Reality rippled like disturbed water around the transport as it sliced through the dimensional barrier. Han Minwoo braced himself against the juddering metal frame, his knuckles white. The sensation was different this time—the boundary between worlds felt thinner, more permeable. It felt more akin to tissue paper than steel.
"Something's wrong," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "The dimensional walls are breaking down faster than we anticipated."
Through the viewport, fractured glimpses of both Earths bled together: Alpha's gleaming Seoul skyline superimposed over Omega's industrial hellscape, buildings phasing in and out of existence. A deadly dance unites beauty and decay.
Phoenix checked the seals on his tactical gear, flames flickering briefly at his fingertips. "No turning back now, mate."
"We knew the moment was coming," Harbor added, the water in his small canteen rippling unnaturally as they crossed realities. "The convergence is accelerating."
Yoru said nothing, his focus inward as he prepared for the dimensional strain, but his nod conveyed everything necessary. They were ready. They were as prepared as anyone could be for what could potentially be a one-way mission.
Minwoo's gaze drifted to the empty seat where Jett should have been, the absence an ache sharper than any physical wound. She should be here—his sister, his anchor, his constant. But she lay in VALORANT's medical bay, her life force draining as the dimensional convergence tore at her very existence.
"We have our objectives," Minwoo said, centering himself. "Harbor, you're on environmental reconnaissance. Yoru, focus on infiltration and intelligence gathering. Phoenix Power Systems. I'll handle the convergence engine."
"And Omega-Minwoo?" Yoru asked, eyes narrowed behind his mask.
Minwoo's jaw tightened. "He's my responsibility."
The transport lurched as it broke through the final barrier, reality settling into Omega Earth's grim landscape. Through the viewport, Minwoo could see what remained of Seoul—a dying city gasping its last breaths. Radiant pollution hung in the air like toxic mist, buildings were half-collapsed or partially phased out of existence, and streets were empty save for automated defenses.
"Home sweet home," Phoenix muttered, a muscle working in his jaw. "Let's get this done."
As the team prepared for deployment, Minwoo activated his comm link one last time. "Sage, can you hear me? Status update on Jett."
Static crackled before Sage's voice broke through, strained with effort. "Minwoo, we are proceeding with the procedure." Focus on your mission. We'll handle things here."
The connection broke, leaving questions unasked and fears unvoiced. Minwoo closed his eyes briefly, drawing strength from the wind that stirred around him, then nodded to his team.
"Let's move."
In VALORANT Protocol's medical bay, Sage's hands hovered over Jett's motionless form, jade energy pulsing between them. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she attempted something no healer had tried before: reaching across dimensional barriers to mend a spirit torn between worlds.
"Her vitals are dropping," Hanna said, her voice tight with concern as she monitored the displays. The singer's presence was unexpected but welcome—her radiant voice had proven capable of stabilizing emotional frequencies in ways Sage couldn't explain but desperately needed.
"The convergence is accelerating," Sage replied, not breaking her concentration. "If we wait any longer, we might lose her entirely."
On the bed, Jett's skin had taken on an almost translucent quality, veins visible beneath the surface like dark rivers. Occasionally, her form seemed to flicker, as if parts of her were trying to exist elsewhere.
"What happens if Minwoo fails?" Hanna asked the question they'd both been avoiding.
Sage's expression remained impassive, but the strain in her eyes told a different story. "Then none of this will matter." She paused, glancing at the younger woman. "Are you prepared for your role? The risk is substantial."
Hanna nodded, her hand brushing against Jett's. She had only known the VALORANT agents for weeks, but something about Minwoo—and by extension, his sister—had awakened a protective instinct she couldn't explain.
"Just tell me when."
Sage closed her eyes, drawing deep on her reservoir of healing energy. "Now," she whispered. "I need to phase partially into multiple dimensional planes. Your voice will be my anchor."
Hanna took a deep breath and began to sing—not the practiced performances that had filled stadiums, but something rawer, more primal. Her radiant voice carried emotional resonance that vibrated at the exact frequency Sage needed to maintain her connection to this reality while reaching into others.
As Sage's consciousness expanded across dimensions, she felt herself stretching dangerously thin. Through the haze of pain, she glimpsed Jett's fractured spirit, portions of it scattered across realities. The healing would require her to gather those fragments, a process that might well cost her life.
This was a cost she was prepared to bear.
