Chapter 18 - The Final Trip

  The mountains behind Nonna’s home were old, ancient even. The trees stretched high, their thick trunks wrapped in climbing ivy, their leaves whispering in the cool spring breeze. The dirt beneath their boots was soft, damp from the previous night’s rain, but firm enough to hold steady.

  The whole family had set out that morning, bags packed, spirits high. It was supposed to be a simple trip.

  A last family camping adventure before the seasons turned again.

  A promise Seth made, a memory to be made.

  No one knew how much they needed this.

  Adam ran ahead, his small boots kicking up dirt as he dashed between the trees, excitement radiating off him in waves. "Daddy! Look!" he called, stopping just long enough to scoop up a strange-looking rock. "It’s got stripes!"

  Ezra smirked, catching up at a slower pace. "That’s a river stone, kiddo. Water smooths ‘em over time."

  Adam turned it over in his tiny hands, eyes wide. "So the water made it like this?"

  "Yep."

  Adam beamed. "That’s so cool!"

  Julie, walking beside Ezra, chuckled. "He’s got your curiosity, y’know."

  Ezra shot her a playful glance. "Oh, so now you’re saying I’m curious and not just an obsessive maniac?"

  Julie smirked. "Oh no, you’re definitely an obsessive maniac. But you get it from somewhere."

  Ezra snorted, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. She nudged him back.

  Behind them, Seth leaned on his walking stick, taking slower, measured steps. Ciarra was beside him, keeping close, just in case. She didn’t offer help—Seth wouldn’t accept it—but she was there. Watching.

  "You doing alright, old man?" Ezra called over his shoulder.

  Seth waved him off. "Pfft. Ain’t dead yet."

  Ciarra rolled her eyes but didn’t comment.

  As the path curved upward, the trees thinned, revealing a stunning view of Turin in the horizon. The city sprawled below them, lights shimmering even in the daylight, the towering silhouette of the space elevator cutting into the sky.

  "Not bad," Seth murmured, looking out over the view.

  Ezra grinned. "Told you it was worth the hike."

  Adam, still clutching his rock, pointed to the city below. "That’s where we live!"

  Julie smiled. "Yep, that’s home."

  Adam scrunched his nose. "Looks tiny from up here."

  Ezra ruffled his hair. "Things look different when you change your perspective, buddy."

  Adam blinked up at him, as if trying to process some deep wisdom before shrugging. "I still like Nonna’s house better."

  They set up camp in a clearing near the ridge, a perfect spot with open space for a fire pit and a wide stretch of sky above for stargazing later.

  Seth supervised from his camping chair while everyone else got to work. Adam tried (and failed) to hammer in a tent stake, ultimately needing Julie’s help. Ezra and Ciarra gathered firewood, their footsteps crunching through dried leaves as they searched for decent logs.

  "You keep glancing at Dad," Ciarra muttered after a while.

  Ezra sighed, picking up a thick branch. "Yeah."

  "He knows."

  Ezra frowned. "Knows what?"

  Ciarra shot him a look. "That you’re worried about him."

  Ezra tightened his grip on the branch. "…He should be resting."

  "He’s resting his way."

  Ezra exhaled. He didn’t like it, but he knew she was right.

  By nightfall, the fire crackled in the pit, sending sparks into the air. The family sat around it, warm and comfortable, laughter drifting into the quiet woods.

  Seth leaned back in his chair, looking up at the stars. "Y’know, I used to take Ezra out camping when he was about Adam’s age," he mused.

  Ezra smirked. "Yeah. And you scared the hell out of me with those dumb campfire stories."

  Seth chuckled. "You needed toughening up."

  Adam’s eyes sparkled. "Can we hear a scary story?!"

  Julie groaned. "Oh god, please no."

  Seth grinned. "C’mon, Jules, it’s tradition."

  Ezra chuckled, watching Adam bounce with excitement. Everything felt right.

  Like the world had paused, just for them.

  Like this moment would last forever.

  It wouldn’t. But they didn’t know that yet.

  Later that night, long after the fire had dimmed to glowing embers, Seth pulled Ezra aside. Away from the tents. Away from the laughter. Just the two of them, standing under the stars.

  Ezra could feel it before his father even spoke. Something was wrong.

  Seth exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air. "I need to tell you somethin’."

  Ezra frowned. "Okay?"

  Seth took a long pause, his fingers tightening around his walking stick. Then—quietly, evenly—he said: "It’s cancer."

  Ezra felt the world tilt.

  He swallowed. Hard. "Dad—"

  "It’s everywhere," Seth continued. "They could try surgery, but the doctors said it’d be a gamble." He looked at Ezra, his expression unreadable. "A bad one."

  Ezra’s throat locked up. He clenched his fists. "I can fix this."

  Seth chuckled softly. "You always think you can fix everything, huh?"

  Ezra’s jaw tightened. "I have money. We can find better doctors—"

  Seth shook his head. "No. I’ve made my choice."

  Ezra stared at him. "You’re just gonna give up?"

  Seth sighed, stepping closer. He placed a hand on Ezra’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Listen to me, son. I’m not afraid."

  Ezra clenched his teeth. "I am."

  Seth’s grip tightened. "Then let me tell you somethin’ important." His voice softened. "No matter what comes… you always have family. And that alone? That’s enough to live without fear."

  Ezra swallowed, his vision blurring.

  Seth continued, "You’re so focused on trying to make time last forever. But life ain’t about that. It’s about enjoying what you’ve got, while you’ve got it." He smiled, tired but warm. "Life’s a game, Ezra. And even if you could rewind time, there’s still a time limit. So stop trying to live forever, and live for the people around you."

  Ezra let out a shaky breath. "That’s not fair."

