It started as a shimmer in the air.
Nexus noticed it first—a distortion at the edge of his vision, like heat waves over summer pavement. Except the air was freezing. And the shimmer moved wrong. Backward, maybe. Or sideways through dimensions that shouldn't exist.
"Do you see that?" he asked Maris.
She stopped walking, following his gaze.
"I see... something. Like the air is breathing."
The shimmer intensified. Spread. Within moments, the entire landscape ahead of them looked unstable—reality flickering between states, uncertain which version of itself to commit to.
And then—
The world hiccupped.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Like existence skipped a beat, stuttered over a damaged groove.
When it settled—
Everything was different.
The snow was deeper. The sky was darker. The fortress in the distance was closer. Much closer.
"What—" Maris started.
Another hiccup.
The fortress was far again. The snow was shallow. A tree that hadn't been there before now grew to their left—massive, ancient, dead for decades.
Then it wasn't there.
Then it was, but smaller. Younger. Alive.
"Time's breaking," Nexus said quietly.
His hand found The Night Slayer's hilt instinctively. The three gems pulsed—but irregularly now. Out of sync with each other. Like even they couldn't agree on what moment they existed in.
"How?" Maris hugged herself, watching reality flicker. "Why now?"
"Because we're close." Nexus looked at the fortress—present in some flickers, absent in others, constantly shifting position. "Close to where all five fragments will be. Where they'll try to reunite."
He remembered what the voice in the crystal had said. What Lune had warned in dreams. What every sign had been pointing toward.
"Time doesn't want the fragments brought together. Reality itself is rejecting the idea. So it's trying to scatter the moments—make it impossible for all five pieces to exist in the same when."
Another hiccup.
This time it lasted longer. Reality hung suspended between two states—Nexus could see both simultaneously. The snow deep and shallow. The fortress near and far. His own body standing in two slightly different positions at once.
Schrödinger's world. Everything and nothing. All possibilities existing until observation forced choice.
Then it snapped back. Single timeline. Single moment.
But wrong moment.
The light was different. Earlier? Later? Nexus couldn't tell.
And Maris—
Maris was clutching her head, gasping.
"What's wrong?"
"My True Aura Sense—" Her voice shook. "I can see... echoes. Auras from different times. People who were here. Who will be here? Who might have been here in timelines that don't exist anymore."
She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.
"There are so many. Overlapping. Contradicting. All screaming at once."
Nexus grabbed her shoulders, grounding her.
"Focus on now. At this very moment. On what's real."
"I don't know what's real anymore!"
Another hiccup.
Longer this time.
And in the suspension—in that moment between moments—
Nexus saw them.
Figures moving through the flickering landscape. Translucent. Ghostly. Walking paths that existed in other times.
One looked like Atlas. Younger. Whole. Smiling at something.
Another looked like Retro—but wrong age, wrong clothes, wrong era. From decades ago, maybe. Or centuries.
And there—barely visible, so faint it might have been imagination—
A small figure with light blue and yellow hair. Child-sized. Running through snow that existed in a different time.
Lea.
But that was impossible. Lea was with Retro. Nowhere near here. And this version looked younger. Maybe eight years old. From years ago.
The world snapped back.
The figures vanished. Reality solidified.
But now Nexus understood.
"It's not just space that's breaking," he said. "It's time. The barriers between when and where—they're dissolving. All moments trying to exist simultaneously."
"That's not possible," Maris protested weakly.
"Tell that to reality."
He looked at the path ahead. At the fortress that kept shifting. At the landscape that couldn't decide what it was.
"We need to move. Fast. Before the fractures get worse. Before we get trapped between moments with no way forward or back."
"How do we even navigate this?"
Nexus drew The Night Slayer.
The blade hummed, and despite the temporal chaos, the three gems pulsed with determination. They'd been through this before. They've had experience with time breaking.
Had memories of when Retro had shattered it the first time.
"The sword remembers," Nexus said. "It was there when time first fractured. When Uncle Retro broke the rules so badly, reality couldn't recover."
He held the blade up, letting its light cut through the shimmering air.
"It can guide us through the breaks. Show us which path is now instead of then or might-be."
They started walking.
The sword pulled. Not northwest anymore—that direction had become meaningless. Instead it pulled toward stability. Toward moments that were solidly real. Toward the thread of the timeline that was most present.
And reality fought them every step.
They'd been walking for an hour—or maybe minutes, or possibly days, time having lost reliable meaning—when the memories started bleeding through.
Not their memories.
His memories.
Retro's.
The first one hit Nexus like a physical blow.
He was standing in a field. Sunset painted the sky gold and red. A woman stood before him—brown hair, gentle smile, holding a ribbon he'd just given her.
Rose.
But Nexus wasn't just seeing this. He was living it. Feeling Retro's emotions. His love. His hope. His certainty that this moment would last forever.
Then the memory shattered.
Nexus stumbled, gasping, back in the snow. Maris caught his arm.
