For a long moment, no one said anything. The wind didn't move. The mountain didn't speak. Elias stood where reality had split, hands behind his back, like he'd stepped out of a conversation that hadn't happened yet.
Alaric's face didn't change, but everything behind his eyes had shifted.
"You're not real," he said, his voice flat. "You were erased. I made sure of it."
Elias smiled. It wasn't wide or mocking—it was calm, the kind of calm that didn't need approval. "And yet, here I am. You always did underestimate recursion layers."
Mira stepped forward, her voice tight. "Who the hell is this?"
Alaric didn't take his eyes off Elias. "He was my handler. Before the Crowns, before the first memory thread. He trained me. Or shaped me. Depends on how much you want to blame me for what I became."
Kaelion tilted his head, frowning. "Wait—wait, wait. You had a teacher? Like a psychic sensei?"
"Not exactly," Alaric muttered. "He wasn't there to teach me. He was there to contain me."
