The wind still smelled faintly of ash and metal.

Kael stood on the ridge overlooking the valley where the Forge had once been. Now there was only stillness—no ruins, no pulse of molten light, just a smooth scar of glass where time itself had melted and healed over. The silver grass around him swayed gently, oblivious to the fact that an entire era had just been rewritten.

Eira was the first to break the silence. "It's gone," she murmured. "All of it. The Forge, the Rift, the Timeweaver—everything."

Jorah crouched beside the glass-like plain, poking it with the tip of his dagger. "Yeah, and my sense of direction, apparently. Where even are we?"

Kael didn't answer. His hand was on the Chrono Blade's hilt. It was warm—too warm. The runes along the blade's edge flickered like a heartbeat fighting to stabilize.

Eira watched him carefully. "It's still connected to the Forge, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "No. Not anymore." Then, after a pause, he added quietly, "It's connected to me now."

Jorah let out a nervous laugh. "That's… not terrifying at all."

Kael ignored him, scanning the horizon. The world seemed subtly wrong—the colors too sharp, the shadows too slow. The sun hung a little too still in the sky, as if time were hesitant to move forward without permission.

"I can feel it," he said softly. "The flow's… rebuilding. But something's missing."

"Missing?" Eira's brow furrowed.

Kael gestured toward the distance. "Balance. The Timeweaver was part of the equation—creation and containment. Now that it's gone, time's rewriting itself without supervision."

Jorah stood, sheathing his dagger. "So… we basically killed the cosmic babysitter, and now the universe is home alone."

Eira shot him a look. "That's one way to put it."

Kael's expression darkened. "And when no one's watching time…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The air around them shimmered faintly, and for a brief moment, Kael saw himself—a ghostly echo standing a few feet away, mimicking his every move with a half-second delay. Then it flickered and vanished.

Eira exhaled slowly. "We're bleeding through timelines again."

"Yeah, well, maybe this one will come with a less homicidal version of me," Jorah muttered.

Kael turned away, eyes narrowing. "We can't stay here. The Forge's collapse tore a hole in the weave. If we're still inside its radius, we'll start splitting."

"Splitting?"

He met her gaze. "Versions. Fragments. We'll become echoes before the hour's over."

That was all Eira needed to hear. "Then we move."

They walked until the scarred land gave way to rolling plains and the faint outline of trees. The farther they got from the Forge's remains, the steadier the air became—less static, less wrong. By the time they reached the first ridge of the forest, color had returned to the world.

Eira stopped, catching her breath. "How far until we're safe?"

Kael glanced at the horizon again. "There's no such thing as safe anymore. Just further."

"Wonderful," Jorah muttered, flopping against a fallen log. "You know, when I joined this little time adventure, I was promised adventure and glory. Not cosmic PTSD."

Eira smirked despite herself. "That's what you get for following a man who argues with his sword."

Kael didn't rise to the joke. He was staring at the Blade again. The glow had dimmed now—almost calm—but he could still feel the whisper beneath the steel. A faint ticking. A heartbeat. A memory.

Do not release. Rewrite.

He could still hear it. The same voice from the Forge. The same temptation.

"Kael?" Eira's voice pulled him back.

He blinked, forcing a faint smile. "I'm fine."

"You're lying," she said.

He laughed quietly. "Probably."

The sound of movement drew their attention. From the treeline ahead, shadows began to emerge—figures wrapped in cloaks of pale grey, faces obscured. They moved silently, like smoke given purpose.

Eira tensed immediately. "Company."

Jorah sighed. "Of course. Because why rest when we can fight ghosts?"

Kael raised a hand to still them both. "Not ghosts. Guardians."

The figures halted several paces away. One of them stepped forward, lowering its hood. It was a woman—or at least something shaped like one. Her eyes shimmered with threads of light that twisted and rearranged themselves every few seconds, as if she were made from fractured time itself.

"Kael of the Blades," she said. Her voice was calm, but it echoed slightly—as though spoken from multiple points in the timeline at once. "You stand on the boundary of what remains."

Eira took a cautious step forward. "And who exactly are you?"

"We are the Continuum," the woman replied. "Keepers of what is left when balance breaks."

Jorah muttered, "I vote we stop breaking things, then."

Kael met the woman's gaze. "You felt the Forge collapse."

"We felt you collapse it," she corrected. "The Timeweaver's absence leaves a wound only a bearer can heal."

Kael frowned. "You want me to take its place?"

"No. You already have."

The words hit him like a blade to the chest. "What?"

"When you struck the Forge," the Continuum leader said, "you didn't destroy its power. You absorbed it. The moment you chose to rewrite, you became the anchor of causality. The living tether."

Eira's voice dropped. "Meaning… what?"

Kael stared at the ground. "Meaning if I die…"

"The threads unravel," the woman finished. "Time ends."

Silence.

Even Jorah didn't have a joke for that one.

Finally, Kael sighed, a tired smile breaking through. "You know, for a guy who just wanted to fix his mistakes, I'm really bad at staying out of trouble."

Eira's hand brushed his shoulder. "You're not alone in this."

He looked at her—really looked. The determination in her eyes, the steadiness in her voice. And for the first time since the Forge, he let himself laugh.

It wasn't bitter. It wasn't broken. Just… human.

Jorah frowned. "You're laughing? Now?"

Kael nodded, still chuckling. "Yeah. Because if I don't, I'll start screaming."

The Continuum leader inclined her head. "The storm is not over, Kael of the Blades. It merely waits for your command."

Kael sheathed his sword slowly. "Then let it wait."

He turned toward the horizon—where faint lightning shimmered far away, not of the sky but of something deeper, older.

"We've been running from fate since the first blade was forged," he said. "Maybe it's time we start chasing it instead."

Eira grinned. "You realize how insane that sounds, right?"

"Of course," Kael said, his eyes glinting. "That's why it'll work."

The wind rose, carrying the scent of rain and echoes of thunder.

Somewhere beyond the clouds, the next paradox was already forming—

and Kael was ready to meet it with a laugh.

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