Time was no longer linear.
The moment Jian and Jackson stepped through the shimmering portal at the base of the Flame Tower, the world dissolved around them. Gravity bent. Light whispered. Sounds echoed before they were made. This was no realm of man or magic—it was memory unanchored.
They had entered the River of Forgotten Tomorrows, a place where futures that might have been flowed endlessly beside one another.
The sky shifted colors with their emotions. The ground pulsed like breath. Ghosts of possibilities drifted by—echoes of choices unmade, lives unlived.
Jian clutched her staff tighter. "This place… it's made of what we almost became."
Jackson stepped beside her, eyes scanning the twisting terrain ahead. "Alicia said the third scale was here. Lost in a forgotten future."
They followed the pathless path, where the road formed beneath their steps and faded behind them. Shadows moved on the edges, not hostile—but watching. Curious.
And then they came to it.
A massive crystal lake, still as glass.
Suspended at its center was the third dragon scale, glowing silver-blue. But the lake itself was strange—its surface showed reflections not of the present, but of who they would become if they failed.
Jian saw herself, alone, staff broken, her light dimmed.
Jackson saw a future where he had lost everyone—where his fire consumed him instead of protecting others.
"I hate this," he muttered.
"You're scared," Jian replied gently. "So am I. But we can't look away."
They stepped toward the lake—and the water moved.
A creature rose, forged from liquid time, eyes flickering with the regrets of countless futures. Its voice echoed across the ripples:
"You seek what was never meant to be."
Jackson drew his blade, glowing with scale-light. "Then we'll take it anyway."
[The Trial of the Future]
The time-wraith attacked with visions, not claws. Jian staggered as she saw herself turning on Jackson, corrupted by power. Jackson saw Jian leaving him behind, choosing duty over friendship. The visions clawed at their minds, sowing seeds of doubt.
But Jian gritted her teeth and slammed her staff into the ground, anchoring them both.
"These aren't truths. They're fears. Shadows of what could be."
Jackson stood beside her, fire curling around his arms. "But embers are still fire. And fire is ours."
Together, they rose.
Light and flame fused, cutting through the illusions. Jian raised her staff, and Jackson's blade pierced the heart of the wraith. It shattered—not into death, but into hundreds of golden threads, each a timeline freed from fear.
The lake stilled.
The scale floated into the air—and flew to them, embedding itself into Jian's staff with a deep, resonant hum.
The third scale had been claimed.
And with it, a new vision burst before them.
[Alicia's Final Thread]
Alicia—torn, bound in light—stood before a burning temple.
Behind her: the Shadow Prince, cloaked in shadowfire, holding a fractured version of Jian's staff.
He wasn't dead.
He was waiting.
And he was almost free.
Jian stared, breath caught.
Jackson's voice was low, tense. "It's not over."
"No," Jian whispered. "It's just beginning."