Shukan didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't even breathe for a second.
That voice didn't just speak to him. It dug in. Like it'd always been there—just waiting for a moment to surface.
"Stop looking back…" he muttered, voice dry.
Chronos didn't answer. He was already scanning the glyph field again. But his hands weren't glowing. His armor wasn't shifting.
"Why aren't you trying anything?" Shukan asked.
Chronos kept watching the horizon.
"Because I already did."
That's when Shukan noticed it—
The edge of Chronos' right shoulder plate. Cracked. Hairline, but glowing faintly at the edge like something had bitten into the timeline and spit it back out.
"You fought it?" Shukan asked.
"No. I survived it. There's a difference."
The silence returned.
Heavy. Loaded. The kind that presses on your ears like the air's trying to convince you it's fine. When it's not.
Aetheron took a slow breath.
Still watching. Still thinking. Still hoping what he saw inside the glyph window was really Shukan.
But it wasn't.
Not fully.
The way he stood— the posture, the silence, the tilt of his head— It looked like Shukan had forgotten he was supposed to be a person.
"Yurei," Aetheron said, low. "We need to breach again."
"We saw what happened last time."
She raised her frost-arm slightly. It was still twitching from the last pull. Still faintly glowing in places that shouldn't glow.
But she didn't hesitate.
"Screw it."
She stepped forward again.
Aetheron followed— But this time, the glyphs didn't let her through.
Something pushed back.
Not a wall. Not force.
Just a pressure. A warning.
The glyph field pulsed again. Soft. Barely visible.
But this time… it rippled upward.
Chronos turned.
His eyes followed it. Not left. Not right.
Up.
Like something had scratched the sky.
Shukan followed his gaze—and saw it too.
A line. Vertical. Thin.
Running from the clouds straight down into the fracture.
"...That new?"
Chronos didn't speak.
But Shukan already knew. That line didn't belong here.
It didn't belong anywhere.
A slit in reality.
Thin enough to miss. Sharp enough to divide.
And through it… a faint glow.
Not red. Not blue. Not gold.
Just... wrong.
Shukan squinted.
"Yo. Tell me I'm not the only one seeing that."
"You're not," Chronos said.
"Cool. So what is it?"
Pause.
Chronos' voice was quiet.
"A door."
"To where?"
Chronos stared at the glow.
"That's the part I haven't figured out yet."
The glyph field pulsed again. Soft. Barely visible. But this time… it rippled upward.
Chronos turned. Eyes tracking something that wasn't part of the sky.
Shukan followed his gaze. And then he saw it.
A line. Thin. Vertical. Running from the clouds straight down into the fracture like someone had scratched the world open.
"...That new?" Shukan asked.
Chronos didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Shukan already knew.
That line didn't belong here. It didn't belong anywhere.
A door. A mistake.
And behind it… a glow.
Not red. Not gold. Not even Void-tainted.
Just… wrong.
Shukan squinted.
"Tell me I'm not the only one seeing that."
"You're not," Chronos replied quietly.
"Cool. So what is it?"
Chronos watched the glow for a long moment.
"A door," he said.
"To where?"
"That's the part I haven't figured out yet."
Then it hit.
A low pulse through the ground.
Not thunder. Not tremor.
A breath.
Something old exhaling beneath the world.
The glyphs nearby buckled—just slightly—like even they were reacting to the presence above.
Shukan staggered back a step.
His head started buzzing.
Not pain. Not pressure.
Just... wrongness.
Something crawling behind his thoughts like a swarm of whispers trying to remember how to speak.
And then he heard it again.
That voice.
Same one from before.
Same weight.
Same tone like it'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"You don't belong in endings."
Shukan dropped to one knee.
His hands dug into the dirt—not for stability, but just to feel something real.
"This thing—this fucking thing—why does it keep saying that like it knows me?"
Chronos moved beside him, arms crossed. His tone stayed calm. Too calm.
"Maybe it does."
"Yeah? Well it's about to catch these hands and find out what else I know."
"You really think fists are the solution right now?"
"...Always."
Chronos sighed through his nose.
"We need to move."
"Toward the door?"
Chronos nodded.
"Before it finishes opening."
They both stood in silence, watching the slit grow just slightly wider.
Even the glyphs had stopped moving. The air held still like it was holding its breath, waiting to see what came next.
"You ever get that feeling," Shukan said, "that something's about to happen… and you already hate it?"
Chronos didn't answer.
Because something was happening.
Shukan kept his eyes on the slit in the sky.
It wasn't opening fast.
But it was opening.
Like it had all the time in the world, and it knew they didn't.
Chronos didn't move.
