The world was ending—again.
Jack stood at the edge of the Maw, the Blade of Echoes alive in his grip, pulsing not just with power but with memory. Around him, the remnants of his companions gathered in silence: Nyssa, wounded but unyielding; Kael, his soul flickering between light and shadow; Marek, bloodied and defiant; and Lola, her skin etched with fading flame-runes, her eyes distant as if watching something none of them could see.
Above, the sky had shattered.
A void bled from the heavens, spilling celestial flame and endless dark. And from its center, something descended.
It wore Jack's face.
No—his face. But not his now. Older. Scarred. Regal and broken, the kind of man forged through centuries of war and regret. He hovered above the Maw like judgment incarnate, cloaked in shadows that swirled like forgotten dreams.
"You have come far," the being said. "Too far."
Jack stepped forward. "I know who you are now."
The figure nodded. "Then you know why this must end."
"I do. But I won't let it end like you did."
The figure smiled. Not with cruelty—but with sorrow. "There is no other way."
"Then I'll make one."
The Blade of Echoes ignited, singing like a chorus of broken timelines stitched together. The Shards fused into its core flared with power, and the ground beneath Jack's feet rippled with raw memory.
Lola stepped beside him. "We stand with you. For whatever comes next."
Kael didn't speak. He simply lifted his sword, which now gleamed with the same starfire that once lit Aevareth.
Nyssa cracked her neck. "Let's rewrite fate."
The figure that was Jack—once—raised his hand.
The world tore open.