The sky above the Remnant Forge was not a sky—it was a scar.
A jagged rupture in the fabric of time where thunder didn't roll, but echoed from timelines that had already bled dry.
Nyx stood at the threshold, cloak rippling behind her like a blade cutting through memory itself. She had come alone, at first. Darius had offered to join her. Kaela, too. But this journey—this confrontation—was hers.
The Remnant Forge was not a place in the traditional sense. It was a battlefield layered over itself, the ruins of wars that both had and hadn't happened. Across the shattered plain, broken weapons twitched in the dust—some whispering regrets, others screaming for another chance to kill.
She stepped forward.
Each footfall sunk into history.