Harbor moved like water itself, flowing through Omega Seoul's broken landscape. The facility loomed ahead—a massive industrial complex built into what had once been the harbor, now a corrupted basin of radianite-infused water that glowed an unnatural blue-green.
"I've reached observation point alpha," he murmured into his comm. "Beginning environmental assessment."
He extended his hand, connecting with the water below. The sensation hit him like a physical blow—this wasn't just polluted; it was dimensionally corrupted, existing partially in multiple realities at once. Yet within that corruption lay possibility.
"The facility's built on water systems that are heavily radianite-contaminated," he reported. "But they're connected to the power grid. I can use that—create disruptions they won't expect."
"Good," Minwoo's voice came back, tight with focus. "Map the approach vectors. We need clean entry points."
Harbor's consciousness spread through the water network, feeling defenses, barriers, and flow patterns. What he discovered sent ice through his veins.
"Minwoo, they've prepared for us. They specifically designed these defenses to counter our abilities. They know exactly how we operate."
"Kingdom's data," Phoenix cut in. "Remember London? They've been studying us."
Harbor continued his assessment, finding the patterns within chaos. "I've located three potential entry points. Sending coordinates now."
Harbor, acknowledging the team, experienced a moment of grim satisfaction. Kingdom might have studied their standard tactics, but they couldn't predict innovation. The corrupted water wasn't just an obstacle—in his hands, it would become a weapon.
Yoru slipped between dimensional pockets, his form more shadow than substance as he penetrated deeper into the Omega facility. Where others faced barriers, he navigated through them, guided by his ancestral mask through rifts too small for normal perception.
"Security is multi-layered," he reported, voice barely above a whisper. "We primarily rely on automated systems for security." Limited human presence." He paused at a junction, watching a patrol of robotic sentries pass. "They're conserving manpower."
"How close are you to the control center?" Minwoo asked.
"Three minutes, assuming no complications."
Yoru continued his infiltration, each step calculated. The facility's interior revealed the desperation of Omega Earth—emergency systems running on minimal power, corridors dimly lit to conserve energy, and the air itself thin with rationed oxygen.
This was a world in the final stages of its demise.
When he reached the control center's outer perimeter, Yoru paused. Something felt wrong. The security here was lighter than expected for such a critical area. The situation could be attributed to either arrogance or...
"It's a trap," he murmured, studying the room beyond. "But not for me."
His dimensional drift allowed him to phase through the final barrier, emerging in a control hub unlike anything he'd expected. Instead of banks of computers, he found a chamber dominated by an organic-mechanical hybrid system. Radianite energy-pumped conduits flowed into a central platform, suspending a figure in its center.
Ω-Minwoo.
The mirror version of their teammate hung within a web of cables and tubes, his body visibly deteriorating. Parts of him seemed to phase in and out of existence, his flesh merging with wind energy in a process that looked agonizing. His eyes were open but unseeing, consciousness trapped somewhere between life and death.
Yoru moved closer, examining the integration. The truth hit him with sickening clarity.
"Minwoo," he said into his comm, "I've found the control center and your counterpart." He paused, weighing his words carefully. "He's not just operating the convergence engine. He is the engine. They've integrated him into the system at a biological level."
"What are you saying?" Minwoo's voice had gone tight.
"I'm saying that stopping this process will kill him. He's gone too far—the integration is complete. His life force is what's powering the convergence."
Silence stretched across the comm line before Minwoo responded, his voice hollow. "Understood. Proceed with reconnaissance. I need complete schematics of that integration."
As Yoru began his detailed analysis, he caught movement in Ω-Minwoo's eyes—a flicker of awareness, of recognition. For a moment, their gazes locked, and Yoru saw not the enemy they had fought but a dying man making a desperate last stand for his world.
They were unprepared for the complexity they encountered.
Phoenix moved through the facility's lower levels, heat signatures guiding him toward the power distribution nodes. Every stride evoked recollections of London—the trap of the kingdom, the scrutiny akin to a specimen, and the manipulation of his history.
This time would be different.
"I've located the primary power systems," he reported, crouching behind a bank of humming equipment. "They're running on minimal reserves. Backup generators are primed for emergency activation."
"Can you disable them without triggering alarms?" Minwoo asked.
Phoenix studied the systems, mapping energy flows with practiced ease. "Yeah, but it'll require precision. Too much damage could destabilize the whole dimensional sector."
"We need those systems offline when we make our move on the convergence engine," Minwoo reminded him. "However, we need to proceed with caution; our goal is not to hasten Omega's collapse."
