The moment stretched—elongated like a heartbeat trapped between seconds.
Kael couldn't breathe.
The storm above them stilled, lightning threads freezing mid-sky, as if the entire universe paused to bear witness.
There he stood—Thorne Valen, the man lost to time. A myth. A father Kael had only ever known through stories passed in hushed tones, fragmented records half-buried in corrupted timelines.
But this wasn't a ghost.
This was him.
Alive. Breathing. Real.
"Impossible," Kael murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind.
Aeris' eyes narrowed. Her fingertips sparked involuntarily, defensive instincts roaring awake. "Kael… the anomaly field around him—he shouldn't exist. He's from a forbidden fork. One that was collapsed for a reason."
Thorne lowered his hood slowly. His face, weathered but striking, bore Kael's eyes and the same sharp jawline—only lined with years of secrets. He stepped into the dome of temporal stillness, his boots crunching on glass-like time shards.
"I wasn't erased, Kael," Thorne said quietly. "I was locked away. Buried in the Rift Nexus by the very council that created the Architect."
Kael's fists clenched. "Why? Why now? Why show yourself?"
Thorne's gaze moved toward the corrupted Aeris hovering just beyond the barrier. "Because the end you see isn't the real end. She is not your enemy."
Aeris stiffened. "Excuse me?"
Thorne turned toward her, eyes brimming with something old… and broken. "You think she's your variant. Your corrupted mirror. But she's not. She's your offspring—the child of the Architect's final rewrite of your essence."
Kael recoiled. "You're saying… she's a descendant?"
"No," Thorne said. "I'm saying she's your legacy—twisted through endless timelines, forged by every choice you never made. She is the Future Architect."
Silence fell like an axe.
Outside the dome, the corrupted versions began to stir. The timeline was collapsing faster now. The air shimmered with distortions—Kael could see glimpses of alternate versions of himself and Aeris flickering at the edges. Laughing, crying, dying.
"We're running out of time," Thorne said, pulling a shimmering cube from his coat. It pulsed with blue energy.
Aeris' voice sharpened. "What is that?"
Thorne looked at her grimly. "The last Timekey. The only thing that can reset the spiral collapse. But it needs both of you—together."
Kael turned to Aeris. Her eyes were unreadable.
"I don't trust him," she said flatly.
Kael didn't either. But the timeline was screaming now—reality itself was groaning under the pressure. They had minutes left before paradox became permanence.
Thorne stepped forward, urgency etched into every line of his face. "You want to save each other? Then forget me. Use this. Do what I couldn't."
Aeris opened her mouth to respond—
—when the dome shattered.
A soundless explosion of fractured time burst outward.
The corrupted Aeris—the Future Architect—screamed with a voice like tearing galaxies. Her form expanded, tendrils of broken timelines whipping around her, dragging pieces of Kael and Aeris' past into her aura.
Kael saw flashes:
The first moment he touched Aeris' hand.
The night he lost his brother to the Paradox Guild.
The day Aeris turned away from him—only to find him again.
She was consuming their history.
Aeris grabbed Kael's wrist. "Now! The Timekey!"
They turned—but Thorne was gone.
Only the cube remained, floating midair, slowly fading.
"No!" Kael lunged—but as his fingers touched the cube, time spasmed—
—and the world split.
Suddenly, Kael was standing in a ruined cathedral, alone. Stained glass flickering like memory fragments.
A voice echoed behind him.
"Hello, Kael. We meet again."
He turned slowly.
It was himself.
But older.
Scarred. Worn. Eyes hollowed by lifetimes of failure.
Kael… from the timeline where Aeris died.
Kael must face a future version of himself who lived through Aeris' death—and made impossible choices to rewrite time. This Kael knows the only way to win… but it involves destroying Aeris before the Future Architect consumes her completely.
Who will Kael choose to believe—his father, his future self, or his heart?