  Seth chuckled. "It never is."

  Ezra didn’t realize he was crying until his father pulled him into a hug. A tight, strong hug. A hug that wouldn’t come again.

  Ezra held on for as long as he could.

  Then—A blood-curdling shriek tore through the night. Both men whipped around, the moment shattering.

  From the campsite—screams.

  Julie’s voice, cut short by a sickening sound.

  Ezra’s stomach dropped. The world slowed. Then— pure, unfiltered horror.

  Ezra and Seth ran, sprinting toward the camp, and as soon as they broke through the trees—The nightmare began.

  The shriek shattered the night.

  It wasn’t human. It wasn’t an animal. It was something else.

  Something wrong.

  Ezra and Seth ran, their boots slamming against the dirt, lungs burning with adrenaline as they burst through the trees, back toward the camp.

  And then they saw it.

  Julie was dead.

  Her body lay twisted on the ground, her throat torn open, her chest cavity exposed like a gutted deer.

  Her insides—gone.

  Her wide, lifeless eyes stared toward the sky, her mouth still frozen in a scream that never finished. Blood pooled beneath her in a grotesque halo.

  Adam was screaming.

  Ciarra stood frozen, her ears flattened against her head, her tail puffed out in absolute terror.

  Seth stopped cold. "Oh my god—"

  And then it moved.

  The thing standing over Julie’s mangled corpse was not natural.

  It was massive. A hulking, sinewy beast, a grotesque hybrid of lion and wolf, its skin stretched too tight over powerful muscles, its fur matted with blood—Julie’s blood.

  Its snout was long, its teeth jagged, yellowed, dripping. Its paws were huge, its claws long enough to rip through flesh like paper.

  But that wasn’t the worst part.

  The worst part was the collar around its neck.

  A metal band. Engraved. Bearing the emblem of the Silent Legion.

  Ezra’s stomach twisted.

  They did this.

  They made this.

  And now it was staring right at Ciarra.

  She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, her breath shallow, her pupils blown wide.

  The beast inhaled, sniffing the air, licking blood from its massive fangs.

  Then— it lunged.

  Seth reacted first.

  He shoved Ciarra out of the way, stepping between her and the monster.

  The beast’s claws went straight through him.

  The impact sent Seth backward, his body crashing to the ground, blood spraying in a wide arc.

  Ezra’s breath caught. "DAD!!"

  Seth coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. His eyes locked onto Ezra’s—and Ezra knew.

  This was it.

  He wasn’t getting up.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  Ezra’s body moved before his mind could process it. His hands fumbled for a weapon, for anything—

  But then the monster turned.

  It locked eyes with Adam.

  The boy was trembling, his little hands clutching his father’s sleeve, his tiny chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked bursts.

  Ezra stopped thinking.

  Instinct took over.

  He lunged.

  The monster swiped at Adam, its massive claws cutting through the air—but Ezra was faster.

  He grabbed Adam and twisted, taking the brunt of the hit himself.

  Pain exploded across his back.

  The force of the impact sent them both flying—Adam screamed as he tumbled away, crashing against a tree.

  Ezra hit the ground, pain searing through his ribs, his back burning with fresh wounds.

  He barely had time to recover before the monster was on him again.

  It tackled him, pinning him beneath its massive weight, its fangs snapping inches from his face.

  Ezra did the only thing he could.

  He pulled out his pocket knife—small, useless—and drove it into the beast’s eye.

  The monster screeched in agony, thrashing violently, its blood spraying across Ezra’s hands.

  Ezra scrambled back, heart hammering, adrenaline pumping at inhuman speeds.

  "CIARRA!!" he roared. "GET THE ECHO!!"

  She blinked, still frozen.

  Ezra’s vision tunneled. No, no, no, NO!!

  Not now. Not here. Not today.

  "Ciarra!" he snapped, his voice raw, desperate. "GET THE FUCKING ECHO!!"

  She moved.

  Her hands tore through Ezra’s bag, frantically searching.

  But Ezra? Ezra had no time.

  The beast was coming again.

  Blood dripped from its ruined eye, but it was still moving. Still angry. Still alive.

  And it was looking at Adam again.

  Ezra’s rage boiled over.

  He ran.

  Straight into the woods. Straight into the dark. The monster followed.

  Branches whipped against Ezra’s face as he sprinted through the forest, his legs burning, his breath ragged. The beast was close.

  He could hear it crashing through the undergrowth, its snarl too human, too unnatural.

  He wasn’t running forever. He couldn’t. Then— an idea.

  Ezra spotted the AM radio tower.

  It loomed in the distance, steel and cables stretching toward the sky. A plan formed. Ezra dodged left, then right, weaving through the trees. He heard the beast snarl, heard it struggle to keep up.

  Good.

  He burst into the clearing where the tower stood, his eyes locking onto the power grounding emergency fuse. It was a safety mechanism—designed to trip in case of storm surges.

  Ezra skidded to a stop, turning just in time to see the beast leap.

  It tackled him. Teeth sank into his neck. Pain. Blinding, white-hot pain. Ezra hit the ground, hard, the taste of blood flooding his mouth. He was going to die.

  The beast snarled, bit deeper.

  Ezra gasped—then moved.

  He grabbed the emergency fuse and yanked it. The sky exploded. A high-voltage surge ripped through them both.

  Ezra screamed. The monster screamed louder. Sparks shot out, the air burning, the smell of ozone choking him. His vision blurred. His body seized. Then—Darkness.

  As Ezra faded, he heard two voices. One—animalistic. Feral. Furious.

  "You'll pay, WITH YOUR LIFE!!"

  And the other—soft. Feminine. Kind.

  "No, he won’t."

  Then—nothing.

