The Verge didn't sleep.

Eira had learned that much after what felt like days — or maybe minutes — of wandering its endless stillness. There was no night or day, only that unmoving twilight glow that pressed down like a held breath.

Kael was unconscious, his body flickering faintly with that same unstable silver light that now pulsed beneath his skin. Every so often, he would twitch — not from pain, but from some unseen tug in the fabric of time. Each movement sent a ripple through the air, distorting everything nearby.

He was unraveling.

And she had no idea how to stop it.

Jorah crouched beside him, fiddling nervously with a time-locked stone he'd found near the lake. "You sure poking at the laws of existence is a good idea?" he asked.

Eira didn't look up. She was kneeling beside an ancient, half-buried monument — a slab of dark crystal etched with runes that flickered faintly when she brushed away the dust. "If we want to save him, we need to understand what this place is."

Jorah sighed. "A cursed wasteland with bad lighting and worse ambience."

"Not helping."

He shrugged. "Wasn't trying to."

Eira pressed her palm flat against the runes. They glowed faintly, responding to her touch. The symbols were old — older than Kael, older than the empire that had betrayed him. Language wasn't quite right to describe them; they moved when you looked at them too long, rearranging themselves into meaning.

A whisper crawled through her mind:

Every blade is a wound in time.

She recoiled instinctively. "Did you hear that?"

Jorah blinked. "Hear what? Because I'm already hearing my sanity leaving."

She didn't answer. Her eyes traced the carvings again.

Every bearer, a vessel for what time rejects.

Every reflection, a consequence unhealed.

Eira swallowed hard. "Kael didn't just create Kieran," she murmured. "He manifested him."

Jorah tilted his head. "Like… a magical evil twin situation?"

She shot him a look. "Worse. The Chrono Blades don't just bend time. They collect everything time tries to erase — memories, fates, people. Every version of yourself you tried not to become."

Jorah frowned, glancing nervously at Kael's unconscious form. "So… Kieran's one of those versions?"

Eira nodded. "A reflection born from everything Kael regretted." She ran her fingers over another glowing line. "And the Verge — this place — it's where those reflections come to rest."

"Or escape," said a voice behind her.

Eira froze. Slowly, she turned — and saw Kael standing.

Except his eyes were silver.

Her heart dropped. "No…"

"Relax," the figure said, raising his hands. "I'm not him. Not exactly." His voice wavered, flickering between Kael's tone and something colder. "Call me… what's left."

Jorah drew a blade, stepping protectively in front of Eira. "Great. We've reached the 'possessed protagonist' part of the apocalypse."

"Put it down, Jorah," Eira said quietly, never taking her eyes off Kael. "If he wanted us dead, he'd have done it already."

Kael's lips twitched. "She's right. Though, for the record, it's still an option."

Eira stood. "You're fighting him, aren't you?"

"I'm sharing with him." His eyes flickered between gold and silver. "He's in my mind. My memories. My voice. I can hear every thought he's ever had — and every one I never wanted to admit."

He stepped closer, and the air distorted. The ground beneath his feet cracked like thin ice.

"I remember every betrayal, every scream, every victory I pretended didn't cost me something," he said softly. "He feeds on it. Every time I think of the Six, he gets stronger."

Eira reached out carefully. "Then stop thinking about them."

Kael laughed bitterly. "That's like telling fire not to burn."

Behind them, the crystal slab pulsed again. The runes rearranged into new words:

To separate the reflection, one must return the wound to its source.

Eira's eyes widened. "That's it."

Jorah squinted. "In translation, please?"

She turned to Kael. "The Verge isn't just a prison — it's a scar. If we can reopen the exact moment the Chrono Blade first fractured, we can send Kieran back through it. Undo the split."

Kael frowned. "You're talking about rewriting the moment of my death."

"Yes."

"That would destroy the timeline."

"Maybe. But if we do nothing, he'll destroy you."

Kael's gaze darkened. He turned to the lake — the still, black mirror that had started it all. His reflection stared back, faint and shimmering.

For the first time, there was no movement. No smile. No whisper.

Just waiting.

Eira stepped beside him. "We'll anchor your mind to mine. Jorah will stabilize the field with the paradox stone. You'll have one shot."

Kael exhaled slowly. "And if I fail?"

"Then time collapses, existence implodes, and Jorah finally gets to say 'I told you so.'"

Jorah raised a hand. "Honestly? I'd rather not."

Kael chuckled faintly, a shadow of his old grin. "Alright, then."

He drew the Chrono Blade. The weapon thrummed with impossible power — a pulse that bent light and silence alike. "Let's fix what I broke."

Eira placed a hand over his. "You won't do it alone."

The air thickened. The runes blazed white-hot, spiraling upward like a vortex. The lake trembled, its surface rippling for the first time in centuries.

Kael took a step forward — and the world shuddered.

Visions bled through the light: the Six standing in the ruins of his empire, Kieran smiling through tears, Eira's voice calling his name. Time fractured, folding in on itself until every moment screamed at once.

Kieran's voice echoed from the darkness, filled with that familiar mocking calm.

"You really never learn, do you?"

Kael gritted his teeth. "No. I just get better at breaking things."

He drove the Chrono Blade into the ground.

The Verge screamed.

Light tore upward, splitting sky from soil. Every reflection shattered. Every echo collapsed inward. Kael felt himself pulled in two directions — one toward Eira's outstretched hand, the other toward the silver void where Kieran waited.

"Kael!" Eira shouted. "Hold on!"

"I can't—"

"Yes, you can!"

He reached for her — fingertips brushing —

And then the world flipped.

For a moment, there was nothing. No sound, no light, no sense of self. Just a weightless drift through shattered time.

Then—

Eira gasped, stumbling to her knees beside the still lake.

The runes were dark again. The world was quiet.

And Kael was gone.

Jorah's voice was small. "Please tell me he just teleported dramatically."

Eira didn't answer. Her hand trembled as she reached for the spot where he'd stood — still warm, still humming faintly with residual energy.

In the reflection, two figures shimmered faintly for a split second — Kael and Kieran — standing back to back in a place made of light and shadow. Then they vanished.

Eira closed her eyes. "He's still fighting."

Jorah knelt beside her. "Then we find a way to bring him back."

She nodded slowly. Her jaw tightened, resolve hardening like steel. "Even if we have to tear through every timeline to do it."

Above them, in the lake's reflection, the surface rippled once more — and a whisper drifted through the silence.

"Round two."

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