The world didn't break all at once.

It fractured quietly.

Kael noticed it first in the mornings—when the sun rose a fraction too late, or the shadows leaned in directions they shouldn't. Time still moved forward, but it limped, like it remembered pain.

They stood on the ridge overlooking what should have been the eastern plains. The land stretched wide and green, but thin cracks of silver light threaded through the soil, pulsing faintly like veins beneath skin.

Jorah crouched, poking one with the tip of his boot.

The ground hissed.

He yanked his foot back. "Yep. Still hate that."

Eira folded her arms, her gaze distant and troubled. "These weren't here before."

Kael nodded. He could feel them—every fracture tugged at him, resonating deep in his chest like a wrong note played too close to the heart.

"They're scars," he said quietly. "Leftover from when the world tried to forget me."

Jorah straightened. "You say that like it's a casual inconvenience."

Kael didn't answer.

They'd been traveling for three days now, following distortions only Kael could sense. Towns stood where they remembered them—but people hesitated when they spoke to him. Names slipped from minds. Faces frowned, uncertain, as if he were a word on the tip of the tongue.

Not erased.

Just… unstable.

In the village of Thorne's Crossing, a child had pointed at him and asked, "Why does he flicker?"

Eira had taken Kael's hand then. Just briefly. Enough to steady him.

Now, she watched him carefully. "You're quieter today."

"Am I?" Kael asked.

She nodded. "You get quiet when you're listening to things you don't want to hear."

Jorah snorted. "She's annoyingly good at that."

Kael allowed a faint smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "The world's still adjusting. Every place we pass through—something's wrong. Memories misaligned. Events reshuffled."

"Give me an example," Jorah said.

Kael exhaled slowly. "In this timeline, the Black Spire never fell."

Eira stiffened. "That's impossible. We destroyed it."

"Not here," Kael replied. "Here, it collapsed on its own. Ten years earlier. Different cause. Different survivors."

Jorah cursed under his breath. "So the world didn't just forget you. It rewrote around you."

"Yes."

"And that rewrite is… leaking," Eira finished.

Kael met her gaze. "Exactly

They moved on, descending toward the river valley below. Water flowed normally—but reflections lagged half a second behind movement. Kael knelt, watching his face ripple in the surface, then blur.

For a moment, another face stared back.

Younger. Bloodied. Eyes hollow with betrayal.

Kael jerked back, breath sharp.

Eira was beside him instantly. "What did you see?"

He swallowed. "A version of me that shouldn't exist anymore."

Jorah's humor vanished. "The erased one."

Kael nodded.

The Archivist's warning echoed in his mind: Erased things do not disappear. They wait.

That night, they camped beneath a sky stitched with too many stars. The fire burned blue at the edges, unstable.

Jorah took first watch.

Kael sat across from Eira, sharpening the Chrono Blade more out of habit than need. The blade hummed softly, uneasy.

"You're blaming yourself," Eira said.

He didn't look up. "I broke time."

"You saved it."

"Both can be true."

She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his. The contact was light—but intentional.

"You didn't ask to die," she said softly. "You didn't ask to be erased."

Kael finally met her eyes. "But I survived it. And survival always has consequences."

Silence stretched between them—thick with everything unsaid. The fire crackled, momentarily real.

Then—

A scream tore through the night.

Kael was on his feet instantly. Jorah swore, drawing his weapon. The sound came again—closer this time, distorted, like it was being dragged through layers of reality.

They ran.

The forest ahead warped as they moved, trees stretching and compressing. At the center of a clearing stood a man—knees in the dirt, clutching his head.

"No," the man sobbed. "It didn't happen like that—he didn't die—I didn't—"

Kael froze.

He knew that voice.

"Alren," Kael whispered.

The man looked up.

And screamed.

"You're dead!"

The sound ripped through the clearing, triggering a shockwave that fractured the air itself. Kael staggered as images slammed into his mind—memories that weren't his, histories rewritten, lies layered over truth.

Alren scrambled backward, terror etched into his face. "I watched you die! I made sure of it!"

Eira stepped in front of Kael, blade raised. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

Kael shook his head slowly.

"No," he said. "He knows exactly what he did."

The ground trembled. Light bled from the cracks beneath Alren's feet, wrapping around him like chains made of memory.

Jorah's voice was tight. "Kael… this feels like a warning."

Kael stared at Alren—the first betrayer, alive in this fractured world, his guilt leaking into reality itself.

"Yes," Kael said softly.

"It is."

The light surged, and Alren vanished—pulled screaming into the fractures below.

The clearing went still.

Eira turned slowly to Kael. "You didn't do that."

Kael looked at his hands. They were shaking.

"No," he said. "But the world remembered."

Jorah exhaled shakily. "So that's how this is going to go, isn't it?"

Kael lifted his gaze to the broken sky.

"Someone's pulling at the threads," he said. "And they're using my death as leverage."

Eira stepped closer, her voice fierce. "Then we stop them."

Kael nodded.

But deep inside, something else stirred—not rage.

Recognition.

The past wasn't done with him.

And soon, he would have to face it—on his own terms.

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