Falling through a memory trench was unlike any descent Kael had ever known.
There was no gravity—only moments collapsing inward, pulling them through ribbons of forgotten time. Scenes flickered around them like broken theater: a city devoured by flame, a queen whispering to ghosts, a child drawing clocks on a cave wall.
"These aren't visions," Vaelith murmured. "They're discarded timelines. Worlds that almost were."
They landed—softly, impossibly—on a floor made of crystallized timeglass. It chimed beneath their feet like wind chimes made of stars.
Ashra knelt, fingers grazing the surface. "It's cold. But it remembers me."
Ero exhaled slowly. "It's because we've stepped into an anchor moment. Something here… never fully unraveled."
Kael looked around. The trench had opened into a cavern of impossible geometry—walls curving into themselves, doors leading to years instead of rooms.
And in the center, floating just above the ground, was a figure.
Frozen in place. Genderless. Ageless. Wrapped in silver threads of memory.
Vaelith's eyes widened. "The Chrono Weaver."
Kael stepped closer. "I thought they were a myth."
Ero shook his head. "No myth. The Weaver maintains the edge of unraveling time. But this one—this one is asleep."
Ashra looked wary. "So we wake them?"
Vaelith stepped forward, extending her hand. "Gently. A dreamer like this, if disturbed too violently, could rewrite the last thousand years in a breath."
But before she could touch the threads—they moved.
The Weaver's eyes snapped open.
Time itself froze, just for a blink.
And then—
"Why have you come to the Moment That Should Not Be?" the Weaver asked, voice layered like a hundred clocks ticking at once.
Kael stepped forward. "To find the Fourth Fractureborn. And to stop the Chrono God."
The Weaver's gaze was endless.
Then it smiled.
"Then you are already late. The Fourth is awake… and he is not your ally."
Kael's pulse quickened.
"What do you mean… not our ally?"
The Chrono Weaver floated down, touching the timeglass floor with bare feet. Every step echoed backwards first—then forwards—like cause and effect were reversed around them.
"The Fourth Fractureborn has awakened in rage," the Weaver whispered. "His name is Silas Noct. He was born from a timeline the Chrono God erased... but he remembered everything."
Ashra clenched her fists. "Another survivor?"
Ero looked uneasy. "No. A revenant."
Vaelith stepped closer. "Why hasn't he joined the fold?"
The Weaver's smile faded. "Because Silas blames all of you. He believes your awakening doomed his reality. That your existence cursed his bloodline to vanish. And now… he is unbinding the future."
A ripple passed through the cavern. The walls flickered.
Then—
A scream.
It wasn't human.
A sound of entire possibilities being torn apart.
The Weaver's eyes glowed. "He's near."
Suddenly, the trench shook. Cracks spidered across the floor of memory. And from a door that hadn't existed a second ago, a figure stepped through.
He was cloaked in shadows that moved like ink in water. His eyes were silver mirrors, and behind him floated broken gears, rusted hourglasses, and ticking bones.
Silas Noct.
"So these are the famed rebels," he said, voice smooth, cruel. "I expected more."
Kael drew his blade. "You're one of us. Why are you doing this?"
Silas tilted his head. "One of you? You stole my future. My world died so yours could breathe. The Chrono God is a tyrant—but you… you are thieves."
Ashra stepped forward. "We didn't choose this."
Silas's eyes narrowed. "No. But now I choose. And I choose to burn every rewritten second until the Veil collapses. Until every god chokes on the time they stole."
He raised a hand.
The memories around them shattered.
"Let's see how long you survive without your past."
The world collapsed in silence.
Kael hit the ground—hard. But there was no trench, no timeglass, no Chrono Weaver. Just a barren void lit by a pale, bleeding sky.
He sat up, dazed.
Where… am I?
More importantly—who am I?
His name was… Kael?
No. That didn't feel real anymore.
His mind was a fog. Images slipped through his grasp like sand: fire, swords, a girl with red eyes, a voice singing in reverse.
They were gone.
A memoryless world.
Silas had kept his promise.
Kael stood shakily. The landscape was bleak and endless, dotted with the skeletons of fallen timelines—cities with no names, clocks with no hands, statues missing their faces. It was a graveyard of discarded realities.
He stumbled forward until he saw a figure—distant, walking through the dust.
A girl.
Ashra?
He called out—but no sound came.
She turned, confused. "Who are you?"
He faltered. "I… don't know."
"Then don't follow me," she said coldly. "I've already lost everything once."
She turned and vanished into the fog.
Kael gritted his teeth.
Who was he without his past?
His hands clenched. There were scars on his palms—fresh ones. A memory tried to push through. A blade. A vow. Someone bleeding.
And then—
A whisper.
"Find the Threadkeeper."
He turned. No one.
Then the wind changed—and a single thread of glowing red light floated before him.
It trembled, alive, tugging gently toward the east.
Kael followed it, the only direction left to him.
Because if he was ever going to reclaim what Silas stole…
He'd have to walk into the wasteland of lost time.
Alone.
The wasteland stretched like an unhealed scar, swallowing Kael's steps in silence.
He followed the red thread through dead timelines—fields where birds fell from the sky mid-flight, rivers flowing backward into the earth, and libraries filled with books whose pages crumbled when read.
Kael still couldn't remember who he was.
But the thread pulsed when he strayed, humming faintly whenever he doubted.
He passed a tree made entirely of clock hands—its branches ticking out of sync. At its roots sat an old woman.
Her hair was long and silver, woven into a braid that stretched for miles.
"I've been waiting," she said without turning.
Kael hesitated. "Are you the Threadkeeper?"
She smiled, eyes glowing faintly. "One of many. But yes. I keep the remnants of fate, sew lost moments back together—when they can be salvaged."
Kael stepped closer. "I've lost… everything. My memories. My name."
The Threadkeeper rose, pulling the braid around her fingers like silk.
"Not lost. Stolen. Cut from your weave by Silas Noct. But threads, even when frayed, can be rewound."
She placed a finger on Kael's forehead.
The world rippled.
Fire. Screaming. A girl shouting his name. The flash of a blade.
"KAEL!"
A promise. "We find the Fractureborn. We end the Chrono God."
A kiss in a rainstorm of stars.
The face of Silas. A dagger of broken time.
Kael gasped, falling to his knees.
His breath came in shudders.
"I remember…"
The Threadkeeper nodded. "Good. You'll need those memories to survive what's coming."
Kael looked up. "Where are the others?"
Her expression darkened. "Scattered. Forgotten. One has already begun to fade."
Kael stood. "Then tell me where to go."
She unraveled a portion of her braid, handing it to him.
"Follow the blood-colored thread. It will take you to the city of Hourfall. There… destiny awaits a decision."
He nodded.
The thread in his hand pulsed, burning slightly.
Kael turned and walked toward Hourfall, where fractured fate and ancient gods were already waiting.