"Understood." Phoenix measured his breaths, centering himself. "Beginning sequence now."
He placed his palm against the first junction box, focusing his power not into explosive force but precise heat—just enough to melt key connections without triggering failsafes. The technique required a level of control that he once would have thought impossible, transforming his destructive nature into surgical precision.
As he worked methodically through the power grid, Phoenix couldn't help but note the irony. He had spent years learning to contain his flames, to prevent the very destruction he now carefully orchestrated. Yet here, in this dying world, his control might save two Earths from annihilation.
A soft hiss severed the final connection, and the power indicators winked out across the control panel.
"Backup power neutralized," he confirmed. "They'll only have limited emergency systems. We've got maybe ten minutes before they reroute."
"Good work," Minwoo replied. "Regroup at Harbor's position. We move on the convergence engine on my mark."
Phoenix stepped back from the disabled systems, a sense of grim accomplishment washing over him. In London, Kingdom had used his history against him. Here, he'd used their expectations against them—they'd prepared for the uncontrolled inferno, not the precision scalpel his flames had become.
He reflected that growth sometimes emerged from the most unlikely crucibles.
On Alpha Earth, Seoul burned.
Brimstone watched from the Protocol's tactical center as reports flooded in from across the city. Dimensional ruptures had appeared without warning—tears in reality that spilled Omega forces onto Alpha streets. Their discovery was precisely what they had anticipated.
"Status report," he barked, studying the holographic display where red indicators multiplied like a viral infection.
"The junior agent reported multiple incursions occurring across downtown and the riverside districts." "The entire Kingdom Tower is under threat. Civilian evacuation is at thirty percent."
Brimstone's jaw tightened. The Protocol's defenses, with their primary strike team on Omega Earth, were dangerously thin. Tactical options dwindled by the second.
"Deploy all available agents to evacuation corridors," he ordered. "Priority is civilian protection. We hold the perimeter and get people out."
"Sir," another agent cut in, "Omega forces are targeting power infrastructure. They're trying to destabilize the grid."
Of course they were. Without stable power, the Protocol's containment systems would fail, accelerating the convergence. This situation served as a perfect distraction while the team was off-world.
"Redirect KAY/O and Deadlock to power station defense," Brimstone said, calculating losses against gains. "Astra and Chamber maintain the dimensional containment at headquarters."
Each decision meant leaving another sector vulnerable, sacrificing some to save more. The weight of command had never felt heavier.
"Sir," the comms officer said, voice tight with urgency, "we've lost contact with the medical bay. Internal systems show power fluctuations throughout that section."
Brimstone's blood turned cold. "Sage and Jett?"
"Unknown, sir. Internal comms are down."
Brimstone gazed at the tactical display as the red indicators rapidly spread throughout his city. Every instinct urged him to send reinforcements to the medical bay to safeguard his own. But outside those walls, thousands of civilians faced extinction.
"Maintain current deployment," he said, the words like ash in his mouth. "Sage knows what she's doing. We focus on the civilian evacuation."
As affirmations echoed around him, Brimstone turned his gaze to the window where the sky above Seoul had taken on an unnatural purple hue—the color of dimensions bleeding into one another. Time was running out for both worlds.
"Come on, kid," he murmured, thinking of Minwoo and the team on Omega Earth. "We're counting on you."
Pain lanced through Sage's consciousness as she stretched herself across dimensional planes. Jett's life essence had fragmented, pieces of her scattered across realities that were never meant to touch. To heal her, Sage had to exist in all those places simultaneously—a feat beyond even her considerable abilities.
"Your heart rate is climbing," Hanna warned, her song faltering momentarily. "Sage, you're pushing too hard."
"I have to," Sage gritted out. "The fragments are destabilizing faster than I can collect them."
Around them, the medical bay's equipment flickered as power fluctuations rocked the Protocol headquarters. The dimensional healing drew enormous energy, taxing systems already strained by the convergence crisis.
Sage reached deeper, gathering pieces of Jett's fractured essence. Each fragment contained memories, emotions, and the very building blocks of self. In one, she glimpsed Jett as a child, running through Korean streets with her brother. Another fragment captured the moment she discovered her wind powers during First Light. In another, she embarked on her inaugural mission with the Protocol.
She was determined to save a life, regardless of the consequences.
"Sage," Hanna's voice came as if from a great distance, "your vitals are dropping. You need to pull back."