Didn't blink.
He just kept watching.
Hands at his sides. Calm. Silent.
That pissed Shukan off more than anything.
"Alright, great. We've got a sky door, a floating field full of memories, and a walking glitch that thinks I'm interesting. Totally normal day."
He exhaled hard, wiping his hands down his pants.
The ground was back to dirt. The glyphs had pulled away from them.
And now the only thing between them and the fracture's edge was silence.
Too still. Too focused.
Shukan turned to Chronos.
"So what now? We walk into it? Wait for it to give us a tour?"
Chronos shrugged—just a little.
"If it wanted to hurt you, it already would've."
"Comforting."
"It's waiting."
"For me?"
"Probably."
A soft click echoed behind them.
Like a gear turning. But slower. Deeper.
The air didn't shift. Didn't glow.
It just… folded.
And suddenly—
They weren't in the same place.
No flash. No warning.
They were just... elsewhere.
The light changed.
The glyphs vanished.
Chronos was gone.
Shukan blinked—his hands tightening on instinct.
But no weapon. No threat.
Just a table.
A long, quiet table in the middle of a blank white space.
Nothing around it. No walls. No sky.
Just that one table.
And at the other end—a shape.
Tall. Faceless. Still.
The Entity.
"Oh fuck no," Shukan muttered. "I know where this is going."
But his legs moved anyway.
Not forced.
Not controlled.
Just... invited.
He sat down.
Didn't remember choosing to.
Didn't care.
The Entity didn't speak. Didn't gesture. Didn't move.
But it was watching.
Somehow.
Then came the scroll.
It just appeared—floating a few inches above the table between them.
Thin. Long. Wrapped in layers of glyphs that shifted when he blinked.
Shukan didn't touch it.
But the meaning was obvious.
Take it. And everything changes.
He leaned back, crossing his arms.
"Lemme guess. I sign that, and I get... what? A reset? A redo?"
The Entity said nothing.
But the scroll pulsed once. Like it heard him.
Shukan stared at it.
"You know, if this was ten resets ago, I'd have grabbed that thing without thinking."
Still nothing.
"But now? I'm starting to wonder what the hell you want with me."
The Entity finally moved.
Just one tap on the table.
A finger.
Long. Too long.
One tap.
And the scroll unfurled.
But not with writing.
Images.
Shukan flinched.
He saw—
Himself.
In a field. Barefoot. Smiling.
No war.
No frost. No Chronos. No guilt.
His sister was there.
Still laughing.
Still whole.
Still… alive in the way she used to be.
He gritted his teeth.
"Stop it."
The scroll shifted.
Another image.
His parents.
Together. Proud. Not dead.
Another. Him—sitting at a small table, eating curry. The same kind his dad used to burn.
Another. Yurei and Aetheron, laughing in a world that wasn't dying.
He slammed his hand on the table.
"Stop it. I get it. You've got tricks."
His voice echoed in the nothing.
The Entity didn't respond.
Just sat there.
Still waiting.
"So what? I take the deal, and you drop me into that world? Let me forget all this shit? Let me run from it?"
The scroll pulsed again.
It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no either.
A voice cut through the air.
Soft. Familiar.
Chronos.
"You touch that thing," he said behind Shukan, "and you're done."
Shukan didn't turn.
"You're late."
"You were about to say yes."
"I was about to throw hands with a blank-faced bastard, actually."
"Sure."
Silence again.
The scroll floated there. Still open. Still glowing.
"It's tempting," Shukan said finally.
"Of course it is," Chronos replied.
"What if it's better?"
"Then it's a lie that feels good."
Chronos stepped closer.
"And lies that feel good are the deadliest ones."
Shukan reached forward.
Paused.
Let his fingers hover over the scroll.
He didn't want to admit how good it felt—just to look at it.
Just to believe, for a second, that maybe he could walk into that better world.
Forget everything.
Forget her.
But he didn't touch it.
He closed his hand. Let it shake. Pulled it back.
"If this is a test," he muttered, "I'm probably failing."
Chronos' voice was calm.
"If you were gonna fail, you wouldn't still be here."
The scroll cracked.
Light poured out in slow lines.
And then—dust.
Golden. Silent.
Gone.
The table vanished.
The space unraveled.
And Shukan stood back in the fracture.
Knees weak. Heart thudding. Eyes burning.
Chronos stood a few feet away—quiet.
Watching.
Not judging.
Just... there.
Shukan let out a long breath.
Looked up at the blinking slit in the sky.
"I hate that thing."
Chronos didn't smile.
But his voice held the closest thing to humor he could manage.
"Good. It means it didn't win."