Ash drifted down like dirty snow.
Theo Marlowe leaned against the broken railing of the Citadel's highest tower, his body aching with every shallow breath. The sky above him split and bled light through unseen wounds. The ground trembled under his boots, but he barely noticed anymore.
This was the end. He had failed.
The world below wasn't a battlefield — it was a graveyard. Cities crumbled into dust. Forests burned in silence. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed once, then cut off, leaving nothing but the heavy, choking quiet.
Theo lowered his gaze. His hands — the same ones that had once held onto hope so tightly — were shaking. The Anchor Blade, his last tool to fight the inevitable, hung limp at his side. The weapon had lost its glow hours ago, or maybe days. Time didn't make sense here at the end.
All those years. All the training. The sacrifices. The friends he'd lost along the way. It hadn't mattered.
The Thread Collapse had come anyway.
A bitter laugh broke from his chest before he could stop it. It sounded hollow, even to him. "Guess I wasn't enough after all," he muttered.
He staggered forward, knees hitting the ground with a painful crack. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. He pressed one palm against the cracked stone beneath him, feeling how dead it was. Once, this place had been alive — filled with laughter, stories, dreams. Now it was just... empty.
"I'm sorry," Theo said, voice raw.
He didn't know who he was apologizing to. Maybe to the kids who would never grow up. To the old men and women who had trusted him. To the thousands, millions, who had clung to a future he was supposed to protect.
A sudden jolt shot through his chest.
Theo gasped, clutching at his heart. But this wasn't the end — not yet.
The Origin Core, the relic hidden inside him, pulsed awake.
Agony unlike anything he had ever known ripped through him. He fell sideways, face scraping the cold stone. He couldn't even scream. The world blurred and warped, as if someone had torn the sky like paper.
Light poured into him, through him, and visions slammed into his mind: cities rebuilt, rivers flowing backward, people living and dying and living again. Possibilities he couldn't grasp.
He was being torn apart.
And remade.
Somewhere in the spinning madness, a voice — quiet, patient, and old — whispered inside him:
"Threadbearer... not yet."
Then the world gave way beneath him.
He fell.
Through time, through places that almost were and almost weren't. He saw a little girl laughing in a meadow that didn't exist. He saw a man building a machine to save the world — and then destroy it. He saw himself, standing alone on a thousand different roads, never reaching the end.
And then—
Impact.
Theo landed hard on damp stone, coughing as cold air hit his lungs. He blinked, blinking again as the blinding light faded.
He was alive. Somehow.
Above him, a ruined cathedral stretched toward a sky thick with mist and rain. Cracked pillars leaned precariously, vines and moss devouring everything they touched. Water dripped steadily from broken arches.
This wasn't his world.
It was Earth, but younger. Wilder. Less broken. Yet he could feel it in his bones: the same sickness lurked underneath. The same threads frayed, ready to snap.
Theo pushed himself upright, hands shaking. His clothes were simple and rough, unfamiliar. No armor, no weapons. The Core inside his chest throbbed once — alive, waiting for something.
He stumbled to a shallow puddle and caught his reflection.
Younger. Unscarred. His dark brown hair messy and too long. Gray eyes — not cold yet, but unsure. A faint glimmer of gold, almost invisible, traced the edges of his irises.
"You did something to me," he said aloud, voice cracking.
The wind answered, tugging at the overgrowth.
Theo staggered forward, directionless at first — but then he heard it: the soft tolling of bells. Sad. Mournful. A funeral, maybe. A warning.
Somewhere out there, something was already starting to fall apart.
He clenched his fists, grounding himself.
He had been given another chance.He wasn't sure he deserved it.But he wasn't going to waste it.
Not again.