There was no sky.
Only glass.
Shattered, floating overhead—fragments of broken realities drifting like dead stars. The air smelled burnt, like time had been set on fire. The Vale was gone. The thread bridges had unraveled.
And standing in its place… was the future.
Or at least, one of them.
Kael stood in a place that didn't belong to any world he remembered. Blackened stone, towers choked in ivy made of veins. The horizon bled crimson. Thunder rolled without clouds. The sun above was cracked and leaking golden blood.
He didn't breathe.
He didn't blink.
Because standing across from him—
Was himself.
But this Kael had no light.
His skin was pale and paper-thin, like something halfway through decomposing. His right eye—once warm—was replaced by a jagged rune. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Just a low, wet hum, like a lullaby drowned in oil.
Rin was screaming.
She was fighting herself. A mirror made of rage.
This Rin wasn't fast—she was unhinged. Wild magic spun off her body like broken wings. Her blade was alive with screaming souls. Every move was brutal, sloppy, desperate. She didn't kill to win.
She killed so she wouldn't feel.
"You became a butcher," Rin hissed, dodging a wild swing. "That's what you chose?"
The other Rin cackled, dragging her weapon through stone like it was paper. "No. You chose mercy. That's why they all died."
Rin flinched.
And the other one smiled.
"You know I'm right. That's why I exist."
Juno was kneeling.
Because he wasn't being attacked—he was vanishing.
Words poured off his skin like smoke, his veins pulsing with corrupted ink. The world around him was silent, a library flooded with red fog. Across from him, another Juno sat calmly, cross-legged, fingers bleeding from casting too many spells without rest.
"No voice. No god. No power but what you take," the other Juno whispered.
Juno clenched his fists.
"You gave up everything to protect people who forgot you. You should've ruled them."
The fog swallowed a shelf.
Then a wall.
Then the floor.
"You think surrender makes you holy. It makes you forgettable."
Mace's battlefield was empty.
Until it wasn't.
He heard chains.
Turned—and saw himself. But smaller. Weaker. Younger. A version of him that never grew past guilt.
This version didn't speak.
He just bled.
Every step he took left a pool. He dragged a broken sword behind him, eyes glassy.
Mace stepped forward, arms raised. "I know this path."
The echo's mouth moved.
"You only lived because I died."
The illusions cracked in perfect sync.
A throne emerged in the distance—carved from bones and weeping silver, pulsing with the hum of ten thousand rewritten timelines. Its voice wasn't a sound. It was a pressure.
A weight in the soul.
> "You are not chosen.
You are not heroes.
You are contingencies."
The marked dropped to their knees, unbidden.
Kael gritted his teeth.
"We're not your pawns."
The throne pulsed.
> "You are my failures."
Suddenly—
Kael collapsed.
Rin vanished.
Mace screamed.
And Juno's mouth was filled with blood.
Their copies didn't attack.
They replaced.
Kael saw himself surrender to the throne in that future, crowned in chains.
Rin saw herself slaughtering innocents in a ruined city.
Mace watched himself dragged behind a chariot, executed by the people he once led.
Juno saw… nothing.
Because in that version—he never existed at all.
Azerai appeared only when Kael's mark began to flare violently.
He was on his knees, gasping, one hand clutching his chest. His fingers sparked with uncontrolled light, his control slipping.
"Kael—stop!"
His vision was red.
The world spun.
And then—
Azerai stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, and whispered one name.
Not a threat.
Not a plea.
Just—
> "Azael."
Everything stopped.
Kael went limp, chest heaving.
The visions blinked out like candle flames in a storm. The throne receded into silence.
And for a moment… they were just five people, on their knees, in a shattered possibility.
No thread. No path. No prophecy.
Just fear.
And failure.
Rin was shaking. "That wasn't just a trick. That was real. A version of us that could happen."
Mace was silent.
Juno stared at his hands like they didn't belong to him.
Kael finally spoke, hoarse. "That wasn't a battle. That was a warning."
Azerai looked at each of them, eyes distant.
"You think the throne wins with strength? No. It wins with possibility. It shows you a version of yourself that you'd do anything to avoid. And then it waits."
Kael's voice cracked. "Why did you stop me with that name?"
She didn't answer.
She just turned to the horizon.
"There's still time. But if you hesitate again… there won't be."