Tylor's lungs burned as he stumbled through the smoke-choked street, the violet sky glaring above the ruins of the future town. The library's collapse echoed behind him, flames licking the night air, but all he could hear was Amaira's scream from two years ago, when she vanished chasing a red balloon. He wouldn't lose her again. Kayla ran beside him, her dark hair streaked with ash, her green eyes wild with the same fear driving him. "She went this way!" she shouted, pointing to a narrow alley where Amaira had fled during the drone attack.
The journal, tucked under Kayla's arm, felt heavier with every step, its pages holding secrets about the Chronos Collective and the temporal stabilizer—secrets that had led them to this fractured 2045. Lila and Elias were somewhere behind, holding off enforcers, their rifle shots fading into the hum of drones. Tylor's heart pounded, his mind replaying Kayla's words in the library: The Chronarch's face… it's like looking at you. The thought made his stomach twist, but he pushed it down, focusing on Amaira.
The alley opened into a courtyard, its cracked fountain surrounded by warped metal benches. Amaira stood frozen at its center, her pigtails dusted with soot, clutching the journal page she'd saved. Before Tylor could call out, a shadow moved—a figure in a sleek black suit, its surface shimmering like liquid night. A holographic visor flickered, projecting a cold, distorted voice: "You shouldn't be here, Tylor."
Amaira gasped, backing toward the fountain. Tylor sprinted forward, shoving her behind him, his fists clenched. Kayla stepped beside him, her pipe raised like a weapon. "Who are you?" Tylor demanded, his voice shaking with rage and fear.
The figure raised a gloved hand, and the visor dissolved, revealing a face that stopped Tylor's breath. It was his own—older, lined with grief, hazel eyes cold as stone. Scars traced his jaw, and his mouth was set in a grim line, but it was unmistakably him. "I'm you," the Chronarch said, his voice low, heavy with a sorrow that cut deeper than betrayal. "The you who learned what loss really means."
Kayla's breath caught, her eyes wide. "I saw you," she whispered, her dreams flooding back—the violet sky, this face, commanding a broken world. "In my head, all this time…"
The Chronarch's gaze flicked to her, softening briefly. "Kayla. You were always the strong one." He turned back to Tylor, his expression hardening. "I built this future to save her. Amaira. You know what it's like to fail her. I'm stabilizing time to keep her safe, to stop the fractures from erasing everything."
Tylor's knees buckled, his mind reeling. "You're lying," he said, but the words felt weak. The Chronarch's face—his face—held a truth he couldn't deny. Amaira clung to his arm, her voice trembling. "Tylor, he's not you. You wouldn't hurt people."
The Chronarch's eyes darkened. "I've erased camps, rewritten days, to protect you, Mai. You don't remember the timelines where you died, but I do." He raised a device—the temporal stabilizer, its orb pulsing with blue light. "Join me, Tylor. We can fix this together. No more loss."
Kayla stepped forward, her voice fierce. "You're not fixing anything. You're controlling it, tearing time apart!" Her hand tightened on the journal, its pages detailing the stabilizer's true purpose—to close fractures, not wield them as a weapon.
A drone's hum cut through the courtyard, its red eye locking onto them. The Chronarch's gaze flickered, almost regretful. "You'll understand one day," he said, raising the stabilizer. A pulse of light erupted, and the ground shook, a fracture tearing open beside the fountain—a shimmering window to a green field, Amaira laughing with a balloon. Tylor's heart lurched, the memory pulling at him.
"Run!" Kayla shouted, grabbing Amaira as the drone fired. Tylor dove, tackling the Chronarch, his older self's strength surprising him. They grappled, the stabilizer skittering across the ground. Amaira screamed, and Kayla pulled her toward the alley, dodging beams. Tylor's fist connected with the Chronarch's jaw—his own jaw—and pain flared, a surreal echo of hitting himself.
The Chronarch staggered, his eyes meeting Tylor's with a flicker of something human. "You can't stop it," he rasped. "The fractures will take her again." He vanished into the fracture, the light swallowing him as drones closed in.
Tylor scrambled to his feet, grabbing the stabilizer. Kayla and Amaira reached him, breathless, as Lila and Elias caught up, bloodied but alive. "He's me," Tylor whispered, his voice breaking. "How do I fight myself?"
Kayla's hand found his, her touch steady. "You're not him," she said, her eyes fierce. "You choose who you are." Amaira nodded, clutching the journal page, her small voice defiant. "You're my Tylor."
As drones circled, their red eyes glowing under the violet sky, Tylor gripped the stabilizer, its pulse warm against his palm. The Chronarch's words echoed—to save her—but so did Kayla's. He wasn't the Chronarch, not yet. And with Amaira's courage and Kayla's fire, he'd make sure he never would be.