The object in his palm pulsed faintly—warm, yet not heated. Not like metal warmed by flame, but something alive, something responding. It had no sharp edge, just smooth crystal contours, like glass moulded by water over centuries. Jin turned it over in his hand as if understanding would spill from its core if he looked long enough.
Behind him, the wind howled into the small cave opening, and the shudder of the earth above reminded him—he wasn't safe. The serpent was still out there.
He tucked the object into the pocket of his jacket and pressed forward, his feet echoing lightly across the cavern floor. The torches flickered but didn't burn out. "That's convenient," he muttered. "Probably magic. Or very irresponsible medieval electricians."
The path narrowed into a tunnel. Jin ducked slightly, the low ceiling brushing his head. Dirt rained from above with every step, as if the tunnel itself whispered: don't stay.
Farther in, the air changed—cooler, heavier, tinged with something metallic. Blood? No, too faint. Not fearsome yet, but ancient. The torchlight ahead was steadier now. Someone, or something, maintained this place.
Then he saw the carvings.
The walls weren't just dirt and stone. Etched into them were symbols—faded, intricate, strangely organic. They looped and spiralled in no language he'd ever seen, not even in the books of obscure Earth mythologies he used to skim out of boredom. They almost shimmered when he passed, catching the torchlight with unearthly geometry. Jin stopped and traced one with his fingertips. It pulsed under his skin.
He flinched. "Nope. Nope nope nope." He kept walking.
Ten minutes passed. Or twenty. Jin lost track of time in the dim corridor. But ahead, finally, the tunnel widened.
He stepped into a chamber so vast that the torches lining its pillars couldn't chase away the shadows in the domed ceiling. At the centre stood a pedestal, and atop it—another crystal, larger than the one he held, nestled like an egg waiting to hatch.
But something else moved.
On the far end, almost imperceptibly, a shape stirred. It was tall—humanoid, but indistinct. Cloaked? Covered in some veil of darkness? Jin squinted.
"Who's there?" His voice didn't echo. It was swallowed whole.
The figure didn't speak. Instead, it raised a hand.
Jin instinctively raised his own—mirroring. The crystal in his pocket flared. A beacon. A key?
The figure reacted instantly. It stepped back, bowed its head slightly, and turned to a side corridor carved into the wall. Without a sound, it slipped through.
Jin stared after it. "Well, subtle invitation or murder tunnel?" He sighed. "As if I've had options this whole time."
He followed.
The corridor was smoother here. Less like a cave, more like a hall. Lanterns instead of torches now. Carvings gave way to murals—murky depictions of stars, worlds, and silhouettes of beings with elongated heads and long, ribboned arms. Some knelt before crystals.
In others, they fought.
A war? Over these artefacts?
At the end of the corridor, another door. Metallic. A deep blue sheen like tempered steel, with markings arranged in a circular lock. It had no handle—just an indentation, shaped like the crystal Jin still carried.
"Alright, magic rock. Be useful."
He pressed the crystal into the indentation. It fit perfectly. The lock rotated, light spilled from the seams, and the door opened with a hiss.
He stepped through.
The chamber inside was no cave. It was a control room.
Walls of etched metal, panels embedded with glowing glyphs. A globe floated in the center—holographic, possibly. It wasn't Earth. It wasn't anywhere Jin recognized. Dozens of rings orbited the projection, cycling maps, constellations, and what looked like battle simulations.
At the far end was a console, and in front of it—the cloaked figure again. Now unhooded.
It wasn't human.
Not monstrous, but... alien. A pale, silver-blue face, ridged along the jawline, with eyes like pools of oil reflecting galaxies. It looked at Jin. Then, slowly, it bowed.
"Welcome," it said. The voice was like metal wind chimes, melodic and oddly mechanical.
Jin blinked. "You speak English?"
"I speak concept. You translate."
"Right. Because that's not weird at all."
"You are not native," the figure observed.
"Nope. Born and raised in Manila. Got dropped into sky-serpent land a few hours ago."
The figure inclined its head. "The Rift accepts few. You were chosen."
"Chosen for what? Snake food? Rock hallway treasure hunt?"
The figure approached and extended a hand—not threatening. In its palm was a second crystal, identical to Jin's.
"Two keys. Balance. You carry one."
Jin took a step back. "Okay, why me? What makes me so special?"
"Your arrival was an echo. A deviation in the long thread of probability. The timeline flickered. The Rift responded."
"You're saying I got here by... accident?"
"Accidents are the masks of higher intention."
Jin rubbed his temples. "I swear if this turns out to be one of those chosen-one prophecies, I'm going back out there and letting that flying worm eat me."
The alien—Keeper? Guardian? Whatever it was—smiled. It was surprisingly gentle.
"No prophecy. Only convergence."
From behind the console, it retrieved a slab—a data pad, perhaps—and tapped it. An image appeared: Jin, hovering midair, falling from the cliff. But next to it, others. Dozens. Hundreds. Versions of Jin—older, younger, alternate—walking other worlds, standing beside dragons, machines, armies.
Jin's mouth fell open.
"These... these are—?"
"Possibilities. Echoes of you. Collapsing into singularity."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you are a hinge."
Jin sat down on a low step, head spinning. "A hinge."
"Yes. Many doors may open. You must choose which one."
Jin let out a low, shaky laugh. "This morning I was stressing over rent. Now I'm apparently some multiversal pivot point."
"There is more," the Keeper said, stepping aside.
Behind the console, a panel slid open. A cylindrical pod rose from the floor. Inside floated a body—not human. A humanoid, yes, but different. Taller, armored, unconscious.
"She crossed too early," the Keeper said. "We cannot awaken her yet. But she is... linked to your thread."
"What is she?"
"She may be your end—or your beginning."
Jin stared at the sleeping figure. She looked peaceful. Powerful. And vaguely familiar, like someone from a half-remembered dream.
"I don't even know where to start," he whispered.
The Keeper placed a hand on Jin's shoulder.
"You already have."