Time collapsed inward.
From the fracture in reality, a bridge formed—not of stone or steel, but of memory. Each step they took upon it was laced with echoes of their past: Kaelen's first kill, Nova's failed prototype, Lysara's forbidden oath, Seojun's silent promise at a graveside.
On the other end waited a figure.
He stood motionless, cloaked in robes stitched from dying stars, and eyes like twin singularities. The moment he opened his mouth, the bridge shook.
"You tread on threads not meant for mortals."
Kaelen drew his blade instinctively. "Are you the Keeper of Time?"
"No," the being said, stepping forward. "I am the Keeper of What Should Not Be."
The realm around them trembled as countless broken possibilities leaked from his presence—worlds where Kaelen never met Nova, realities where Lysara never left her throne, futures where everything had already burned.
Nova stepped ahead. "We're here to restore the stolen era. The Source sent us."
The Keeper studied them. "To restore is to erase what replaced it. Are you prepared to kill a timeline that believes itself real?"
They hesitated.
"I offer a deal," he continued. "Give me one memory you hold most sacred. In return, I will show you the way forward—to the cradle where the Locus of Time lies hidden."
They looked at each other, unsure.
Then Seojun stepped forward.
He removed a locket from around his neck—the last image of his sister—and held it out, trembling.
"My memory," he whispered, "for the future."
The Keeper reached out.
The locket dissolved into threads of light.
Instantly, a path of stardust lit up behind him, stretching into an endless horizon where a sun beat backward in the sky.
"Then walk, mortals," the Keeper intoned.
"And beware: from this point on, time bleeds."