Sage ignored the warning, focusing instead on the largest fragment she'd located—Jett's core essence, the piece that defined her as herself. As she reached for it, pain exploded behind her eyes. Too much. The expanse of dimensions stretched her too thinly.
Her consciousness began to tear, mirroring Jett's fragmentation.
"Sage!" Hanna's voice sharpened with fear. "You have to stop!"
Through the haze of agony, Sage felt a hand grasp hers—Jett, partially conscious, her eyes flickering open.
"Let me go," Jett whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not worth... your life."
Sage tightened her grip on both Jett's hand and her fragmenting essence. "Every life matters," she said, the mantra that had guided her since her first healing. "Especially yours."
With a final surge of effort, Sage pulled Jett's core essence back into alignment with her physical form. The process rippled through her being, her healing reserves depleting to dangerous levels.
Darkness crowded the edges of her vision as she felt herself falling, the dimensional connections snapping like overtaxed rubber bands. The last thing she heard was Hanna's voice, no longer singing but calling desperately for help, and beneath that, the steady beep of Jett's stabilizing vitals.
That was indeed a triumph. Whatever came next was worth it.
Minwoo glided effortlessly through the Omega facility, the wind propelling him beyond automated defenses incapable of tracking his speed. Harbor's water disruptions had created the perfect cover, shorting out security systems and flooding lower levels to force emergency protocols.
"I'm approaching the convergence chamber," he reported, voice low. "Status updates."
"Power systems compromised," Phoenix confirmed. "They're operating on emergency reserves only."
"Control center mapped," Yoru added. "Sending the schematic to your HUD now. Be advised, the integration is... extensive."
Minwoo absorbed the information as the schematic appeared in his tactical display. The image confirmed his worst fears—Ω-Minwoo wasn't just connected to the machine; he had become the machine, his radiant energy serving as the bridge between dimensions.
"Harbor, what's our extraction window looking like?"
A pause, then Harbor's voice, tight with concern. "Deteriorating. The dimensional barriers are thinning rapidly. I estimate twenty minutes before safe passage becomes impossible."
Minwoo processed his task with cold efficiency. We have twenty minutes to stop the convergence, secure extraction, and return to Alpha Earth—assuming that such a return remains possible.
"Understood. Maintain positions. I'm going in."
The convergence chamber doors loomed ahead, surprisingly unguarded. The doors were guarded by either supreme confidence or the desperation of a world that had already committed its remaining resources elsewhere. Minwoo suspected the latter.
Wind gathered around his hands as he pushed through the final barrier, entering a vast circular chamber dominated by a swirling vortex of energy. At its center, suspended in a web of cables and radianite conduits, hung Ω-Minwoo—a mirror image of himself, yet horrifically transformed.
His counterpart's body had begun merging with the energy he manipulated, flesh and wind becoming indistinguishable in places. His eyes opened as Minwoo approached, recognition flaring through the pain.
"Finally," Ω-Minwoo said, voice distorted as if speaking through damaged speakers. "The hero arrives."
Minwoo kept his distance, assessing both the chamber and his counterpart. "This ends now. The convergence will destroy both our worlds."
A laugh escaped Ω-Minwoo, ending in a wracking cough. "My world has already suffered destruction." It has been since First Light. The answer is mercy."
"Forcing two dimensions to collide isn't mercy. It's extinction."
"For you, perhaps." Ω-Minwoo's gaze hardened. "For us, it's survival. The only chance we have left."
Minwoo stepped closer, studying the integration. Every cable and connection seemed designed not just to channel Ω-Minwoo's power but to consume him in the process.
"They're sacrificing you," Minwoo said quietly. "You must see that."
"I volunteered." Pride flickered across Ω-Minwoo's ravaged features. "One life to save millions. The math is simple."
"Except it won't save them. The convergence is too unstable. Both Earths will shatter in the process."
Doubt crept into Ω-Minwoo's expression. "You're lying."
"You know I'm not." Minwoo gestured to the readouts surrounding them. "Look at the dimensional fracture patterns. They're cascading, not stabilizing. This wasn't properly tested."
Ω-Minwoo's gaze flickered to the displays, understanding dawning slowly. "Then we're all dead anyway."
"Not necessarily." Minwoo moved to the control interface, studying the energy flows. "The convergence engine is working. It's just aimed wrong. Instead of forcing a merger, it could stabilize both dimensions separately."
Hope and suspicion warred in Ω-Minwoo's eyes. "How?"
