Anchor 1857.3X – Exterior, Meiji Clockforge. Midnight.
Kael crouched on a smokestack overlooking the city's heart — the Meiji Clockforge, a towering, gear-laden behemoth of brass and obsidian. Steam hissed from every seam. At its peak, a glowing sphere hovered, rotating backward. That was no decoration.
It was a Time Core — raw, ancient chronomass held in stasis.
And inside, somewhere, was Ghost Ronin.
Kael's doppelgänger.
A version of him twisted by rage, revolution, and centuries of time-crime.
Kael adjusted the frequency-dampening band Myra gave him. It hummed against his pulse. He checked the blade on his hip and whispered, "One Kael per timeline. Let's make sure it's the right one."
⸻
Inside the Forge.
The Clockforge wasn't built — it was grown. Timewarped metal twisted through impossible angles. Gravity pulsed inconsistently. In some rooms, sound echoed before you made it.
Kael crept through shifting hallways. Every wall whispered. Some in English. Some in something older. Each step felt like he was walking over echoes of his own memories.
Then he found it — a massive chamber shaped like a pocket watch, with hundreds of swinging pendulums made of chainmail and starlight.
In the center stood a man with a torn black coat, a glowing katana… and his face.
Ghost Ronin.
He looked older. Leaner. Tired. But powerful — like the storm before a silence.
"I knew you'd come," Ghost Ronin said without turning. "They always send me to kill me."
Kael stepped forward. "Why? Why burn this place down?"
The Ronin didn't answer. He raised a hand and pointed to the Time Core above. Inside it, flickering like a trapped thought, was a child. The same one from the noodle bar. The one Kael had accidentally shoved into the wrong future.
"I'm trying to save him," Ghost Ronin said. "Because you won't."
Kael froze.
"Wait. That's the kid from—"
"—from the Anchor you corrupted," Ronin interrupted. "The Empire uses him in forty timelines as a puppet. A fake hero. But if I shatter the Core and reset his thread, he can grow free. Without us. Without them."
Kael frowned. "The Weaver said you'd collapse five timelines if you do this."
Ghost Ronin smirked. "The Weaver lies."
Before Kael could speak again, Ronin unsheathed his katana. A pulse of memory slammed into Kael's chest — images of blood, fire, of himself dying a dozen ways.
"Only one of us walks out," Ghost Ronin said.
Kael ignited his own blade. "Guess I'll finally find out if I'm the best version of me."
The two Kaels charged.
Blades met.
Time shattered.