  Darkness.

  It was all-consuming, heavy, endless. At some point, Ezra had stopped trying to grasp time. He had drifted somewhere beyond it, into a cold, unfeeling void where thoughts came and went like dying embers. There was no light here. No sound. Just a quiet, suffocating limbo.

  Then—pain.

  A dull, gnawing ache. A weight in his chest. A faint pulse in the distance, steady but weak. Something foreign pressed against his face, filling his lungs with dry, sterile air.

  Ezra’s first conscious thought was that he was alive.

  The second thought?

  He shouldn’t be.

  His body felt like a stranger’s. His skin was tight, raw. A burning sensation lingered in his throat, but when he tried to swallow, nothing happened. His throat was gone. Not literally, but something had been done to it. Something unnatural. He tried to move his fingers. They responded, sluggish and numb.

  He forced his eyes open.

  The ceiling was bright—too bright. Not natural light, but artificial, a dull projection of a sky that wasn’t real. White, sterile walls stretched out in his peripheral vision. Machines hummed softly beside him. His breathing sounded hollow, slightly mechanical.

  A hospital. But not just any hospital.

  His gut told him this wasn’t some public medical center. The walls were too clean, the air too controlled. No windows. Just that false, digital sky. Ezra’s pulse spiked. Something was wrong.

  He turned his head, groggy, sluggish— And then he saw them.

  Ciarra sat slumped on a bench against the far wall, her face buried in her hands. Her tail twitched, ears flattened, her whole frame curled in exhaustion. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

  Mr. Key stood near the room’s projection window, his back to them, hands tucked into his coat pockets. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking—just watching. Watching a false city skyline projected onto a screen meant to make this underground facility feel less like a cage.

  Ezra sucked in a shaky breath through his nose. The air was wrong.

  Mr. Key noticed first. He turned, eyes sharp, scanning Ezra’s face like he was checking for signs of failure. Then, after what felt like a long, slow exhale, he spoke.

  "You made it."

  Ezra tried to speak.

  Nothing.

  His throat burned. His body instinctively tried to form words, but only a hoarse, dry rasp came out. He winced.

  Ciarra snapped her head up at the sound, eyes wide. The exhaustion in them was instantly replaced with something raw, something shattered. She nearly tripped over herself as she bolted to his bedside, grabbing his hand.

  "Ezra," she choked. "Oh my god, you—" Her voice broke. Tears. She was already crying, her grip on him shaking.

  Ezra tried to squeeze her hand back. He barely managed it.

  Mr. Key stepped closer, pulling something from his coat. "Don’t try to speak," he said evenly. "Your throat was torn open. The Scarlet Cross did what they could, but the damage was…" He hesitated. "Severe."

  Ezra swallowed against the dryness, his entire body stiff with the weight of what that meant.

  "You’re going to need therapy if you ever want to talk again." Mr. Key’s voice wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either. Just matter-of-fact.

  Ezra inhaled slowly. There wasn’t time to dwell on this. He needed to know—

  Adam.

  His fingers twitched. He turned his head slightly— and that’s when he saw the second cot. Adam was still there.

  His son lay motionless beneath the thin hospital blanket, his tiny frame too still, too fragile. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. Machines beeped steadily at his bedside, monitoring every weak inhale and exhale.

  Something in Ezra cracked.

  Ciarra felt the tension in his grip and instantly squeezed tighter, shaking her head. "He’s alive," she whispered, but the guilt in her voice was unbearable.

  Ezra barely processed Mr. Key moving beside him, tapping at a tablet screen. The air in the room grew heavier, more suffocating.

  "You need to see this," Mr. Key said.

  Ezra turned his head, and suddenly, he was watching the world end.

  Mt. Fuji was gone.

  Not damaged. Not erupted. Gone.

  The footage on Mr. Key’s screen showed the disaster in horrifying detail. A crater—miles wide, deep, empty. An entire section of the planet erased. What remained of the mountain had been reduced to molten, fractured stone, rivers of ash and magma spilling into the void left behind. The surrounding area? Flattened. Cities? Gone. Tokyo’s skyline? A shell of what it once was.

  Ezra’s breath hitched. His stomach turned.

  He wasn’t prepared for this.

  Ciarra squeezed his hand again, as if silently telling him there was more.

  Mr. Key’s expression remained unreadable as he swiped to another screen. "Before we continue," he said, "I need to ask you something, Ezra."

  He tapped a button, and a new video began playing. Security footage. The Core.

  Ezra’s blood ran cold.

  The grainy footage showed a figure stepping up to the core’s safety override. A cloaked figure. A countdown began flashing in the corner of the screen. Whoever they were, they had time before the mechanism triggered.

  And then— The figure turned. Looked directly at the security camera. Lifted their hood. And smiled.

  Ezra’s stomach dropped.

  That face.

  It was familiar. Too familiar.

  The figure held up a white card—a clearance badge. A Key Industries badge.

  A white card.

  They gave a thumbs-up. Then, without hesitation, stepped into the core’s restricted section. The video ended.

  Ezra’s pulse was a thunderstorm in his veins.

  Mr. Key stared at him, eyes calculating. "Do you know him?"

  Ezra’s head moved before he could think— No.

  Mr. Key studied him for a long moment. Then, he rewound the footage. This time, he ran it through AI recognition algorithms. Ezra watched in tense silence as the program scanned the mystery figure’s face.

  The results flashed on-screen.

  Ezra Key. 90% match.

  Ezra’s breathing stalled. His hands clenched the sheets. His mind screamed in protest, in denial, in pure fucking panic.

  Mr. Key didn’t react. He simply looked at Ezra and waited.

  Ezra frantically shook his head. No. NO. This wasn’t him.