"The engine needs an anchor in each dimension—a fixed point to stabilize reality around." Minwoo met his counterpart's gaze. "It needs us. There is one person in Alpha and another in Omega. There are two versions of the same person, which creates balance.
Comprehension dawned in Ω-Minwoo's expression, followed quickly by bitter laughter. "So we save both worlds, but neither of us can ever cross between them again. Permanent separation."
"Yes."
The simplicity of Minwoo's response hung between them, heavy with implication. To save both Earths, he would have to abandon everyone he loved in Alpha—Jett, the Protocol, the life he had built. After all, it was a one-way mission.
Ω-Minwoo studied him, searching for deception and finding none. "Why would you make that sacrifice for a world that isn't yours? For people who are just mirror images of your own?"
"Because they're still people," Minwoo said. "And because I know what it means to be caught between worlds."
Something shifted in Ω-Minwoo's expression—respect, perhaps, or simply resignation. "You'll never see your sister again."
The words landed like physical blows, but Minwoo kept his face impassive. "If that's the price of her survival, I'll pay it."
Ω-Minwoo closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
Minwoo activated his comm. "Team, I've reached the convergence engine. I'm initiating redirection protocol."
"Minwoo," Phoenix's voice came back immediately, "what's happening?"
"We can redirect the convergence to stabilize both dimensions, but we need an anchor in each world." He paused, steeling himself. "I'm staying in Omega."
Silence fell across the comm line, broken first by Harbor. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't. Not in the time we have left." Minwoo's voice remained steady despite the storm raging inside him. "Complete your objectives and proceed to extraction."
"Like hell," Phoenix cut in. "We're not leaving you behind."
"That's an order, Phoenix. The mission comes first." Minwoo swallowed hard. "Tell Jett... tell her I'm sorry."
Before further arguments could come, Minwoo muted the comm and turned back to Ω-Minwoo. "Let's begin."
Working together, they recalibrated the convergence engine, redirecting its energy from forced merger to parallel stabilization. The process rippled throughout the chamber as reality itself resisted the change, dimensional forces fighting against its control.
"The integration requires adjustment," Ω-Minwoo gritted out, pain evident as the cables connecting him to the machine pulsed with increased energy. "You'll need to connect yourself to the Alpha conduits."
Minwoo nodded, approaching the integration pod that had been prepared for him—his counterpart's imprisonment now becoming his own. As he connected to the system, pain lanced through his body, radianite energy invading his cells, rewriting his molecular structure to serve as a dimensional anchor.
Through the agony, he maintained focus on the calibration. The engine hummed with increasing power, the vortex at its center shifting from violent purple to a more stable blue as the redirection took hold.
"It's working," Ω-Minwoo confirmed, his voice weaker as the process drained what remained of his life force. "Dimensional stress is decreasing. Separation protocols initiate."
Minwoo felt the change on a fundamental level—reality firming around them as the convergence engine redirected its power from destruction to stabilization. Alpha and Omega Earth are beginning to realign as separate entities rather than colliding worlds.
But as the separation progressed, something unexpected happened. The dimensional energies, rather than settling into stable patterns, began to fluctuate wildly. The control interfaces flashed with warnings as the engine struggled to maintain the redirection.
"Something's wrong," Ω-Minwoo gasped, his form flickering as the machine drew more heavily on his essence. "The energy patterns are becoming chaotic."
Minwoo tried to compensate, channeling more of his wind energy into the stabilization process, but the fluctuations only intensified. Reality itself seemed to be fighting them, the natural laws of physics rebelling against their manipulation.
"We require additional power," he expressed, exerting himself to the utmost. "The separation requires more energy than we can provide."
Ω-Minwoo's eyes met his, a terrible understanding passing between them. "There is another source," he said quietly. "But you won't like it."
Before Minwoo could respond, his counterpart reached for the central conduit and twisted it, redirecting the full force of the convergence engine through his body. His form erupted in blue-white light as dimensional energy consumed him from within.
"What are you doing?" Minwoo shouted, struggling against his connections.
"What's necessary," Ω-Minwoo replied, his voice strangely calm despite the agony that must be tearing through him. "My world took everything from me. Yours gave you a second chance. It seems only fair that I return the favor.
The sacrifice sent cascading power through the system, the redirection protocol strengthening as Ω-Minwoo's life force poured into it. The dimensional barriers between worlds stabilized, separation progressing at an accelerated rate.
But the process was consuming Ω-Minwoo completely, his physical form disintegrating as it converted to pure energy.
