Time broke with light.
Then silence.
No scream. No crash. No death.
Just… stillness.
Callen Ward woke in a field of green grass, soft under his fingers. The air was warm and smelled of wildflowers. Above him, clouds drifted lazily across a pale blue sky, unmarked by red moons or smoke.
He sat up slowly.
No pain.
No tether anchor burning inside his chest.
Just a hollow emptiness where Isora's soul had once shone beside his.
"Where…"
His voice cracked.
He looked around. In the distance, white towers shimmered—tall, gleaming, unmarred. The Academy.
But not Aethenhold.
This school was new.
The buildings curved gracefully, the wards humming gently with balanced runes. Trees bloomed in neat rows. Students in clean robes walked and laughed.
No alarms.
No fear.
And not a single memory of him.
---
He wandered the halls for hours.
No one stared.
No one whispered.
No one asked why he was there.
Even the professors gave him the same look you give a guest at an open lecture—politely curious, but entirely unknowing.
He found his old room.
Or rather, the version of it in this timeline.
It was occupied.
A boy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading. When Callen opened the door, the boy looked up and smiled.
"You looking for the first-years' dorms? I think you've got the wrong floor."
Callen blinked.
"…Sorry."
He closed the door gently.
Gone.
Everything was gone.
---
By dusk, he sat alone in the same courtyard where he'd first kissed Isora in the second-to-last loop.
She had laughed then. Burned the tips of his hair when they got too close. Promised to do better next time.
But there was no next time now.
Only forward.
The loop was broken.
And the price had been her.
---
A voice spoke from behind him.
"I thought you might come here."
He turned.
Lyssa.
Same cloak. Same eyes. Same blade—now wrapped in white silk.
She stepped forward and sat beside him.
"You did it," she said. "The loop is gone. The Chronovore is dead. This timeline is free."
Callen nodded, numb. "So why do I feel like I'm the only one who lost something?"
She looked up at the stars, already beginning to bloom in the sky.
"Because you are."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Lyssa reached into her coat and pulled something out.
A pendant.
Blackened by flame. Etched with runes Callen had carved himself.
Isora's anchor.
Callen's hands shook as he took it.
"She's…" he began, then couldn't finish.
Lyssa nodded. "Her soul burned to stabilize the anchor, yes. But she passed through the Vault, Callen. Not into death—but beyond the loop's reach."
He looked at her sharply.
"You mean she's alive?"
"Somewhere," Lyssa said. "But not here. Not in this version of reality."
He stared at the pendant.
The runes flickered faintly.
Still warm.
Still alive.
Lyssa rose.
"If you want to find her, you'll need to learn how to walk the broken paths. Not loops. Not echoes. But threads—versions of reality that were never supposed to exist."
Callen looked up. "You can teach me?"
She smirked. "I can give you the map. But you'll walk the road alone."
---
That night, he stood at the gates of the new Academy.
No one stopped him.
He held the pendant tight.
And for the first time in a world unchained by repetition…
He walked forward.
To find her.
To finish what they began.
Together.