The forest was gone.
Behind them, the sanctuary had collapsed in flame and stone, reduced to ruin by the Circle's assault. But ahead—nothing but endless desert, wind-blasted cliffs, and sun-scorched rock.
"This place feels… wrong," Kairos muttered as they trekked across the cracked earth.
Veyra nodded. "It should. We're walking across the Shattered Vale. A prison built to hold those who've tampered with fate."
Kairos glanced at her. "You mean reincarnates."
"No," Arius said, his voice grim. "We mean you. One of your past selves was imprisoned here."
Kairos stopped.
"What?"
Veyra turned toward him. "The Eater of Names. A life you've long forgotten. A man who sacrificed thousands to steal time from death. He tampered with soul-weaving, broke sacred laws… and nearly tore the fabric of reality apart."
Kairos felt bile rise in his throat.
"I was a monster."
"You were," she agreed. "But you're not now. And that version of you holds a secret—the location of the next reincarnate: Riven."
Arius explained. "Riven is a dream-walker. He exists between timelines, slipping through memory and possibility. Without him, we can't find the Nexus—the ancient gate that controls the reincarnation cycle."
Kairos took a breath. "Then let's find him."
They pressed on until nightfall. As the moon rose, they came to the edge of a canyon—black, deep, and humming with strange energy. Symbols glowed along the cliff walls. The air shimmered with heat and memory.
"This is it," Veyra whispered. "The tomb of the Eater."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them shifted. Sand exploded upward. A wave of distorted energy knocked them off their feet.
From the canyon rose a figure—a man draped in chains, his body cloaked in flickering shadow. His face... was Kairos's.
But older. Cracked. Broken. And mad.
"Who dares awaken me?" the specter snarled, voice echoing with the screams of the damned.
Kairos stood slowly, eyes locked on the phantom.
"I do," he said. "I am you. And I need your memory."
The Eater's laughter was cruel. "Then earn it."
The canyon split with fire as illusions surged—thousands of past versions of Kairos attacking at once. Blade-dancers, shadow-walkers, sorcerer-kings, assassin-priests—all screaming, all hollow.
Kairos fought like a man possessed. Every enemy was him—but twisted. He ducked, weaved, struck with fire and storm. He called on the Flameheart, and it answered—searing his foes into ash.
But there were too many. For every illusion he felled, more came.
"We have to break the cycle!" Arius shouted. "He's trapping you in your own guilt!"
Veyra reached into the air and pulled free a soul-thread—glowing with white-blue light—and flung it to Kairos.
He caught it.
And suddenly... he saw.
All the pain. All the destruction. The blood on his hands. The empire he burned. The gods he challenged. But also—why.
The Eater had loved once. A woman named Elira. The Circle had taken her. And in his grief, he had tried to bend time to save her—destroying himself in the process.
Kairos stepped through the illusions, no longer fighting.
He faced the Eater and whispered: "You weren't a monster. You were just broken. Like me."
The specter hesitated. Its chains fell. And then, it dissolved into light.
The canyon shook. A new path opened—a spiraling stair descending into the earth.
"Riven's below," Veyra said. "We need to reach him before the Circle does."
As they moved downward, Kairos glanced over his shoulder one last time.
And whispered: "Rest now, old soul. I'll carry us forward."
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