  Ciarra’s grip tightened to the point of pain. "Ezra," she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mr. Key exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I don’t believe it either."

  Ezra’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide.

  Mr. Key sighed, setting the tablet down. "But the Silent Legion does."

  The room felt colder. Ezra swallowed hard. This was bad.

  Mr. Key’s voice lowered. "They’re looking for you, Ezra. Hard. And they don’t care whether or not you’re guilty. They just want you in custody."

  Ezra’s pulse thundered in his ears.

  Two disasters. Two tragedies. The same day. The same hour.

  None of it made sense. None of it.

  Mr. Key sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. He looked at Ezra—not as a CEO, not as a scientist, but as family.

  "Ezra," he murmured. "You don’t have time anymore."

  Ezra inhaled shakily.

  Mr. Key’s grip was firm on his shoulder. "Figure this out."

  Godspeed, boyo.

  Ezra barely heard Mr. Key’s last words. Figure this out. The phrase looped over and over in his head, taunting him. He had spent years figuring things out. Had dedicated his life to breaking barriers, bending reality, shattering limits. And yet—now?

  Now he was at his own limit. His body was wrecked. His mind? Torn apart. His throat? Useless. And the worst part? He wasn’t even given time to grieve.

  His father.

  Julie.

  Gone.

  His son unconscious.

  And now? Now the world thought he was responsible. His stomach churned violently. How? How the fuck did this happen? His mind reeled back to the video—the man in the cloak. That smug, too-familiar smirk. The thumbs-up. The white card.

  90% match.

  It was bullshit. It had to be.

  His hands clenched into fists, tremors running through his body. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him!

  But why did it look like him?

  A sharp, wet sniffle broke through his spiraling thoughts. Ezra turned—And saw Ciarra.

  She was trembling. Her ears were flattened against her skull, her tail curled around her side like she was trying to make herself smaller. Her hands covered her face, her whole body shaking. She was crying.

  Ezra’s breath caught.

  He had never seen her cry like this. Not when they were kids. Not when things got rough. Not even after Seth died. But now? Now she was falling apart. She choked on a sob, her shoulders shaking violently. "I—I didn’t—"

  Ezra reached for her hand. She flinched.

  He froze.

  Ciarra let out a sharp, broken breath. "I—" Her voice cracked. "I looked for it, Ezra." Her fingers curled against her temples, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief. "I—tried—"

  Ezra swallowed hard. He knew what she meant. The ECHO. The one she couldn’t find. The one that could’ve saved them.

  Julie.

  Seth.

  Gone.

  Because she couldn’t find it in time.

  Ezra reached for her again. This time, she let him. Her whole frame crumpled as she clutched onto him, sobbing into his hospital gown, her fingers gripping him like she was afraid he’d disappear too. "I froze," she whispered. "I—I saw it, and—I just—froze."

  Ezra closed his eyes. He had never heard her sound so small. His heart ached. His own grief? It had been buried beneath the weight of everything else. Beneath the betrayal of not even being allowed to grieve. But Ciarra?

  Ciarra had been carrying it alone. She had been strong for him. She had kept it together while he was unconscious, had held everything up on shaking arms. And now? Now she couldn’t anymore.

  Ezra squeezed her hand. Shook his head. It wasn’t her fault. Even if he could speak, there was nothing to say. Because nothing could fix this.

  Mr. Key gave them space. He didn’t say anything as he quietly left the room, leaving Ezra and Ciarra to fall apart in peace. For a long time, neither of them moved.

  Then—slowly—Ciarra pulled away, wiping furiously at her face. She still looked like she was about to break at any second. But her voice? Her voice was steady. "I’ll help you," she whispered.

  Ezra’s brows furrowed.

  She clenched her fists. "The ECHO. The next model. We’ll fix it. We’ll make it work. Whatever it takes."

  Ezra’s fingers twitched.

  She was serious. Dead serious. But Ezra? Ezra wasn’t sure anymore. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if it could be fixed. He had always believed—deep in his bones—that there was always a way. That the only real limits were the ones they hadn’t figured out how to break yet.

  But now? Now he wasn’t just out of time. Time was chasing him.

  The Silent Legion was closing in. Mr. Key had kept them at bay for now. But it wouldn’t last. They had too much power. Too much influence. And worst of all? They had no reason to wait. They didn’t need evidence. They didn’t need proof. They just needed an excuse. And Ezra was the perfect excuse.

  It hit him, all at once.

  He had spent years trying to perfect the ECHO. Trying to break through the wall. Trying to bring Haru back. But none of that mattered anymore.

  His father was gone.

  Julie was gone.

  His son might not wake up.

  And now? Now he had no choice. He had to run. There was no more time to figure things out. There was no more time to be careful. The Silent Legion was coming. And he had to be gone before they got here.

  Ezra couldn’t fix this. Not in time. Not before they found him. But maybe—just maybe—he could find a way later. If he ran. If he disappeared. If he survived…

  He gripped Ciarra’s hand. She flinched—then looked up at him. Her ears twitched. Her tail flicked. She saw it in his eyes before he even said anything. Ezra inhaled shakily. And nodded. Ciarra nodded back. No words. Just understanding.

  They were running out of time. But if they ran? They still had a chance. And that was enough. For now..

  The first thing Ezra noticed was the cold.

  Not the kind of cold that seeped through the bones, not the bitter wind of Turin’s mountains, but a deeper cold—one made of concrete and steel, of buried corridors and dead air that hadn’t seen the sun in centuries.

  Ezra’s recovery had been slow, painfully slow. His ribs still ached, his muscles stiff from weeks of disuse, but the moment he was able to move without needing painkillers, he knew—he couldn’t stay at Key Industries’ hospital forever.

