The sky screamed.
It was not a sound meant for ears. It cracked through marrow and memory, through the seams of what was and what had never been. The sky above the Maw tore open, not with light, not with darkness, but with something deeper: a memory waking.
Jack staggered back from the brink, breath ragged, the Blade of Echoes vibrating in his hand like it was trying to escape. His mind reeled—not from fear, but from recognition.
He had said those words.
He had ended the world.
Nyssa caught his arm before he fell again. Her eyes searched his face, storm-sworn and steady, but even she looked shaken.
"Tell me you're still you," she whispered.
"I don't know," Jack replied.
Behind them, the Hollowed had paused. As if even they feared what rose. As if the thing awakening was beyond them. Beyond death. Beyond purpose.
Kael stepped forward, sword flickering with spectral flame. "What are we facing?"
Jack turned to face the rift.
A figure stood within the tear.
Not a monster. Not yet.
A silhouette. Familiar. Wearing armor scorched black, etched with runes Jack didn't remember learning—but knew how to draw. A sword in its hand that matched the Blade of Echoes. Not a copy—the original.
The Watcher.
Jack's former self.
He spoke.
"I am the echo you cast across lifetimes."
Jack's lips moved in tandem, unintentionally—mouthing the same words at the same time.
"I am the price of your choices."
The First Flame did not bow. She stepped between them.
"You've come far, Jack," she said gently. "But the shadow of who you were won't fade unless you make it."
Jack's vision blurred. Flashes of another life.
Himself standing at the edge of a burning sea.
Lola weeping over a fallen comrade.
Nyssa, dead by his hand.
Kael, corrupted, calling him "Father."
It had happened. Once. In the cycle before.
"What did I do?" Jack whispered.
"You tried to save them," the First Flame replied. "And when they chose to die, you rewrote the world to force another ending."
Nyssa froze.
"You what?"
But Jack couldn't respond.
The Blade pulsed in his hand, no longer content to be passive. It pulled toward the rift, toward its former master—toward the self Jack had once been.
The Watcher spoke again.
"You are incomplete. I am what you cast aside to become mortal."
Lola stepped forward now, her sigils dimming. "He's not you anymore. That's what this was all for. To become more than a mistake."
The First Flame nodded. "And now comes the test."
The Blade erupted with light. It split in Jack's hand—four shards peeling free, spinning around him like moons around a dying sun.
Each one hummed with power. A piece of time. A piece of choice.
The First Flame's voice filled the world.
"Choose, Jack. Reclaim your former self—and end the world again. Or break the Blade."
Silence.
Even the Hollowed waited.
Jack looked at his friends. At Nyssa's trembling blade. At Kael's burning eyes. At Lola—fading now, too close to the divine.
He looked at the Watcher.
And then—he looked within.
He saw the boy he'd once been.
The child who'd watched his village burn.
The teen who'd run from destiny.
The man who'd borne too much weight.
And the god who'd tried to make it all right—by unmaking everything.
"I'm done running," Jack said.
He reached out—and took hold of all four shards.
Pain ripped through him. Reality twisted. He saw every timeline, every version of himself—some noble, some monstrous. All colliding in a single, agonizing scream.
He raised the Blade.
And made a choice.
He brought it down—not on the world.
But on himself.
The Blade shattered.
The Watcher screamed—and so did Jack.
Light exploded outward.
And the world held its breath.