Kael always found comfort in places others feared.
Which explained why he was currently crawling through a half-collapsed crawlspace beneath the Academy's west wing—beneath the old Hall of Echoes, where they said voices whispered even after death.
He'd picked the lock, disarmed the glyph, and wedged himself between two ancient beams slick with condensation. The ground below was cracked marble, half-swallowed by roots. A tomb of forgotten history. His favorite kind.
A soft breeze brushed his cheek. Not natural. Not wind. Time.
He was getting close.
The Chrono Blade wasn't just a weapon—it was a wound in the world. And old wounds bled forever.
Kael dropped into the chamber below.
It was darker than he remembered. But memory, like time, wasn't linear for him anymore. It might have been years ago. Might have been tomorrow. But he knew this place. Knew it like a man knows the scar on his chest.
A circle of broken mirrors stood at the center. Silver edges. Ancient markings.
And in the middle, hovering inches above the stone—was a shard of blackened steel.
His breath hitched.
The First Fragment.
He didn't touch it. Not yet. The blade was humming, alive, reacting to his presence. It knew him.
Of course it did.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny piece he'd stolen years ago in another life. He dropped it gently beside the larger shard.
The two pieces shimmered.
Time twisted.
Kael fell to one knee, head ringing. The world buckled.
For one horrible second, he saw everything at once.
The fall of the Crimson Empire. The Battle of Eight Kings. His own death at the hands of—
"Kael!"
The voice snapped him back.
Thorne.
Of course.
Kael stood, groaning, and pocketed the shard. He spun around just as Thorne burst through the shattered entrance, sword drawn, face pale.
"I followed you," Thorne said breathlessly. "You weren't in your bunk and I… What is this place?!"
Kael sighed. "You really shouldn't be here."
"I'm not leaving without an explanation."
Kael looked at him. Really looked.
The boy had courage. Too much, maybe.
"This place is older than the Academy. Older than the Kingdom. It's where time fractured, once. A long time ago."
Thorne blinked. "Fractured?"
Kael tapped the mirror ring. "Magic isn't just spells and fireballs, Thorne. Sometimes it's memory. Sometimes it's regret."
Thorne didn't understand. But he listened.
That was enough—for now.
Kael turned to leave. "Come on. Before the echoes start screaming."
Back above ground, the Academy was waking. Bells rang. Pages ran with scrolls. An instructor barked about a missing dueling schedule.
Kael and Thorne slipped into the training yard like nothing had happened.
Except something had.
Kael could feel the shard pulsing in his chest pocket. Warm. Ancient.
Alive.
And he knew now that others would be looking for it.
Enemies.
Worse—friends he hadn't made yet.
That afternoon, a letter arrived via hawk.
Not for Kael. For Merek.
But Kael read it anyway. Because secrets never stayed sealed.
His stomach sank as he scanned the words:
"The Silver Accord has been breached. A temporal artifact was activated near your region. Surveillance spells detected a signature… familiar to the war council."
"You are to report immediately if anyone shows signs of chronomantic instability."
"The Emperor suspects a Reversion."
Kael folded the letter slowly, heart pounding.
They knew.
Someone out there had felt the ripple. Felt him.
And now the clock was ticking.
Later, Thorne cornered him near the bathhouse, eyes wide.
"That place… it changed me."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You touched the shard?"
"No! I mean—no. But I heard something. A voice. It said my name."
Kael's breath caught. That shouldn't be possible. The shard wasn't bonded to Thorne.
Unless—
"You heard a voice?" he asked quietly.
Thorne nodded. "It sounded like me. Older. And sad."
Kael stared at him.
This wasn't just an echo. This was a resonance. Temporal sympathy. The blade had marked Thorne.
Fate had chosen another player.
He didn't know whether to be furious or relieved.
That night, Kael sat on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. The moon was blood-red. A bad omen. Or maybe just a reminder.
Of how little time he had left.
Thorne appeared beside him, silent for once.
After a long pause, he asked, "Are you from the future?"
Kael laughed. Genuinely. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"
"No."
"Then no, I'm not."
Thorne nodded. "Okay."
They sat in silence again.
Kael finally said, "Do me a favor, Thorne."
"Sure."
"When the time comes, and everything breaks—run. Don't be a hero."
Thorne looked at him with that same foolish fire.
"I'd rather stand and fight."
Kael didn't answer.
Because deep down, he already knew—
Thorne would
Kael always found comfort in places others feared.
