There was no sky. No ground. No gravity.
Only light and memory, spinning endlessly.
Kael floated in a sea of living echoes, his body untouched by time but deeply pierced by awe. Around him swirled moments that never happened—children he never had, wars he never fought, words he never said but always wanted to.
This was the Prime Tomorrow—the cosmic source where all potential futures began and died. Here, every soul was a thread, and every thread sang.
Aeris drifted beside him, eyes wide with wonder, wings dissolving into streaks of stardust. "It's… beautiful."
"No," whispered Dray, his voice uncertain. "It's terrifying."
Ahead of them pulsed the Cradle of Decision—a vast orb of light suspended in a void shaped like a question. Within it spun galaxies unborn, dreams half-realized, nightmares that could still be averted.
And within that light—someone waited.
Not Null.
Not the Dissonance.
But a figure they all recognized.
Kael gasped. "That's… me."
It was another Kael, older—worn down by ages of war and sacrifice. His eyes had no whites, only shifting timelines. He stood barefoot on a platform of woven fate, one hand resting on a blade shaped from causality itself.
"I am the Prime Thread," the being spoke. "The first version of you who chose to fight fate, and the last who ever tried to escape it."
Kael clenched his fists. "Then why are you here? What is this place?"
"This is where futures are chosen," Prime-Kael answered. "And every Kael across the infinite strands has always ended up here. Always facing the same decision."
Behind Prime-Kael, the Cradle pulsed brighter. From within it, the voice of the Dissonance echoed, not roaring—but pleading.
"Let them collapse. Let it all end. Let there be silence again."
Dray stepped forward, his voice hard. "You're letting the Dissonance live?"
Prime-Kael shook his head. "It's not alive. It's the consequence of too many choices. A cancer of infinite roads. It feeds on the chaos we create when we pretend every outcome should exist."
Aeris looked at Kael. "And now it's consuming everything."
"Because no one's been brave enough to cut the cord," Prime-Kael said. "Until now."
He offered Kael the blade.
"Choose one tomorrow. Seal the rest. Lock away the Dissonance forever. Save one world—and let the rest die."
Kael stared at the blade. It pulsed like a heartbeat, as if alive. He saw visions within it: a quiet life with Aeris; peace on the burning plains of Dray's homeland; Veyra, healed and smiling in a garden untouched by war.
But then he saw the cost.
All other futures extinguished.
Every version of their souls burned to preserve one thread.
"I… I don't know if I can," Kael said.
"That's because you were never meant to choose alone," Veyra said, stepping through the void. Her armor cracked, her soul weary—but her will unbroken. "None of us were."
She turned to the others. "What if… we don't pick one thread? What if we weave a new one—together?"
Prime-Kael's expression tightened. "You risk everything."
Kael reached out, not for the blade—but for Aeris' hand.
"I'd rather risk everything than become the only version of myself."
They all joined hands—Kael, Aeris, Dray, Veyra.
And together, they plunged their joined essence into the Cradle.
It shattered.
Not into ruin—but into song.
A new thread began to spin—glowing with love, pain, truth, and defiance. A future not chosen by fate, but forged by unity.
And the Dissonance?
It howled.
It writhed.
It unraveled.
With a final, bitter cry, it dissolved into echoes.
Gone.
For now.
As light overtook them, Kael felt himself whole again. Not a hero. Not a god.
But a man who dared to believe in tomorrow.