Morning arrived without warmth.

The sun rose, but it felt distant—like a promise spoken too far away to trust. Light spilled into the canyon in thin, pale ribbons, touching stone and skin without truly settling. Jorah noticed it immediately.

Something was wrong.

He lay half-awake near the dying fire, shoulder aching dully beneath Lira's careful binding. The pain should have been sharper. Pain usually was. But this felt… muted. As though the world itself was cushioning the sensation.

He sat up slowly.

The canyon was too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that followed danger passing. This silence was stretched tight, humming faintly beneath the surface, like glass about to crack.

Eira was already awake.

She stood at the edge of the camp, eyes closed, palms open as if feeling for something in the air. Her brow was furrowed—not in concentration, but concern.

Kael watched her from across the fire.

He hadn't slept.

Jorah knew the signs now: the stillness, the way Kael's hand rested too close to the Chrono Blade even at rest, the faint tension coiled beneath his calm.

Lira noticed too. She always did.

"You feel it," she said quietly, joining Eira.

Eira opened her eyes. "Yes."

Kael stood. "Say it."

"The fractures," Eira said. "They're widening."

Jorah sighed. "Of course they are."

He pushed himself to his feet, wincing. Lira's hand came up instinctively, steadying him. He didn't pull away.

Progress.

"What kind of widening?" Jorah asked. "Hairline cracks or 'reality is about to punch us in the face' cracks?"

Eira hesitated.

Kael answered for her. "The second one."

The words settled heavily.

They packed camp in silence, movements efficient but tense. No one joked. No one rushed. The canyon seemed to watch them go, shadows clinging too long to their heels as they left.

They didn't make it a mile before the first sign appeared.

It was subtle—almost ignorable.

Almost.

The road ahead shimmered.

Not heat-haze. Not magic residue.

Time-haze.

The air bent inward, folding slightly like fabric pulled too tight. Pebbles near the distortion trembled, lifting briefly before dropping again.

Kael stopped short.

"Everyone stay back."

Jorah muttered, "I hate when you say that."

Kael stepped forward alone.

The Chrono Blade thrummed at his side, reacting before he touched it. As Kael approached the distortion, images flickered within it—brief, violent flashes.

A city burning.

A tower collapsing.

Eira screaming his name.

Kael staggered back as if struck.

Eira caught him. "What did you see?"

"Possible futures," he said tightly. "Or discarded ones."

Lira swallowed. "That's… new."

"No," Kael said. "That's the Source."

The name landed like a blade on stone.

Jorah's jaw tightened. "I thought we dealt with that thing."

"We hurt it," Kael corrected. "We disrupted its hold. But it was never gone."

Eira's voice dropped. "It's learning."

They moved faster after that.

The land beyond the canyon bore scars now—fields warped into uneven spirals, trees growing at impossible angles, rivers flowing uphill for several heartbeats before correcting themselves. Villages stood intact, but people moved with unease, glancing over shoulders they didn't understand.

In one town, a woman stared straight at Kael as he passed.

Her eyes widened.

"…You," she whispered.

Kael froze.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said. "I remember you dying."

The street went silent.

Eira stepped forward instantly. "You're mistaken."

The woman shook her head violently. "No. I saw it. Everyone did. He fell. The sky cracked. And now—"

Her voice broke.

"You came back wrong."

Kael felt it then—a tug in his chest, sharp and cold. The familiar pull of erasure trying to reassert itself.

Jorah moved without thinking, placing himself between Kael and the woman.

"That's enough," he said firmly. "You're scaring yourself."

The woman blinked, confusion washing over her features. "I… what was I saying?"

Eira guided her gently away.

Kael exhaled shakily.

Lira watched him with new understanding. "It's not just attacking the world," she said. "It's attacking you."

"Yes," Kael said quietly. "I'm the proof it can be beaten."

They didn't stop until dusk.

They reached a high ridge overlooking a fractured plain. In the distance, the sky pulsed faintly—like a massive heart beating beneath the clouds.

Kael stared at it, something grim settling into his bones.

"That's where it's gathering," he said.

Eira joined him. "You're certain."

"Yes."

Jorah leaned on his sword. "So… end of the road?"

Kael shook his head. "Beginning of the end."

They made camp there, though no one truly rested. Even the stars looked wrong—too bright in places, dim in others.

Later, as the others slept fitfully, Kael sat alone at the ridge.

Eira joined him without a word.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, close but not touching, watching the distant pulse of the Source's influence ripple through the sky.

"I'm afraid," Kael said suddenly.

She didn't flinch. "I know."

"Not of dying," he continued. "Of surviving this and not recognizing the world afterward."

Eira turned toward him. "The world has always changed. You just notice it more now."

He smiled faintly. "You always make it sound simple."

"It isn't," she said softly. "But you don't face it alone."

Silence stretched between them—comfortable, heavy with unspoken things.

Below them, unseen, threads shifted.

The Source watched.

It felt Kael's fear. His resolve. Jorah's newly anchored thread. Lira's growing connection. Eira's unwavering presence.

Variables.

Too many variables.

The Source began to move.

The sky pulsed brighter.

Far away, something screamed as time tore itself open.

Eira felt it first.

She stood sharply. "Kael."

He was already on his feet.

Jorah rolled up, sword in hand. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

The ground trembled.

The shadows stretched unnaturally long.

Kael's voice was steady, but his eyes burned.

"It's begun."

Above them, the stars flickered—

and one by one, went dark.

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