Which explained why he was currently crawling through a half-collapsed crawlspace beneath the Academy's west wing—beneath the old Hall of Echoes, where they said voices whispered even after death.
He'd picked the lock, disarmed the glyph, and wedged himself between two ancient beams slick with condensation. The ground below was cracked marble, half-swallowed by roots. A tomb of forgotten history. His favorite kind.
A soft breeze brushed his cheek. Not natural. Not wind. Time.
He was getting close.
The Chrono Blade wasn't just a weapon—it was a wound in the world. And old wounds bled forever.
Kael dropped into the chamber below.
It was darker than he remembered. But memory, like time, wasn't linear for him anymore. It might have been years ago. Might have been tomorrow. But he knew this place. Knew it like a man knows the scar on his chest.
A circle of broken mirrors stood at the center. Silver edges. Ancient markings.
And in the middle, hovering inches above the stone—was a shard of blackened steel.
His breath hitched.
The First Fragment.
He didn't touch it. Not yet. The blade was humming, alive, reacting to his presence. It knew him.
Of course it did.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny piece he'd stolen years ago in another life. He dropped it gently beside the larger shard.
The two pieces shimmered.
Time twisted.
Kael fell to one knee, head ringing. The world buckled.
For one horrible second, he saw everything at once.
The fall of the Crimson Empire. The Battle of Eight Kings. His own death at the hands of—
"Kael!"
The voice snapped him back.
Thorne.
Of course.
Kael stood, groaning, and pocketed the shard. He spun around just as Thorne burst through the shattered entrance, sword drawn, face pale.
"I followed you," Thorne said breathlessly. "You weren't in your bunk and I… What is this place?!"
Kael sighed. "You really shouldn't be here."
"I'm not leaving without an explanation."
Kael looked at him. Really looked.
The boy had courage. Too much, maybe.
"This place is older than the Academy. Older than the Kingdom. It's where time fractured, once. A long time ago."
Thorne blinked. "Fractured?"
Kael tapped the mirror ring. "Magic isn't just spells and fireballs, Thorne. Sometimes it's memory. Sometimes it's regret."
Thorne didn't understand. But he listened.
That was enough—for now.
Kael turned to leave. "Come on. Before the echoes start screaming."
Back above ground, the Academy was waking. Bells rang. Pages ran with scrolls. An instructor barked about a missing dueling schedule.
Kael and Thorne slipped into the training yard like nothing had happened.
Except something had.
Kael could feel the shard pulsing in his chest pocket. Warm. Ancient.
Alive.
And he knew now that others would be looking for it.
Enemies.
Worse—friends he hadn't made yet.
That afternoon, a letter arrived via hawk.
Not for Kael. For Merek.
But Kael read it anyway. Because secrets never stayed sealed.
His stomach sank as he scanned the words:
"The Silver Accord has been breached. A temporal artifact was activated near your region. Surveillance spells detected a signature… familiar to the war council."
"You are to report immediately if anyone shows signs of chronomantic instability."
"The Emperor suspects a Reversion."
Kael folded the letter slowly, heart pounding.
They knew.
Someone out there had felt the ripple. Felt him.
And now the clock was ticking.
Later, Thorne cornered him near the bathhouse, eyes wide.
"That place… it changed me."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You touched the shard?"
"No! I mean—no. But I heard something. A voice. It said my name."
Kael's breath caught. That shouldn't be possible. The shard wasn't bonded to Thorne.
Unless—
"You heard a voice?" he asked quietly.
Thorne nodded. "It sounded like me. Older. And sad."
Kael stared at him.
This wasn't just an echo. This was a resonance. Temporal sympathy. The blade had marked Thorne.
Fate had chosen another player.
He didn't know whether to be furious or relieved.
That night, Kael sat on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. The moon was blood-red. A bad omen. Or maybe just a reminder.
Of how little time he had left.
Thorne appeared beside him, silent for once.
After a long pause, he asked, "Are you from the future?"
Kael laughed. Genuinely. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"
"No."
"Then no, I'm not."
Thorne nodded. "Okay."
They sat in silence again.
Kael finally said, "Do me a favor, Thorne."
"Sure."
"When the time comes, and everything breaks—run. Don't be a hero."
Thorne looked at him with that same foolish fire.
"I'd rather stand and fight."
Kael didn't answer.
Because deep down, he already knew—
Thorne would die again.
And this time kael wasn't sure he could stop it.