Where once there had been mountains, cities, rivers — now there was only ruin. Time itself fractured around the dying world. Seconds looped unnaturally. Space twisted. Ash drifted upward like snow.
In the heart of the destruction, a boy stood — Chronoe — his yellow hair matted with blood, his armor cracked and glowing faintly with time runes. His every breath was labored. His limbs heavy with exhaustion. A genius, a hero… and now, a dying memory.
Before him loomed Zalthron, the Devourer of Eras — a being not bound to a single world, but one that fed on timelines like parasites feeding on destiny. Its form was vast and ever-shifting, swirling with galaxies and screaming souls. Its laughter echoed in the air, vibrating the fabric of reality itself.
"You are the last," Zalthron hissed, its voice not in words but in thoughts that twisted the very air around him. "And you think to defy me?"
Chronoe coughed blood, his sword dragging heavily beside him, the edges cracked and dim. Magic surged weakly within his veins, but it wasn't enough. He could feel the end closing in.
"I don't think," he said hoarsely. "I know."
Zalthron's tendrils of shadow unfurled, smashing into the earth where Chronoe stood. The ground shattered beneath him, and he was flung backward, crashing across broken terrain. His limbs screamed in protest, but Chronoe fought to rise. He couldn't stop now. Not when everything depended on him.
At the edge of the ruined city, Tempora lay beneath a shattered archway, her blue hair tangled, a trail of blood snaking from a wound on her forehead. Her breathing was shallow, and her fingertips twitched faintly as she summoned the last of her magic. She tried to lift her head, eyes fluttering open.
"Chronoe…" she whispered, barely audible, her voice thick with pain. "Don't leave me…"
Chronoe, stumbling toward her, shielded his face from the dust-filled air. His heart twisted with the knowledge that he couldn't save her — but he had to. Not now, not when they had come so far.
"I'm here," he said, kneeling beside her. "We're not done yet."
Tempora managed a weak smile, her eyes glassy. "I'm... scared."
Chronoe's hand brushed against her cheek, his heart racing. "Then I'll carry the fear for both of us. Stay with me. Just a little longer."
Zalthron's shadow loomed above them, a swirling black mass. "Enough of this sentimental rubbish. There is no future left. No past. I will devour it all."
Chronoe's gaze turned steely. He wasn't about to let everything they had fought for fall apart. Not now.
He rose, swaying with exhaustion, and lifted his sword. The blade gleamed with a faint, magical light — the last of his strength. His hands bled from the strain of holding it.
"Chronoe," Tempora whispered, her voice full of fear. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he began chanting — low and steady. Runes spun in the air, glowing a brilliant white. The spell was ancient, forbidden, one that only the gods themselves could wield.
"RELOAD: SOULCAST – ∞ LOOP REBIRTH."
The incantation twisted the very fabric of time, a spell so powerful that it tore through the dimensions. His magic bent the laws of existence, but the energy that flowed from him was weak. The spell was incomplete.
Zalthron roared in fury, its form shifting to strike. The world trembled.
Chronoe felt his strength slipping. The magic he had spent his life mastering… wasn't enough.
No.
Not like this. Not when he had promised.
With a final, desperate scream, he poured the last of his soul into the spell, knowing it would come with a price.
A sharp pain exploded in his chest. His breath caught as the lance of black energy from Zalthron pierced him, and the world around him crumbled.
Time fractured.
His magic collapsed in on itself.
The last thing he saw was Tempora's face, eyes filled with love and fear, as she reached out for him.
He couldn't reach her in time.
The world shattered. The collapse of their lives consumed them both.
Elsewhere — Another World
"Chronoe… I love you."
The words echoed in the back of his mind like an unwelcome echo.
Kaito gasped, sitting up abruptly beneath a cherry tree. His heart raced. His head spun. His black hair clung to his forehead, matted with sweat, though the air around him was cool, crisp. The petals of the tree above him drifted slowly in the spring breeze.
"A dream...?"
He stared at the soft pink petals fluttering from the tree. His chest tightened, an overwhelming sense of loss clouding his thoughts. That name. Sayuri? A voice, full of warmth and longing, calling to him… but it wasn't familiar. It shouldn't have been.
Kaito, he thought. Who is Chronoe?
His hand touched his forehead, rubbing the base of his skull, trying to shake off the odd sensation of déjà vu. The dream, the feeling… it was real, but it had no place here, in this world.
He glanced around. His surroundings were peaceful — far too peaceful. The city lay in a tranquil slumber, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. The world was calm. So why did he feel like something was wrong?
A faint whisper tickled the back of his mind, something about a promise, about her, but the memory faded the moment he tried to focus on it.
He shook his head. There was no time for this.
The cherry blossoms drifted around him again. Something about them felt strangely comforting. But at the same time, they reminded him of… something distant. A promise, perhaps?
He stood, feeling the weight of his bag settle on his shoulders, but something in his chest felt… wrong.
And then, a soft voice broke his thoughts.
"Good morning, Kaito."
He turned to see Sayuri, her black hair shimmering in the sunlight. She wore a designer school uniform, a far cry from his own humble one. She smiled at him, but something in her eyes… something familiar stirred deep inside him.
A memory. Or a feeling. A whisper he couldn't quite catch.
"Sayuri…" His voice was hushed, uncertain. But when he spoke her name, his heart skipped.
And for a moment, just a moment, he thought he might remember.
But the feeling slipped away like sand.
"Good morning, Kaito," she repeated, with a faint blush on her cheeks. Her family, rich and powerful, surrounded her with luxury, but she was always quiet, humble — yet there was something about her that called to him.
"Morning," Kaito replied, rubbing his head, trying to shake the strange feeling.
But deep inside, something yearned to remember.