"What happened? You just—you froze. Stood there for like ten seconds."
"Memory," he gasped. "Not mine. The sword—the fragments—they're bleeding memories into the present."
Another hiccup.
Another memory.
Standing in a war camp. Blood on his hands. Bodies cooling in the mud. The weight of command crushing him. The knowledge that he'd sent those people to die and it had been necessary but would never be forgiven.
Back to snow. Back to now.
"Nexus!" Maris's voice, distant and worried.
"I'm okay. I'm—"
Another memory.
Holding a small child. Dark hair. Purple eyes. Maybe three years old. The child was crying. Terrified. And Retro was promising protection. Promising safety. Promising to never let the darkness take this one.
Young Nexus.
The memory dissolved.
Real Nexus fell to his knees in the snow, tears freezing on his cheeks.
"I remember that," he whispered. "I don't remember being that scared. But I didn't know—didn't realize he was scared too. Was just pretending to be strong for my sake."
Maris knelt beside him.
"We need to stop. Rest. This is too much."
"Can't stop." Nexus forced himself up. "The memories—they're not random. They're showing me something. Showing me why the fragments fractured. Why he broke himself."
He looked at The Night Slayer. At the gems pulsing with increasingly erratic rhythm.
"He was drowning. In memories. In accumulated trauma. Every moment adding weight until he couldn't move anymore. Couldn't function. Could barely exist."
Another flicker.
This memory was different. Darker.
A ritual circle. Blood pooling. Retro kneeling in the center, hands pressed to his chest where light was tearing itself apart.
The moment of fragmentation.
And the pain. Gods, the pain. Like being ripped into pieces while staying conscious. Like having your soul pulled in five directions at once and being forced to experience every millisecond of the tearing.
The memory ended.
Nexus was screaming. On his knees in the snow, screaming, hands clutching his chest where phantom pain still burned.
Maris grabbed him, holding tight, her own tears falling.
"Stop! Stop showing him!" she shouted at the sword. "He can't take anymore!"
But the blade pulsed on. Uncaring. Or unable to stop. The memories bleeding through because time was broken and past was bleeding into present was bleeding into future.
One more memory.
Quiet this time. Gentle.
Retro sitting with young Lea. Teaching her to read. Smiling as she struggled through words. Feeling something close to peace. Close to purpose. Close to healing.
The fragments remembering that breaking hadn't been all bad. That scattering had allowed moments like this. Had let him be present for the people who needed him without the crushing weight of everything he'd lost.
That maybe—just maybe—there had been a method in the madness.
The memory faded naturally this time.
Nexus lay in the snow, Maris holding him, both of them exhausted.
"I understand now," he said quietly. "Why he did it. Why he thought fragmenting was the answer."
"To escape the memories?"
"To be able to live despite them." Nexus sat up slowly. "When you're whole, you can't live.. Can't set aside the pain to function. It's all there, all the time, all at once."
He looked at the sword.
"But scattered—with grief in one piece, rage in another, love in a third—you can function. Can be present. Can protect people without the weight of everything you've lost crushing you."
"But it's killing the world," Maris said. "The separation. The fracturing. It's bleeding into everything."
"I know."
Silence fell between them.
In the distance, reality continued its irregular flickering. The fortress phasing in and out of existence. Time trying and failing to flow in single direction.
"We're going to put him back together," Nexus said finally. "Even though it might break him again. Even though being whole means facing everything he tried to escape."
"Because the alternative is worse," Maris finished.
"Yeah."
They stood. They gathered themselves. Prepared to continue through the temporal chaos.
But now Nexus carried new weight.
Not just the quest to reunite fragments.
But the knowledge of what reunion would cost. What wholeness would force Retro to face.
And the terrible question—
Was it crueler to leave him fractured and functional?
Or make him whole and suffer?
There is no good answer.
Just forward. Always forward.
Into the bleeding memories. Into the fractured time. Into the convergence that was becoming inevitable.
They reached a point where all paths converged.
Not a physical crossroads. More fundamental than that.
A place where multiple timelines touched. Where different versions of now tried to exist simultaneously. Where past and future bled together until distinction became meaningless.
The fortress stood before them—solid now, stable, undeniable. No more flickering. No more phasing. This was the point. The destination.
But between them and it—
A field of moments.
Nexus could see them hanging in the air like soap bubbles. Each one a different time, a different possibility, a different when.
In one bubble, he saw Retro whole and smiling. Happy. The world intact around him.
In another, Retro lay dead. The world burning.
In a third, Retro existed as pure energy—no body, no form, just power and will.
Hundreds of bubbles. Thousands. Every possible outcome of bringing the fragments together, all existing in superposition until choice collapsed them into single reality.
"We can't go through that," Maris whispered. "We'll get lost. Caught between possibilities. Trapped in timelines that don't fully exist."
Nexus studied the field of moments.
She was right. Walking through would mean passing through different versions of now. Experiencing contradictory realities. Potentially getting stuck in one and never reaching the fortress.
