The forest did not return to normal after the Rift closed.
That was the first thing Kirin noticed.
The trees stood the same.
The soil smelled the same.
The night sky still shimmered with distant stars.
Yet everything felt… delayed. As though reality itself was catching its breath after something it had barely managed to reject.
Kirin knelt on one knee, one hand pressed against the ground, the other clutched tight against his chest. The ember-black pulse beneath his ribs had not faded. It beat slowly now—measured, deliberate—as if it had learned patience.
Reina stayed close, her hand hovering near his shoulder, unsure whether touching him would help or hurt.
"Kirin," she said carefully. "Talk to me."
He didn't answer at first.
Images still lingered behind his eyes—shattered worlds, collapsing skies, the Entity's calm certainty. Not threats. Not promises.
Statements.
He exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet.
"I'm fine," he said, though the words tasted wrong.
Reina studied his face. She had fought beside him long enough to recognize when he was lying—not to her, but to himself.
"That thing didn't just talk to you," she said. "It changed something."
Kirin nodded once.
"It told me what the Disorder is meant to become."
Reina's jaw tightened. "And?"
He looked out toward the dark tree line, where faint traces of Rift residue still shimmered like dying embers.
"And that I may not get a choice."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant crackle of unstable energy fading into nothing.
Reina crossed her arms, grounding herself. "That's not how this works."
Kirin glanced at her.
She met his eyes without hesitation. "Nothing—no power, no prophecy, no Entity—decides who you are. You've already proven that."
Kirin almost smiled.
Almost.
"I hope you're right."
They didn't return to base immediately.
The Hunter Bureau's perimeter teams arrived within the hour—armed, tense, and clearly unprepared for what they found. Instruments malfunctioned. Sensors screamed contradictory readings. No trace of the Rift remained, yet the land itself behaved as if it remembered being wounded.
Daniel arrived shortly after.
The moment he saw Kirin, relief flickered across his face—then vanished beneath something heavier.
"You went inside," Daniel said quietly.
Kirin didn't deny it.
Daniel exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was afraid of that."
Reina turned sharply. "You knew this could happen."
Daniel hesitated. "I knew it was possible."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Kirin stepped between them before the tension could snap. "Daniel. The Entity said you weren't strong enough to stop it before."
Daniel's hand stilled.
"How much did it tell you?" he asked.
"Enough," Kirin replied. "To know this isn't just about Rifts anymore."
Daniel looked away toward the forest, voice low. "Then it's started moving faster than I feared."
Reina frowned. "Started what?"
Daniel didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice carried the weight of years.
"A convergence."
Back at the temporary command post, holographic projections flickered into place—maps of the continent layered with red markers.
Too many.
Rowan stood near the center, arms crossed, expression grim.
"These appeared in the last six hours," he said. "Minor Rifts. Unstable zones. Resonance spikes."
Reina's eyes widened. "All at once?"
Rowan nodded. "As if something sent a signal."
Kirin felt the ember pulse respond—subtle, almost pleased.
He clenched his fist.
Daniel glanced at Kirin before speaking. "The Entity's presence isn't limited to one reality. It doesn't travel the way we do."
Rowan frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Daniel said, "that even sealed, it can influence Rifts connected to its resonance."
Reina's voice hardened. "Connected to Kirin."
Daniel didn't deny it.
Kirin stepped forward. "Then stop dancing around it. Tell me what happens next."
Rowan hesitated, then activated another projection.
A model of a massive Rift—far larger than anything they had faced before—hovered in the air.
"If the convergence completes," Rowan said, "this opens."
Kirin stared at it.
"And if it opens?" he asked.
Daniel answered.
"Then Earth becomes a crossroads."
The room fell silent.
Kirin felt every eye on him—not with fear, not yet—but expectation.
He understood, suddenly, what the Entity had meant.
Necessary.
Rowan broke the silence. "We can attempt preemptive suppression. Delay the convergence."
"And if that fails?" Reina asked.
Rowan didn't answer.
Kirin already knew.
He stepped closer to the projection, studying the swirling energies. They felt familiar. Too familiar.
"If I draw the resonance into myself," he said slowly, "it might destabilize the convergence."
Daniel stiffened. "That's not a solution—that's a gamble."
Kirin looked at him. "Everything has been a gamble since the First Rift."
Reina grabbed Kirin's sleeve. "You don't even know what it'll do to you."
"I know," Kirin said softly. "That's why it has to be me."
Daniel's voice sharpened. "You're not a tool."
Kirin met his gaze. "Then stop treating me like one by hiding the truth."
Daniel faltered.
Rowan exhaled heavily. "If you attempt this… your Disorder will advance."
Kirin nodded. "I figured."
"To what extent?" Reina asked.
Rowan hesitated. "Unknown."
Kirin straightened.
"Then we prepare."
That night, Kirin stood alone at the edge of the camp.
The ember pulse had changed. It no longer surged violently. It waited.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time since his awakening, he didn't try to suppress it.
He listened.
Not to the Entity.
Not to destiny.
But to himself.
The embers responded—not growing stronger, not exploding—but aligning. Settling into his breath, his heartbeat, his intent.
A quiet realization took hold.
The Disorder did not demand obedience.
It demanded direction.
Kirin opened his eyes, gaze steady.
Whatever the Entity had intended…
whatever the world expected…
He would decide what this power became.
And when the convergence came—
it would find him ready.