  The Silent Legion was looking for him.

  Ciarra had come to the rescue. She hadn’t even hesitated. The moment Ezra was able to stand, she pulled him aside, her voice firm, no nonsense. "We need to move. Now."

  That was how they ended up here.

  Ezra sat in the passenger seat of a beat-up old truck, dressed in clothes he barely recognized. The disguise Ciarra had thrown together wasn’t perfect, but it was enough—a secondhand jacket, a pair of tinted glasses, a wool cap pulled low over his still-healing scars. If someone glanced too quickly, they wouldn’t recognize him. If someone looked too long… well, he’d have to hope they weren’t looking for him in the first place.

  The truck rumbled over an uneven dirt road, kicking up dust as they weaved through the foothills. Turin sat behind them, shrinking in the distance, lights flickering in the early evening haze.

  Ezra’s fingers tapped against the dashboard, his knee bouncing. He wanted to ask where the hell they were going, but speaking was still difficult. So instead, he reached for his phone.

  [Ciarra, WHAT. THE. FUCK.]

  She snorted. "Nice to see you too, Ez."

  Ezra shot her a glare. [We need to talk about where the hell you’re taking me before we get there, preferably.]

  Ciarra didn’t answer right away. She was too focused on the road. Or maybe she was buying herself time. Either way, Ezra didn’t like it.

  Finally, she sighed. "It’s a safehouse."

  Ezra’s eyes narrowed. [For who?]

  Ciarra hesitated. "For us."

  His stomach twisted.

  They left the main road and turned onto an overgrown path, barely wide enough for the truck to fit. The branches of ancient trees clawed at the windshield, the underbrush scraping against the tires. The vehicle jostled violently, making Ezra wince as his ribs protested the motion.

  Ciarra kept driving. Not a word. Not an explanation.

  Then, after what felt like an eternity, she pulled the truck to a stop.

  Ezra glanced around. There was nothing here. Just trees. Just silence. Just the distant sound of a river somewhere in the valley below.

  Ciarra unbuckled her seatbelt. "Come on."

  Ezra followed, albeit slower. His legs were still weak, his movements stiff, but he kept up as she led him deeper into the woods.

  Then he saw it.

  At first, it just looked like an ordinary rock formation, half-buried beneath layers of moss and time. But as Ciarra moved closer, she knelt beside a barely visible keypad, brushed away a few stray leaves, and typed something in.

  With a heavy, metallic groan—the ground shifted.

  Ezra stepped back as a massive, circular bunker door unsealed itself, layers of overgrowth falling away as the entrance yawned open. He felt his stomach twist. No. No, this wasn’t just a safehouse. This was something else.

  Something old.

  Ciarra stepped inside without hesitation, motioning for Ezra to follow. "Come on. You’re gonna want to see this." He did. Reluctantly.

  The moment they crossed the threshold, the lights flickered to life. Some of them, anyway. The deeper they went, the more apparent it became—this place was abandoned, but not dead.

  Hallways stretched out in either direction, some partially collapsed, others still operational. Screens embedded into the walls flickered with long-forgotten warnings, their once-bright displays dim and ghostly. Ezra’s breath caught as he noticed something familiar—

  The layout. The corridors. The way the whole damn facility was structured.

  It was almost identical to the Core.

  Ezra felt his skin prickle.

  Ciarra didn’t stop. She led him further down, past rusted doors and dust-covered terminals, deeper into the belly of the unknown. Ezra followed in a daze, every step making his pulse pound louder in his ears.

  They stopped at a chamber that was still intact. The room was small, barely the size of a studio apartment, but it was… functional. A cot in the corner, a desk littered with old schematics, a terminal that flickered with the faint remnants of power.

  Ciarra turned to him, arms crossed. "You can set up here."

  Ezra didn’t move. He was still processing. His hands clenched. His thoughts spiraled. How the fuck did she know about this? Why was it here? And why—why the hell did it feel so much like the place that had nearly killed him?

  His fingers fumbled for his phone. [Ciarra. What. The. FUCK.]

  She sighed. "Look, I get that you have questions—"

  [That’s the understatement of the century.]

  Ciarra held up her hands. "I’ll explain. But not right now. We don’t have time."

  Ezra inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm. He was too exhausted to fight. Too drained to argue. But he wasn’t stupid. Something was wrong here. Something was off.

  And Ciarra? She knew more than she was letting on.

  She stepped past him, motioning for him to follow once more. "Come with me. There’s something else you need to see."

  Ezra exhaled sharply. Fine. He followed her deeper into the facility, through winding hallways filled with decay and half-lit corridors that pulsed with dying electricity.

  Then they reached it. The engineering bay.

  Ezra’s breath hitched.

  The space was massive. Equipment lined the walls—some rusted beyond repair, others strangely pristine. Monitors flickered in and out of existence, displaying schematics too complex for a casual glance. And the walls…

  The walls weren’t human-made. They weren’t metal, not entirely. They were something else.

  Something ancient. Something alien.

  Ezra’s fingers twitched. His throat burned. He turned to Ciarra, his eyes demanding answers.

  She met his gaze, her own unreadable. "This is where you’re gonna finish the ECHO."

  Ezra swallowed hard. The fuck I am.

  His hands moved before he could think. [Ciarra, how the hell do you even KNOW about this place?!]

  She exhaled. "Because I’ve been running from them longer than you have."

  Ezra felt something coil deep in his gut. This wasn’t a safehouse. This was a graveyard. And now? Now it was his prison.

  Ciarra motioned toward the far end of the chamber, where an old storage area stretched into darkness. "You can run your tests in here. If you need supplies, I’ll get them."

  Ezra didn’t move. He couldn’t. His mind was still catching up.

