, Jorah's curses, the smell of burnt coffee at camp, the first time he held the Blade of Paradox and thought he could save everyone.

And underneath it all, Kieran's voice — a whisper that had always been there.

"Let me take the burden."

Kael screamed. Light erupted from his body, throwing Kieran back. The ground split, swallowing the echo in a storm of mirrors.

For a moment — just one — Kael stood alone.

Smoke rose from his skin, his pulse flickering like a dying star. His reflection was gone. Kieran was gone.

Eira stumbled to him, catching him as he swayed. "Kael, hey— look at me. It's over. You did it."

He looked at her — really looked at her — and smiled weakly. "Yeah… over."

But his eyes… his eyes were still mirrors.

The light faded from the sky. The glitching stopped. The world stilled.

Jorah let out a shaky breath. "Okay, I'm calling that a win. Sort of. Maybe."

Eira didn't answer. She was staring at Kael's reflection in the water pooling at their feet. For a split second, she saw another face staring back — Kieran's. Smiling.

"Kael…" she whispered.

He blinked slowly. "Yeah?"

"You're… still glowing."

He glanced down at his hands. The veins beneath his skin pulsed silver. "Huh. Guess side effects include mild luminescence."

"Kael, I'm serious."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know. I just— I can't tell where I end and he begins anymore."

Eira reached out, touching his face gently. "Then we'll find a way to separate you. Together."

Kael's smile was small, tired. "You always say that like we haven't already blown up half of time doing it."

"Then we'll blow up the other half," she said firmly.

That made him laugh — weak, but real. "You're insane."

"Occupational hazard."

Jorah groaned. "If you two are done flirting over the apocalypse, we might want to leave before reality decides to implode again."

Eira helped Kael to his feet. He swayed but stayed upright. "Where do we even go now?" she asked.

Kael's gaze lifted to the horizon. The air shimmered — distant ruins reforming, cities shifting through centuries. "Somewhere quiet. Somewhere time doesn't reach."

Jorah frowned. "That's… not a thing, Kael."

Kael smiled faintly. "It is now."

Behind him, the reflection in the puddle twitched again. Kieran's whisper followed on the wind — soft, almost fond:

"You can't hide from me forever, Kael. After all… you're the one who keeps calling me back."

The wind died. The field went still.

And for the first time in a long while, Kael didn't know if he was still the hero — or just the ghost wearing his face.

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