"Stop!" Minwoo called out, fighting against his restraints. "We'll find another way!"
Ω-Minwoo smiled through his disintegration. "There is no other way. Not in the time we have." His voice grew fainter as his form became more light than substance. "Tell your sister... tell Jett I'm sorry for trying to kill her. And tell yourself... it's not your fault. Neither time."
With those words, Ω-Minwoo surrendered completely to the convergence engine, his consciousness becoming the fuel that drove the dimensional separation. His physical form vanished in a final flash of blue-white light, leaving only the stabilizing vortex and the distant echo of his voice.
The system surged with unprecedented power, the redirection proceeding faster than Minwoo had thought possible. Alpha and Omega Earth pulled apart, dimensional barriers re-establishing between them. On the monitors, stability indicators rose steadily toward safe levels.
But the sacrifice had consequences beyond Ω-Minwoo's death. The massive energy surge had created unexpected resonance patterns, dimensional currents that now pulled at Minwoo himself. He felt his body growing lighter, reality shifting around him as the chambers of both Alpha and Omega Earth seemed to overlay one another in his perception.
"What's happening?" He gasped into the comm, which had reactivated with the energy surge.
"Minwoo!" Yoru's voice came through, urgent and clear. "The dimensional barriers are reestablishing too quickly. You're being displaced!"
"Displaced? To where?"
"Nowhere," Harbor cut in, scientific understanding evident in his tone. "You're being pushed into the space between dimensions. Neither Alpha nor Omega."
Dimensional limbo. There was a void between realities, a place where nothing should exist.
Minwoo felt the pull strengthening, his body becoming less substantial with each passing second. The connections that had bound him to the convergence engine snapped one by one, leaving him floating free as reality itself rejected his presence.
"Get to extraction," he ordered, his voice growing distant even to his ears. "The mission is complete. Both worlds are stabilizing."
"Minwoo!" Phoenix's voice grew increasingly desperate. "We're coming for you!"
"No time," Minwoo replied, watching as his hands began to fade, existence itself peeling away from him. "The barriers are sealing. Get out while you can."
Through the dimensional flux, he caught glimpses of both worlds—Alpha Earth's Seoul shimmering with renewed stability and Omega's broken landscape beginning the slow process of healing. He once again separated the two realities, keeping them safe from the convergence that could have destroyed them both.
They were worth every cost.
As the final threads of connection to physical reality slipped away, Minwoo found himself suspended in a void of swirling energy, neither in one world nor the other. Alone in the space between dimensions, he watched as both Earths receded from his perception.
His last conscious thought was of Jett—her face, her voice, the sister he had found and lost and found again. He hoped she would understand his choice, that she would find strength in knowing his sacrifice had meaning.
Then darkness consumed him, and Han Minwoo knew no more.
In VALORANT Protocol's medical bay, Jett's eyes snapped open, a gasp tearing from her throat as she sat bolt upright.
"Minwoo," she whispered, the name both question and statement.
Beside her bed, Hanna looked up sharply from where she had been tending to Sage's unconscious form. "Jett? You're awake!"
But Jett wasn't listening. Jett fixed her gaze on the middle distance, seeing something beyond the walls of the medical bay. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling unchecked down her cheeks.
"He's gone," she said, her voice hollow with certainty. "I can't feel him anymore."
Hanna moved to her side, taking her hand. "The team isn't back yet. We don't know—"
"I know," Jett cut her off, the words like broken glass. "We're twins. We've always shared a connection. And now..." Her voice broke. "Now there's nothing. Just emptiness."
Outside the medical bay windows, the skies above Seoul had cleared, the unnatural purple hue fading back to natural blue. The convergence had come to an end. Alpha Earth was safe.
But at what cost?
Jett closed her eyes, reaching out with senses beyond the physical, searching for the familiar presence that had been with her since birth. She found only a void where her brother should have been.
"You idiot," she whispered, fury and grief warring in her voice. "You promised you wouldn't leave me again."
As the dimensional barriers solidified between worlds, as reality itself settled back into proper alignment, Jett Han sat in the silence of the medical bay and mourned the brother who had sacrificed everything to save two worlds.
The hero found himself torn between two distinct realities. He was a bridge that had burned so others could cross safely.
The wind stirred faintly around her, a ghost of what had been, then stilled. Only the silence of a bond, severed not by choice but by necessity, remained.
This was the ultimate sacrifice.