The war was over.But the ticking had not stopped.
Elion stood in a field of stillness. Not silence—stillness.The grass didn't sway. The wind did not breathe. The stars above hung like glass ornaments in a frozen sky.
This place was not part of any world. It was the Clockroot's Heart.The source of time. The origin of all flow.And he—Chrono-Lord Elion Vale—was now its only guest.
Behind him, the Hour Rings floated quietly, reduced from furious halos of light to dim, dying embers. The Echo Ring, the Fifth, pulsed gently… then faded.
Each Ring had burned a hole into the fabric of reality to get here. Each had cost him a piece of himself.
And now?
They asked for one final decision.
A soft voice called to him. Familiar.
"Still here?"Lyra.
But it wasn't her—not physically.She appeared beside him, dressed in a flowing white version of her battle armor, barefoot on the frozen grass.
"You're not real," Elion whispered.
"I'm what remains of your memory of me," she said, smiling. "You brought me with you. Even here."
Elion didn't speak. Just lowered his head.
"I can't go back, can I?" he asked.
Lyra looked to the horizon, where the sky ended in a solid gold line.
"You could. But time there would feel… wrong to you now. Like living backward."
He nodded. "I figured."
In the distance, the Clockroot Tree shimmered—no longer a twisted vine in his chest, but a colossal pillar of light and motion, its branches reaching into every moment of history, every alternate timeline, every "what if" and "almost."
It called to him now.
One step forward… and he could take the Keeper's Mantle.
He would become the next Warden of Time—not just a protector, but an architect. A silent guardian above all timelines, never interfering, never aging, never leaving.
The price of peace… is permanence.
He looked down at his hands. Scarred. Worn.But still his.
"I wanted to fight for time," he whispered. "But I didn't think I'd have to leave it behind."
Lyra nodded. "Every hero faces this. The last door. The final tick."
A door formed ahead.
Golden.
Simple.
Beyond it, the Flow of Time would resume. The multiverse would rebuild. New lives. New stories. Ones that no longer needed him.
He could walk through.
He could let go.
Or—
He could climb the Clockroot Tree.
Hold the strands together.
And ensure time never shattered again.
Elion took a breath.
Closed his eyes.
And stepped forward.
Centuries passed.Worlds healed.Time flowed, uncertain but undisturbed.
Children grew up in cities once destroyed by Expansion.Stories were told of a man who fought time itself—who bore rings that shone like stars and faced a god of growth with only a clock for a heart.
They called him:
The Keeper of the Last Tick.Chrono-Lord.The One Who Stayed.
And sometimes, in moments when time felt fragile…In seconds stretched too far or paused too long…
You could feel him.
Watching.
Guarding.
Waiting for the clock to breathe again.