  She sighed. "I’m gonna check on Nonna. Make sure she’s okay. You—" She hesitated. "You should rest. Process everything."

  Ezra didn’t answer.

  Ciarra left.

  And then—finally, truly alone—Ezra crumpled onto the cot, pressing his hands against his face, his entire body shaking.

  This was it.

  This was his life now.

  Buried. Hunted. Forgotten.

  And the worst part?

  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his way out.

  The silence in the underground bunker was suffocating.

  Ciarra was gone.

  Ezra sat alone in the living quarters she had assigned to him, staring at the ceiling with an exhausted, hollow gaze. His hands still shook, his body still ached, but none of that mattered.

  This place.

  This fucking place.

  Ezra ran a trembling hand through his hair, then pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen. He wanted to text Mr. Key. Tell him where he was. Tell him… something. Anything. But what was there to say?

  He couldn’t even begin to explain this place.

  He couldn’t explain the cold, sterile corridors that felt too familiar. He couldn’t explain the engineering bay, the inhuman material lining the walls. And most of all, he couldn’t explain the fact that Ciarra had known about it.

  His throat burned. His mind was screaming at him, demanding logic, demanding an answer.

  But the only thing he could do right now?

  Was get to work.

  Ezra wandered through the corridors of the bunker, his steps slow, methodical. He didn’t know where he was going, only that the unease in his gut refused to settle.

  He passed room after room—some collapsed, some operational, others filled with remnants of a past no one had recorded. He found a storage bay with crates stacked haphazardly, dust thick on the metal. Inside were old, rusted tools, some scrap material, a few outdated pieces of tech that looked like they had been abandoned decades ago.

  It wasn’t much.

  But the further he explored, the stranger the discoveries became.

  In a back room, behind a fallen support beam, Ezra found something different.

  A console. Still powered. Still active. His breath hitched.

  The interface was unlike anything he had ever seen. It wasn’t Key Industries tech. It wasn’t Silent Legion. It wasn’t even something from the current age. The symbols on the screen weren’t in any recognizable language, the architecture of the machine itself was… wrong.

  But it worked. And that? That made his stomach twist. Ezra reached for his phone, instinctively typing.

  [What the hell is this?]

  No one answered.

  His fingers hovered over the console. His engineer’s brain was screaming at him to not touch it, but another part of him—the desperate part, the part that had already lost too much—ignored the warning.

  He pressed a key. The console hummed.

  Something inside the machine shifted, lights flickering through its fractured systems. Ezra braced himself, heart pounding, but nothing exploded. No alarms blared. The bunker didn’t suddenly collapse around him.

  Instead… A compartment opened.

  Ezra stepped back as something small, smooth, and encased in a dull green mineral slid forward from the console’s interface.

  He swallowed thickly.

  It was about the size of his palm—a rectangle encased in jade, smooth to the touch, no visible seams, no obvious markings. At first glance, it was just another strange artifact, another relic from whatever the hell this place was.

  But as Ezra turned it in his hands, the jade caught the light, and beneath its polished surface, he saw something.

  A shape. A square. A pale yellow square, embedded deep in the mineral like a preserved fossil.

  Ezra squinted. His pulse quickened.

  This wasn’t a solid object. It wasn’t just a mineral deposit. He recognized the intricate threading of circuitry inside. The etched lines, the dense array of neural pathways—

  His breath hitched.

  A neural network chip. His fingers tightened around the jade, his mind racing. This wasn’t just a relic. This wasn’t just some ancient scrap of technology.

  It was an AI core. And not just any AI. This thing… it was at least a thousand times more powerful than the limited AI assistant he had been running on his phone. He could see it in the structure—this wasn’t just some basic predictive system. This was a processing unit built for deep learning, for complex decision-making, for adaptation.

  His ECHO had two main bottlenecks: energy and accuracy. The first? It was a fundamental limitation of physics—power was always going to be a hurdle.

  But accuracy?

  If he could solve accuracy… If he could integrate something this advanced into his system… His breath came in short, sharp bursts. He needed to know more. He needed to test this thing.

  Ezra sprinted back to the engineering bay, his fingers already fumbling through the scattered tools, searching, searching—there. A high-powered microscope. He set the jade chip under the lens and cranked the magnification up.

  What he saw made his skin prickle.

  The threading inside the jade? It wasn’t just a processor. It was something else. Something designed to be housed in this mineral, something linked to it. The jade wasn’t just casing. It was part of it.

  But more importantly—It had connectors.

  Ezra’s pulse thundered.

  He flipped his phone onto the workbench. His AI assistant was nothing compared to whatever the hell this thing was, but his phone still had input slots. If this thing had connection points—if he could interface with it—

  He hesitated.

  His engineer’s brain screamed at him to slow down. To think.

  But Ezra was so tired of thinking. He grabbed a cable. Connected it to the jade. And plugged the other end into his phone.

  The moment the connection was made—

  A pulse. A flicker. His screen glitched.

  Ezra’s heart stopped.

  Then—A message appeared.

  [New hardware detected. Initializing…]

  Ezra’s stomach twisted into knots.

  The phone screen shifted, the interface warping before his eyes. The AI assistant’s simple boot-up sequence was gone. In its place? A cascade of data flashing faster than he could comprehend.

  Then—A voice. Not through the speaker. Not through any hardware he had connected. A voice inside his head. "You were not meant to find me yet."

  Ezra jerked back, yanking the cable free, his breath coming in harsh gasps. The screen flickered, but the damage was already done. His AI assistant was gone.

  The jade chip? Still humming. Still active. His hands trembled. "What the fuck did I just wake up?"

  The underground bunker was quieter than usual.

