The campfire burned low. Sparks drifted into the evening mist like tiny comets, dying midair. The world around them was still—too still. Even the stars seemed to be holding their breath.

Kael sat a few feet away from the fire, staring into it like the flames might answer all the questions still twisting inside him. Eira sat across from him, her knees drawn up, chin resting on them. Jorah had already fallen asleep, sprawled halfway out of his bedroll, snoring like someone who had earned the right to stop pretending to be brave.

For a while, none of them spoke.

Then Eira broke the silence. "You're quiet. That's usually when something's breaking inside your head."

Kael gave a faint snort. "Or when I'm trying not to say something stupid."

"Oh?" Her eyes glimmered in the firelight. "That must take effort."

He smiled—softly, genuinely this time. "You've no idea."

It was the kind of silence that wasn't empty. The kind where every breath felt like a confession waiting to happen. Kael leaned back against his pack, the Chrono Blade—no, what was left of it—resting beside him, dull and fractured. Its faint hum had gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness that seemed wrong somehow, like a missing heartbeat.

Eira's gaze drifted to it. "Do you… feel different? Without it?"

Kael hesitated, then nodded. "Like part of me finally shut up. And another part's terrified of what comes next."

She smiled faintly. "Welcome to being human."

He looked at her then—really looked. Her hair was tangled from travel, her eyes tired but alive. He'd seen her across a thousand timelines, in a hundred different ways, and yet somehow this version—the one that had survived—felt more real than all the others combined.

"Eira," he began quietly, "if this is really… the end of everything before—"

She cut him off gently. "Then it's a beginning. Don't ruin it with your guilt."

Kael chuckled under his breath. "You make it sound easy."

"It isn't." Her voice softened. "But maybe it doesn't have to be impossible."

Their eyes met—briefly, dangerously. Something passed between them: not quite a promise, not quite a mistake. Just a fragile awareness that both of them were still here when they shouldn't be.

Kael looked away first. "If Jorah wakes up and sees this, he's going to start making jokes."

Eira smirked. "Then let him. It'll mean we're finally boring again."

They both laughed quietly, and the fire cracked like it agreed.

For a moment, Kael allowed himself to believe it—peace. A world without echoes. Without time collapsing in on itself.

But then, somewhere far beyond the camp, a sound broke the night.

Tick.

It was faint. Distant. Like a clock hand striking glass.

Kael froze.

Eira frowned. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah," Kael said slowly, standing up. "But there shouldn't be any clocks here."

They listened. The forest beyond the fire was motionless, shadows bending slightly in the wind that wasn't blowing. Then—again—

Tick.

This time, closer.

Kael's pulse quickened. The broken Blade at his side gave off a faint, dying pulse, as if reacting to something it shouldn't recognize.

Eira rose beside him. "Please tell me that's not—"

"I don't know," Kael said quietly. "But it sounds like time forgot it was supposed to be dead."

They stood there, side by side, watching the darkness ripple at the edge of the trees. Then, just as suddenly, the ticking stopped.

Silence returned. Heavy. Watchful.

Jorah snored again, blissfully unaware.

Kael exhaled, tension easing only slightly. "Maybe it's nothing."

Eira gave him a look. "Since when is anything 'nothing' around you?"

He didn't answer. He just sat back down, staring into the dying fire again, his reflection flickering faintly in the embers.

For an instant, he could've sworn the reflection blinked before he did.

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