The wind smelled like thunder and molten stone.

Kael stood on the jagged cliffside, the horizon ahead split by streaks of silver lightning that fell upward instead of down. Below him stretched the ruins of a city swallowed by time itself—a valley of blackened towers, all frozen mid-collapse, as if reality had paused halfway through destroying it.

Eira stepped up beside him, pulling her cloak tighter. "You sure this is the place?"

Kael's gaze remained fixed on the trembling horizon. "The Verge pointed us here. The Blade's reacting to it."

He held the Chrono Blade up. The weapon hummed faintly, its edge glowing with pulsing veins of light that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Behind them, Jorah crouched by a half-buried statue, squinting at the glyphs carved into its surface. "Huh. You know, when I pictured the 'First Forge,' I thought it'd look… less like someone tried to melt time with a hammer."

Eira gave him a look. "That's… not completely wrong."

"Yeah, but if this is where the Blades were born, I don't wanna see the nursery," Jorah said, brushing dust from his hands.

Kael stepped forward. The ground beneath him groaned, sending ripples through the air. "Careful. The laws here aren't stable. Time's still fractured."

"Define 'unstable,'" Jorah muttered.

Kael glanced at him. "Step wrong and you might fall into next week."

Jorah froze. "Okay. Noted."

The three moved carefully down the slope, their reflections bending and warping in the fractured light. The city below loomed larger with every step—an impossible construct of stone and metal, built by something that understood both architecture and eternity.

At its heart stood a colossal forge. It floated several feet above the ground, suspended by invisible force. Chains of light connected it to broken pillars, their ends anchored in thin air. Every few seconds, the forge pulsed like a heartbeat, sending ripples of silver fire into the world.

Eira's voice softened. "It's beautiful."

Kael's grip tightened on his sword. "It's dangerous."

They crossed a bridge of glass—cracked, but solid. The moment Kael's foot touched the platform before the forge, the world shifted.

Reality wavered.

He blinked—and suddenly, he was not standing on stone anymore. He was in the middle of a vast chamber, surrounded by fire and shadow.

Eira and Jorah appeared beside him, flickering in and out like ghosts.

Then the voice came.

"Another bearer arrives."

It was neither male nor female. Neither distant nor near. It spoke like thunder made from memory.

A figure emerged from the forge.

It was tall—taller than any mortal—its body made of smoke and shining brass, its face hidden behind a mask of molten glass. Lines of runes crawled across its limbs, pulsing with rhythmic light. When it moved, time itself seemed to stutter around it.

Eira reached for her weapon. "Is that—?"

Kael nodded once. "The Timeweaver."

The being turned its head toward him. "You wield the Blades of Paradox. Instruments of creation… and betrayal."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "You made them."

"I forged them," the Timeweaver said. "But I did not intend them for mortal hands."

Kael took a step forward. "Then why did they end up in ours?"

The forge pulsed brighter. "Because your kind are thieves of moments. You reach beyond your span, demanding eternity. The Blades heard your hunger—and answered."

Eira frowned. "You make it sound like they're alive."

"They are," the Timeweaver said, voice like echoing flame. "Each one born from a fragment of time itself. The Chrono Blades were never meant to serve mortals. They were meant to judge them."

Jorah groaned. "Great. So my sword's basically a divine lawsuit waiting to happen."

Kael ignored him, gaze fixed on the being. "Then what's the purpose of all this? Why send me back? Why tear the world apart?"

The Timeweaver studied him for a long, endless moment. "Because you broke the cycle."

Kael stiffened. "You mean… when I rewound everything."

"Yes." The forge flared again. "You shattered the equilibrium between cause and consequence. Your will bent time's spine—and it has yet to straighten."

Eira stepped closer to Kael, her voice steady. "Then how do we fix it?"

The being's head tilted. "By doing what you mortals never do."

Kael's tone darkened. "Which is?"

"Let go."

The air thickened.

Kael's grip on the Blade tightened. "You want me to destroy it."

"Not destroy," the Timeweaver said softly. "Release. The Chrono Blades were meant to guide the flow, not dominate it. But when your kind use them to rewrite what must remain written…" Its glowing eyes flickered. "The fabric unravels."

Jorah rubbed the back of his neck. "So basically, the swords are like… time bombs with ego issues."

The Timeweaver ignored him. "The Blades hunger for balance. For an end."

Kael's mind raced. Destroy the Blades? After everything they've endured for me? After everything I've done because of them?

Eira saw the hesitation. "Kael—"

But before she could finish, the Blade in Kael's hand began to hum louder.

The runes along its edge flared. Then—like a reflection splitting—it spoke.

Not aloud, but within him.

You are not finished.

Kael froze. "What—"

The forge screamed. Light exploded outward as the Chrono Blade tore itself from his grasp, flying toward the Timeweaver.

The being raised a hand—and the sword stopped midair, trembling violently.

Eira shouted, reaching for Kael, but the air between them fractured. Kael staggered, thrown into a swirl of collapsing time.

Memories flickered through him—Eira's laughter, Kieran's betrayal, Horizon's madness, Alren's dying breath. Every version of himself screamed across eternity.

And through it all, the Blade's voice whispered again.

Do not release. Rewrite.

The Timeweaver's voice boomed. "You dare defy balance again, mortal?"

Kael grit his teeth. "You think balance ever existed?"

The air cracked like glass. Kael reached into the storm, his hand closing around the Blade's hilt once more. Power surged through him—raw, unstoppable.

He looked the Timeweaver dead in the eyes. "If time has rules, I'm rewriting them."

The being's mask flared with molten light. "Then you condemn yourself."

"Maybe," Kael said quietly, "but at least it'll be my choice."

He swung.

The Chrono Blade carved through the air—and through time. The forge screamed, light bending inward. The Timeweaver staggered, its form breaking apart into fragments of gold and shadow.

Eira's voice cut through the chaos. "Kael!"

He turned just in time to see the forge collapsing—chains of light snapping one by one. The city below began to fade, buildings flickering like dying stars.

"Go!" Kael shouted. "Get clear!"

Eira hesitated only a second before grabbing Jorah's arm. "Come on!"

Kael stayed. He turned back to the dissolving figure of the Timeweaver.

Its voice was faint, fading. "You cannot undo what you are."

Kael's eyes softened. "I'm not trying to. I'm just trying to live with it."

Then the world imploded.

—

When the light died, Kael was kneeling in a field of silver grass beneath an unfamiliar sky.

Eira was beside him, breathing hard. Jorah lay flat on his back, muttering, "If this is heaven, it's way too bright."

Kael looked up. In the distance, where the ruins had been, only a faint shimmer remained—like a wound healing.

Eira touched his shoulder. "Did we… win?"

Kael stared at the horizon. "No. We reset."

The Blade at his side pulsed softly, its glow subdued but steady.

He rose slowly. "The Forge is gone. The Timeweaver too. But something's changed."

Eira frowned. "Changed how?"

Kael looked at his reflection in the Blade's surface. For a moment, he saw not one face—but many. All the Kaels that had been.

"Time's moving on its own again," he said finally. "But it's not done with us yet."

Jorah groaned, sitting up. "Wonderful. I can't wait to not sleep again."

Kael actually laughed—a small, tired sound. "Get used to it. We just rewrote the rules."

He looked to the horizon one last time.

Somewhere out there, new timelines were forming. New enemies. New consequences.

And for the first time, Kael didn't fear them.

He sheathed the Chrono Blade, the edge gleaming faintly under the fractured sun.

"Let's go," he said. "We've

still got a universe to fix."

The wind rose behind them, carrying the echo of a forge that would never burn again—

and the faintest whisper of gears turning once more.

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