The man's name was Ash.
He did not introduce himself.
Names, Elias was learning, were invitations.
Ash stood with his hands in his coat pockets, dates stitched along the seams like scars that refused to fade. Elias recognized some of them instantly—years that should not coexist, centuries brushing shoulders like strangers on a train.
"You're early," Ash said pleasantly.
Elias felt the city tighten around them.
The Arbiter shifted, its scrolling text accelerating.
ENTITY STATUS: UNRESOLVED.
Ash glanced at it. "Still pretending you're neutral?"
The Arbiter said nothing.
Mara moved closer to Elias. "Don't listen to him."
Ash smiled. "She says that every time."
Elias turned sharply. "Every time what?"
Ash's eyes flicked to Mara, then back. "Every iteration."
The word landed like a dropped blade.
Mara's jaw tightened. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Ash replied gently. "How many times have you died now?"
Silence.
Elias felt something hollow out inside him.
"Mara," he said.
She didn't look at him.
Ash continued, conversational. "She's what we call a fixed echo. Time keeps her because she's useful. She remembers just enough to guide the anchor. Never enough to stop him."
Mara shook her head. "You're lying."
Ash shrugged. "Ask him how many times you've warned him."
Elias's memories twitched—ghost impressions, déjà vu sharpened into pain. Mara grabbing his arm. Mara screaming his name. Mara dying.
Over and over.
"You let her die," Elias whispered.
Ash corrected him. "You let her end."
The city screamed again.
Not collapsing this time.
Stabilizing.
Ash's presence smoothed the fractures, sealed bleeding cracks with frightening efficiency.
"What are you?" Elias demanded.
Ash considered. "A cleaner. When anchors hesitate, when systems stall, I finish the work."
"You erase people."
Ash nodded. "I end endings that refuse to stay ended. Wars. Civilizations. Gods."
The Arbiter's text flared red.
PROTOCOL CONFLICT.
Ash smiled wider. "See? Even it knows I'm necessary."
Mara stepped between them. "He's not ready."
Ash's gaze softened. "You said that before too."
He looked at Elias.
"Do you know what happens next?" Ash asked. "You'll get better. Faster. Colder. You'll start choosing efficiency over mercy every time."
Elias said nothing.
"And one day," Ash continued, "you'll look at the world and realize it would be kinder if it ended."
The sky darkened.
Elias felt a new pull—stronger than before. Not from time.
From Ash.
"Don't," Mara whispered.
Ash stepped closer.
"Come with me," he said. "I'll teach you how to finish things cleanly."
Two futures bloomed.
In one, Elias followed Ash. The city vanished. Billions slept peacefully into nothing.
In the other, Elias stayed. Time tore itself apart trying to keep up with his mercy.
Elias looked at Mara.
At the fear in her eyes.
At the certainty in Ash's.
"I won't become you," Elias said.
Ash nodded, unsurprised. "Not yet."
He stepped backward—and vanished.
The city convulsed.
Mara collapsed.
Elias caught her.
She was bleeding.
Not from a wound.
From years.
Her skin aged rapidly in his arms, wrinkles blooming, hair whitening, breath shortening.
"No," Elias said. "No, no, no—"
The Arbiter spoke softly.
ECHO FAILURE IMMINENT.
Elias looked up, rage blazing.
"Fix her."
UNAUTHORIZED.
He felt the city waiting.
Time waiting.
Elias made a choice.
The world screamed.