  It wasn’t the comforting kind of silence, the stillness that came with late-night tinkering or the distant hum of failing power conduits. No, this silence was heavier. The kind that pressed down on Ezra’s chest, that filled the empty spaces in his mind with thoughts too heavy to carry alone.

  Outside, the world was crumbling.

  Ciarra had been gone for weeks this time. Ezra had buried himself in work, testing the jade AI, pushing its limits, trying to figure out if this thing—whatever the hell it really was—could actually solve his ECHO’s biggest flaw. Accuracy. If it could process calculations faster than anything in human history, maybe, just maybe, it could fix the fragmentation problem. The ECHO could be more than just a crude tape recorder for time.

  But he had nothing.

  No breakthroughs. No grand realizations. No progress.

  Just three precious ECHO units, and an empty goddamn notebook filled with failed calculations.

  And now? Now, Ciarra was back. And the look on her face told him everything.

  Ezra didn’t need to ask. He had seen the reports. Had heard the panicked whispers in old radio frequencies. The destruction of Fuji wasn’t just a tragedy—it was a death sentence. Humanity’s entire future had been built on anti-gravity waves, and the only known source was gone.

  They had a stockpile. Ten years. That was it.

  And that? That wasn’t enough.

  Entire colonies were being evacuated. Cities built on the promise of a future in space were collapsing.

  Key Industries had been forced to abandon its Dyson Sphere project—one of the most ambitious engineering endeavors in human history—because there simply weren’t enough resources to sustain it.

  Hell, even Lunar Park, Ezra’s favorite amusement park on the Moon? Shut down.

  That one hurt more than he wanted to admit.

  Ezra sat at the workbench, staring at the three ECHO units in front of him, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the steel. He had spent years trying to perfect them. Trying to make them something more. Trying to break past the limit that mocked him every time he pressed that button.

  And now?

  Now, he had three.

  Three attempts. Three chances.

  He had to make them count.

  Ezra exhaled sharply, pushing himself away from the workbench as the smell of food drifted through the bunker’s stale air.

  Ciarra had brought dinner.

  Quarantinemas.

  The world above was burning, but somehow, in this forgotten graveyard of a kingdom, they were still sitting down for dinner.

  Ezra ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and forced himself to step away from the workbench.

  The dinner table was small, the overhead light flickering faintly above them. The food wasn’t much—Ciarra had managed to scrounge together some decent ingredients, but supply chains were failing. Even here, even now, they were living on borrowed time.

  But still— It smelled like home.

  Ezra sat down with a tired grunt, rubbing his eyes before reaching for a plate.

  "You look like hell," Ciarra said, watching him.

  Ezra smirked. [Thanks. I try.]

  She rolled her eyes, but there was something off about her expression. Something hesitant.

  Ezra took a slow bite, chewing, savoring the simple comfort of warm food before speaking again.

  [How bad is it up there?]

  Ciarra hesitated. "Worse than before."

  Ezra snorted. [That’s not hard. We passed ‘bad’ months ago.]

  Ciarra didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smirk.

  Ezra frowned, setting his fork down.

  [Ciarra?]

  She inhaled, bracing herself. "There’s no space elevator drop this year."

  Ezra blinked.

  The world tilted slightly.

  The annual New Year’s Space Elevator Drop had been a tradition for as long as he could remember. It was more than a spectacle—it was a symbol. A celebration of humanity’s dominance over gravity itself. The sheer audacity of lifting an entire stadium up into orbit and dropping it back down, using nothing but controlled graviton manipulation?

  It was a statement.

  A reminder that humanity had conquered the stars.

  And now?

  Now, that statement was silence.

  Ezra exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. His fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.

  [Shit.]

  Ciarra didn’t respond right away. She just picked at her food, eyes distant. Then—softly—

  "I think we’re in the beginning of the end, Ez."

  Ezra didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Because for the first time? He believed it.

  They ate in silence for a while. Not an uncomfortable silence, but a heavy one. A silence full of things neither of them wanted to say out loud.

  But then, as Ciarra set down her fork, she glanced at him. And her ears twitched.

  Ezra narrowed his eyes. [What?]

  She hesitated. Then—slowly— "Ezra."

  He tilted his head.

  She exhaled sharply. "There’s something I need to tell you."

  Ezra frowned, setting his plate aside.

  Ciarra hesitated again, her fingers tapping idly against the table. Then—"My name isn’t Ciarra."

  Ezra blinked. His brain stalled.

  Then—[Excuse the fuck outta me???]

  She winced. "Yeah, uh. About that."

  Ezra squinted. [Okay, so if it’s not Ciarra, what the hell is it?]

  She inhaled, bracing herself.

  "Kierra."

  Ezra froze. Something about that name sent a jolt through his brain—like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. Like something just out of reach.

  It sounded familiar. Too familiar.

  And then—he remembered. He remembered a book. A stupid, ancient book.

  The one Mr. Key had shoved at him. The one with wizards and dragons and missing princesses—Ezra’s eyes widened. [No. No no no. Do NOT tell me—]

  Ciarra immediately shook her head. "I’m not her, if that’s what you’re thinking."

  Ezra exhaled sharply. [Oh, thank fuck.]

  Ciarra smirked slightly. "But I was named after her."

  Ezra groaned, dragging a hand down his face. [Oh, for the love of—]

  She laughed, but it was weak. "Yeah. My father thought it would confuse the ever-living shit out of the demon I had to fight my whole life."

  Ezra paused. His fingers twitched. Then—slowly— [...What?]

  Ciarra’s smirk faded.

  Ezra’s stomach twisted.

  [...What timeline are you from, Kierra?]

  Ciarra hesitated. Then—softly—"The one that doesn’t exist anymore."

