Callum stood at the edge of a black ocean.
There was no sky—only a vast dome of stars that did not move. No moon, no sun. Only stillness, and the slow, rhythmic pull of the tide.
Waves whispered like secrets. Each crash carried echoes of voices long buried. The pull of the tide wasn't just physical—it was emotional, psychic. A gentle coaxing toward something deeper. Something dangerous.
A boat waited offshore—carved from obsidian, etched with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Its sails shimmered like woven starlight, though there was no wind.
Callum didn't remember stepping into it.
But he sailed.
Seconds bled into hours. Or perhaps hours bled into seconds.
Time didn't move here. Memory did.
The ocean became a mirror.
He saw Samantha—crying—as he turned away from her at the Sanctum gates.
He saw Kai—screaming, lunging to stop him as he stepped into fire.
He saw Marcus—punching stone, whispering, "Where are you? We need you."
