A World Without Time
Ethan drifted in the aftermath, weightless in a void that pulsed with the echoes of a broken world. The battlefield was gone—shattered into fragments too small to grasp. The Rift's corruption had fractured, its chaotic tendrils retreating, but what remained was not real—not yet.
It was an in-between place, a realm of raw possibility where past and future blurred into a shimmering haze, unformed and untamed. The air hummed with restless energy, tasting of ozone and something sweeter, like the memory of rain on a day that never came.
And he was still standing within it.
Still fighting.