"The sword," he said. "It cut through space before. When we escaped the bone forest. Maybe it can cut through time too."
He drew The Night Slayer fully.
The blade hummed, and the three gems flared. Not resisting. Eager, almost.
Yes. We remember this. Remember cutting through broken time. Remember forcing single path through chaos.
Nexus raised the sword, focusing on the fortress. On the solid reality waiting beyond the field of possibilities.
"I need a path," he told the blade. "A single thread through all these moments. A way to reach there without getting lost in when."
The gems pulsed once—
And Nexus saw it.
A line. Thin. Barely visible. Threading through the bubbles of possibility without touching them. A path that was purely now. No past bleeding through. No future possibilities. Just the stable thread of continuous present.
"There." He pointed with the blade. "That's our way."
"I don't see anything," Maris said.
"Trust me. Follow exactly where I step. Don't deviate even an inch."
He started forward, blade extended, following the thread only he could see.
Maris followed close behind, one hand on his shoulder, trusting him completely.
They walked through the field of moments.
All around them, bubbles of possibility pressed close. Nexus could feel them—the pull of alternate nows, the temptation to step sideways into easier timelines, better outcomes.
One bubble showed the fragments reuniting peacefully. No pain. No cost. Just wholeness and joy.
He kept walking.
Another showed him strong, powerful, wielding all the fragments like they were his. Becoming what Retro had been. Surpassing it, even.
He kept walking.
A third showed Maris healthy, warm, laughing in sunshine instead of dying in frozen wasteland.
He wanted that one. Wanted it so badly his heart ached.
But he kept walking.
Because those weren't real. Those were maybes and might-bes. Possibilities that would collapse into nothing the moment he tried to make them solid.
Only the thread was real. Only forward mattered.
They emerged from the field.
Solid ground. Stable time. The fortress before them, massive and terrible and undeniably present.
Maris collapsed immediately, gasping.
"What was that? I felt—I saw—so many things that could be—"
"Possibilities," Nexus said. "Timelines that don't exist yet. Futures that might never happen. Past decisions playing out differently."
He looked back at the field of bubbles.
"Time's last defense. Showing us better options. Trying to make us choose paths that don't lead here. Paths where the fragments don't reunite. Where the world dies slowly instead of risking catastrophic reunion."
"But we came through anyway."
"We came through anyway," Nexus confirmed.
They stood before the fortress gates.
Massive. Dark. Carved with symbols that hurt to look at directly. And through the gates—
Presence. Multiple presences.
Nexus could feel them. Could sense others who'd made it through the temporal chaos.
Atlas was inside. Somewhere. Carrying the fourth fragment. Consumed by corruption but still moving. Still drawn toward convergence.
And somewhere else—deeper, more hidden—
The fifth fragment pulsed. Faint. Weak. Buried in flesh that was more corruption than human.
Lilly.
All five pieces converging on this single point.
And waiting inside—
Gaia. He could feel her too. Her presence massive, patient, certain. Waiting for her trap to spring. Waiting for all the pieces to arrive so she could remake Retro into the weapon she needed.
"Last chance to turn back," Nexus said quietly.
Maris stood beside him, looking up at the fortress.
"You know we won't."
"I know. But I had to offer."
He placed his palm against the gate.
The moment he touched it, the gates began to open—smooth, silent, inevitable. Like they'd been waiting for exactly this contact.
Like everything that had happened—every struggle, every choice, every moment of pain—had been leading to this threshold.
Beyond the gates—
Darkness. Not physical darkness. Absence. The space between moments, between breaths, between heartbeats.
The place where scattered things came together.
Where broken souls were forged whole.
Or destroyed trying.
Nexus and Maris stepped through.
The gates closed behind them with finality that allowed no retreat.
And in that moment—in that crossing of threshold—
Time screamed.
Not metaphorically. The temporal fabric itself shrieked in protest as all five fragments suddenly existed in the same location, the same when, for the first time in many years.
Reality convulsed.
The walls around them flickered through different states. The floor became uncertain. The very concept of here became negotiable.
And from deep within the fortress—
A voice. Weak. Broken. But achingly familiar.
"Nexus?"
Not Retro's voice.
Atlas's.
Changed. Damaged. Barely recognizable.
But alive.
Nexus started running.
Toward the voice. Toward his father. Toward the fourth fragment that was consuming him degree by degree.
Maris followed, water-blades already forming.
Because they all knew—
Everyone inside this fortress wanted the fragments.
Gaia to remake Retro.
The void to reclaim its stolen power.
Corruption to spread and consume.
And only Nexus and Maris wanted what seemed impossible—
Even if it destroyed them trying.
The fortress swallowed them into its depths.
And time—wounded, fracturing, barely holding together—
Watched to see if reunion would heal it.
Or finish the job of breaking reality completely.
Separated by distance measured not in space but in when.
And now—finally, inevitably, terribly—
The separation was ending.
For better or worse.
In healing or destruction.