  Ezra’s breath caught. The food in his stomach turned to lead.

  Bajookiland— That ridiculous meme-tier fairytale bullshit— It was real.

  And now? Now, it was gone. And the woman sitting across from him? The woman who had saved his life, who had been running for as long as he had? She was the reason it was gone.

  Ezra’s hands trembled slightly.

  Ciarra’s ears drooped. "I destroyed it, Ezra."

  Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. Ezra swallowed. [You…?]

  She closed her eyes. "Yeah."

  Ezra let the weight of that sink in. Then—he exhaled sharply.

  [Good. Because if there were any more goddamn chapters to that bullshit book, I would’ve nuked Bajookiland myself!!]

  Ciarra stared at him.

  Then—She burst out laughing. The tension shattered. The weight lifted. And for the first time in what felt like years?

  Ezra laughed, too, wheezing in between bites.

  Ciarra took a slow breath, staring at the half-empty plate in front of her. She had been quiet for a while now, chewing over her own thoughts as much as the remnants of her meal.

  Ezra waited.

  He could feel it—the weight, the hesitation, the thing she was holding in the back of her throat like it was a damn landmine.

  Then, finally—she exhaled.

  "I trusted him," she murmured.

  Ezra blinked.

  Ciarra swallowed hard. Her ears twitched, her tail flicking against the chair leg. "The Demon," she clarified. "I… I trusted him."

  Ezra tilted his head. [Well, that’s your first mistake. Can’t go around trusting demons, Ci. Bad life choices.]

  Ciarra snorted, but it was weak, fleeting. Her fingers curled against the table, her voice softer. "I thought he was my friend."

  Ezra’s smirk faded.

  And there it was.

  The wound beneath the wound.

  Ciarra’s voice wavered, but she kept talking. "He told me I was doing good. That I was helping. That what I was making was… necessary."

  Ezra felt his stomach twist.

  "What I actually did?" Ciarra’s ears drooped, her tail curling around her waist. "I spread a plague."

  The words hit like a damn hammer.

  Ezra stiffened.

  "It wiped out cities," she continued, her voice hollow. "It killed millions. And I… I thought I was saving people."

  Ezra inhaled sharply through his nose, setting his drink down.

  Ciarra let out a soft, bitter laugh. "The failsafe had to be triggered. Bajookiland was already collapsing. It was already dying. I just… I just helped speed up the process. The best and brightest were aboard the failsafe.. They all just.. died.."

  Silence.

  Ezra drummed his fingers against the table, his expression unreadable. Then—he exhaled sharply.

  [Great! That explains why all the white-coats that were left behind aren’t the best nor the brightest. Now all that nonsense makes a whole lot more sense.]

  Ciarra blinked. Then—she snorted. "Goddammit, Ezra," she muttered, shaking her head. But she was smiling.

  Ezra smirked. [Hey, at least now I know why the ones in my timeline are so incompetent. You took out the competition. Real nice of you.]

  Ciarra actually laughed. The tension in her shoulders eased—just a little. Just enough for her voice to soften, the regret in her tone giving way to something else.

  Something lighter. "It’s funny," she murmured. "I remember… enjoying it."

  Ezra raised a brow. [The plague?]

  Ciarra shook her head quickly. "No, no—the failsafe." She exhaled. "People were… cruel to me. They called me a ‘black cat of bad luck’ my whole life."

  Ezra blinked. Then, instinctively, he smirked. [Good. More tail for us to pet. Happy to have you around.]

  Ciarra’s ears twitched. Then—another laugh. A real one. She shook her head, biting her lip. "You’re such an asshole."

  Ezra grinned. [I try.]

  Ciarra exhaled, leaning back in her chair. The warmth of the meal, the ridiculous comfort of Ezra’s sarcasm—it made her feel… lighter.

  For the first time in what felt like centuries, she wasn’t drowning in it.

  She wasn’t choking on the weight of what she had done.

  She was just here. Laughing. Talking. Existing.

  Ezra took another sip of his drink, watching her carefully. Then—he tilted his head. [What about your parents?]

  Ciarra’s smile dimmed slightly.

  Ezra caught it. [Did you ever know them?]

  She hesitated. Then—she nodded. "My mother," she murmured. "She… she told me stories about my father. Said he was a great man."

  Ezra raised a brow.

  Ciarra huffed a small laugh. "Someone who could perform absolute miracles." She exhaled. "The very person that built Bajookiland."

  Ezra froze.

  Then—his instincts took over.

  [Holy shit… you poor woman.]

  Ciarra blinked.

  Ezra leaned forward, his grin widening. [I’m hella glad Seth found you when he did. I can’t imagine you growing up as insane as the very same man that wrote Bajookiland’s history!]

  Ciarra burst out laughing.

  Not a small chuckle. Not a weak snicker. A full-bodied, tears-in-her-eyes, breathless laugh.

  Ezra smirked. [There it is.]

  Ciarra wiped at her face, shaking her head. "God, I hate you."

  [No, you don’t.]

  She scoffed, but there was a warmth in her gaze. Then—without warning—she scooted her chair closer.

  Ezra raised a brow. "What are you—"

  And then—she hugged him. Tightly.

  Ezra stiffened for half a second, his body instinctively reacting to the sudden affection. But then—he melted into it.

  She nuzzled against his shoulder, sighing. "You’re the best, Ez."

  Ezra smirked. [I know.]

  Ciarra rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

  For the first time in a long, long time… She didn’t feel alone. Neither of them did.

  And maybe—maybe the end was near. Maybe their world was falling apart. But here, in this moment, in this quiet warmth of shared laughter and old wounds—They could pretend. If only for a little longer.

  What is the cost of rewriting fate?