Young Kael stood frozen in the cathedral's shattered doorway, Lira clutching his arm. Their faces—unscarred, unburdened—were a knife to the older Kael's chest. Lyra staggered back, her cobalt veins flickering as the timeline recoiled at their presence.
"What… what is this?" Young Kael's voice trembled, his blade raised at his older self. "Some kind of trick?"
"Worse," Older Kael rasped. "A mistake."
Past Gideon crouched beside Lyra, fascination overriding caution. His hands glowed with nascent time-energy as he examined her scars. "These markings… they're alive."
Lyra recoiled. "Don't touch me!"
Too late. Her veins flared, searing Past Gideon's palms. He hissed, staring at the blackened flesh. "What are you?"
"A warning," Older Kael snapped, hauling him away.
The cathedral shuddered. Hybrids clawed from the crumbling walls, reborn from time-rot and paradox. These were sharper, hungrier—evolved. Their eyes glowed violet, a fusion of Gideon's past and future corruption.
Young Lira lunged, disarming a hybrid with a move Older Kael had taught her lifetimes ago. "We need to go!"
"No," Older Kael said. "They'll follow us through time. End it here."
Past Gideon's infected hands trembled. "I can… stabilize the rot. Maybe."
Lyra laughed bitterly. "You'll try. Then you'll get curious. Then you'll ruin everything."
Young Kael stepped between them, defiance blazing. "We fight together or die here."
The hybrids struck in a wave. Older Kael fought alongside his younger self, their blades a mirror of skill and desperation. With every hybrid slain, the air crackled—memories overwritten, choices undone.
Young Lira cried out as a hybrid's claw grazed her arm. The wound aged instantly, her skin wrinkling. "Kael!"
Past Gideon caught her, his infected hands glowing. The rot slowed, but his own veins blackened. "I can… control it," he lied, sweat beading his brow.
Lyra watched, her scars pulsing in sync with his corruption. "You're becoming him."
"Becoming you," he shot back.
The cathedral's roses erupted, thorns impaling hybrids. But the vines recoiled, infected by time-rot, and lashed at the group. Young Kael sliced through them, his eyes locking with Older Kael's. "Why do you fight like you've already lost?"
"Because I have."
A hybrid tackled Older Kael, its violet eyes bleeding into his mind: A vision of Lyra, years older, leading a hybrid army—his mother's face grafted onto her soldiers.
He gutted it, but the future seared into his bones. "Lyra! The timeline—it's changing her!"
Lyra's wings burst from her scars, now twisted with thorned roses. "I can… feel him. Gideon's still in me. In the rot. In you." She glared at Past Gideon.
The youngest Lira collapsed, her aged hand clutching Young Kael's. "Do something!"
Past Gideon raised his corrupted hands. "I can purge the rot. But I need her." He pointed at Lyra.
"No," Older Kael snarled.
"Yes," Lyra said.
She seized Past Gideon's wrists. Time-rot surged between them, a feedback loop of past and future. The cathedral imploded.