Westen handed a soul crystal to Madelina.
It was smooth in her palm—cool, but not cold. As she brought it closer, she could see the mist inside moving slowly, hypnotically. The closer she looked, the more alive it seemed.
She followed his instructions and raised the orb to her glabella.
The moment it touched her skin, a sharp chill passed through her forehead. Then a strange warmth spread behind her eyes—like something crawling inside, yet not invasive. Just... present.
A tingling followed. Subtle, constant. It lasted only a few seconds before fading.
When she pulled the crystal away and looked at it again, the swirling mist inside had changed—it was now a gentle blue.
"Must be the color of my soul,"
She thought.
She glanced toward Westen, who had already synchronized his own. His crystal had turned white.
Curious, Madelina asked,
"Why the glabella specifically?"
Westen tapped his own forehead lightly and answered,
"That's where the soul concentrates. It's scattered across the body, yes—but this is the hub. The center."
No dramatics. Just fact.
He stepped back to the monitor, glancing at the lines of code still running.
"Now then,"
He said, rolling his shoulders,
"let's finish what we started. With the soul problem gone, it'll be easy. We just need to anchor the regression point to 33 years ago—and it's done."
They worked quietly for the next few hours. Time passed in silence, broken only by the hum of the lab and the soft clacking of keys.
Finally, Westen stood.
He looked toward Madelina and said,
"Call the others. We're ready."
She nodded, pulled out her phone, and dialed.
A few minutes later, the main gate slid open. The five girls entered, alert, cautious. Their eyes scanned the room like they expected another ambush.
Westen didn't react. He simply nodded toward Madelina.
Before they got too close, he said quietly,
"Tell them you created the soul crystals. No need for questions."
Madelina didn't argue. She understood immediately.
She turned to the others and began explaining.
"These are called soul crystals. You'll synchronize them with your soul. Just place them here,"
She gestured to her forehead,
"and let the crystal bind to you. If anything happens during regression—these will protect your soul."
She didn't mention where they came from. Or who made them. Just what mattered.
The girls did as instructed. One by one, they pressed the smooth spheres to their glabella. Each crystal reacted, pulsing faintly as the color inside shifted—violet, green, gold, silver, amber—one for each soul.
They were awed, but didn't question further. They knew time was short.
Westen stood in front of the main terminal.
His fingers flew across the console. The screens came alive.
In the center of the chamber, the time machine activated—a circular platform surrounded by rising pillars of coiled metal and runic plates, humming louder with each second.
It resembled the setup from old Endgame blueprints, though far more raw. Industrial. Brutal.
No sleek finish. Just cold function.
It was time.
***
The machine was embedded into the wall — a towering arc of metal and mana-reactive alloy, humming with a low, distorted frequency. Strange runes glowed faintly across its frame, pulsing like a heartbeat. Tubes and conduits slithered into the walls around it like veins, carrying the weight of time itself.
A single raised platform stood before the machine — a landing pad of sorts, illuminated from above by a cold, sterile light.
Madelina stepped forward first, her crystal in hand. She stood in the center of the platform, back straight, eyes calm.
She turned to the others and repeated,
"The moment you enter the time loop... you must kill yourselves. That will allow space-time to fully deconstruct your body and synchronize your soul with the past self."
Her words hung heavy in the air.
Suddenly, a quiet hiss of energy drew their attention.
They turned.
Westen was in the far corner of the lab, one hand extended. A quiet crimson-black light bloomed in his palm — not erratic or violent, but still impossibly dense. Destruction, tamed and precise.
He pressed it gently into the wall, etching a swirling pattern of energy that began eating through the reinforced structure.
"What are you doing?"
Kyra asked, stepping forward warily.
He didn't look back.
"We don't want someone else tracking this place down, hopping back through time, and screwing everything up, now do we?"
He glanced toward Madelina.
"Besides, it'll help keep some secrets... secret. Especially the great Madelina's. People are still after her brain."
No further words.
He summoned a sword — thin, obsidian in shape, glowing with the same crimson-black hue.
Without hesitation, he stabbed himself in the heart.
His body exploded.
There was no sound — just a flash. A silent, imploding burst. Blood vaporized in the heat of the energy, never touching the ground.
Where he stood moments ago, only two things remained:
– a soul crystal, now glowing white, and
– a tight sphere of destructive energy, pulsing faintly.
The soul crystal trembled, then shot directly into the time arc. It vanished into the portal without resistance. Alone with the crimson-black sphere. Like a child running after their mother but the size was opposite.
The others stood frozen. Then a voice came — calm, sarcastic, and far too casual.
"What? Aryoka's just going to stand there?"
They turned again.
Westen was still there — or rather, something that looked like him. An echo. A sliver of consciousness, leaning lazily against the far monitor bank.
He pointed to the portal, which was now flickering violently with growing instability.
"That thing won't hold for long. Go."
Madelina turned toward him, eyes narrowed.
"How are you still here?"
"Just a part of me,"
Westen replied.
"Don't worry. It'll dissolve after you're gone. I just stayed back to make sure this place gets reduced to ash after you're clear."
"Now go."
One by one, the others stepped onto the platform. They took a deep breath, then jumped into the swirling portal of time.
Inside the tunnel — everything vanished.
***
There was no ground. No sky. Just motion.
Time itself twisted and spiraled — infinite colors bleeding into each other, forming fractals, lines, and collapsing spirals. Streaks of white lightning raced beside them, illuminating broken moments — flashes of pasts not theirs, of futures undone.
A pressure weighed on their soul.
Not pain, but presence.
Then, as planned, each one drew a blade — not forged of destruction, but steel. Mundane. Real.
And each stabbed their own heart.
Their bodies broke down instantly the moment they diedand the natural protection wore off, unable to resist the pull of time and paradox. They didn't fall.
They simply ceased.
The soul crystals caught them — inhaling their very being like mist drawn into glass.
Time bent.
They vanished.
***
A sprawling, peaceful metropolis stretched across the horizon. No signs of chaos. No monsters. No war. No destruction.
Just life.
Neon signs. Hovering cars. Distant music from highrise apartments. Laughter echoing down well-lit streets.
And no one noticed...
Six glowing orbs, the size of pigeon eggs, floated silently across the night sky. Soul crystals — aimless yet guided.
Each trembled once, then diverged.
They scattered like meteors.
***
In different parts of the city, six teenage girls slept soundly in their beds — unaware of who they would one day become.
The soul crystals hovered above each of their heads, then aligned with pinpoint precision to the glabella — the center of the soul's focus.
In perfect silence, each crystal shattered midair.
White smoke — each colored slightly with their owner's soul — spiraled inward, merging into their younger selves.
A breathless second passed.
The girls didn't stir.
They simply fell deeper into sleep.
Their eyes fluttered. Their breathing changed. But the world around them remained unaware.
And the first day of regression had begun.
-To Be Continued