The burning world faded.
Grant exhaled shakily, lowering his hand. The sphere above the Zenith Watch shrank until it was no larger than a marble again, its light faint and trembling.
The Ampers stood frozen, reflections fractured a thousand times over by the crystalline walls. Even Brakkon's breath came shallow, as if sound itself might shatter the moment.
Grant and Jazmine exchanged a glance—wordless, heavy. They both felt it: something vast pressing at the edges of reality.
Then the stars bent.
It began as a shimmer, a subtle distortion in the walls, as if gravity itself had changed direction. Every constellation folded inward, spiraling toward a single invisible point above the Watch.
A blinding light erupted.
The Ampers cried out, shielding their faces. The floor vibrated with such force that dust rose like smoke.
Then, from the convergence of the stars, a figure emerged.
Celestius.
Radiant, yet somehow solid. His presence filled the chamber as though the universe had been poured into human shape. Galaxies spun faintly within his eyes. His voice didn't echo—it resonated, threading straight into the marrow of their thoughts.
Celestius: "Grant decided to meddle with the timeline, and so this is the fate of your world. You know what must be done."
Grant's fists clenched. "You know I would never do that."
The silence that followed was unbearable. The Ampers dropped to their knees without meaning to, their bodies trembling under the pressure of divine authority. The floor itself seemed to bow.
Jazmine's voice broke through, desperate. "Then we can go back—fix it before it broke—"
Shla cut her off, shaking her head. "That wouldn't work. You step on a bug, and everything changes. You were never supposed to be there in the first place. One of you already changed everything."
Grant's eyes darkened. He nodded, slowly.
"Time travel's too dangerous. But I can train all of you—to be the best—and to destroy Gravax."
The light pulsed in answer, like a heartbeat that wasn't human.
The stars held their breath.
Celestius' brilliance dimmed, his form condensing into something almost human—though no less vast. His gaze fell upon Jazmine, and the vibrations in the temple softened.
"You said the oath," he told her, his voice gentle yet impossibly immense. "You are now a Protector. Aid Grant in every way you can."
Jazmine didn't move. The words weren't just heard—they resonated inside her, rearranging something fundamental.
Then Celestius turned to Grant, and the air grew heavy. The radiance in his eyes burned deeper, reaching into the marrow of Grant's being.
"She is more important than the multiverse itself," he said. "Protect her. She is my whole reason to live."
The declaration hit like a meteor. Grant's breath caught, his thoughts fracturing beneath the weight of it. The command didn't sound like a request—it bound itself into him.
He tried to respond, but his throat locked. The pressure was unbearable, divine gravity pressing him down until his knees nearly touched the floor.
Celestius began to fade, unraveling into pure light that scattered like burning dust. His final words shimmered through the room, soft but absolute.
"Fail her, and everything ends."
The light dissolved. The room darkened. The Ampers crumpled where they stood, gasping as the weight lifted from their chests. The hum of the Zenith Watch returned to its quiet pulse, as though nothing had happened at all.
Nullis was the first to speak, her voice shaking. "Who… who was that?"
Jazmine's tone was flat, detached, as if she couldn't process the words herself. "My father, apparently."
Grant exhaled slowly, bitterness leaking through the calm veneer he tried to maintain. "The creator of all things. God, if you need a word."
The group fell into uneasy silence. Every one of them understood the same terrible truth: they hadn't just met a god—they had seen the being who made gods.
Grant paced toward the Zenith Watch's table, the faint red glow from his ring pulsing like a heartbeat. The Ampers watched in tense silence as he brushed his hand across the glassy surface.
"We need confirmation," he said. His voice carried a hard edge—focused, clipped. "I have to know if Gravax is behind this."
Instead of recalling Earth's sphere, Grant flipped the mechanism embedded within the table. The polished surface dimmed, then bled into blackness. A moment later, new shapes began to form—jagged ridges of stone, metallic spires rising like broken teeth, and drifting embers that glowed within a shroud of violet haze.
"Every Earth has its own Negative Zone," Grant explained, his tone lowering. "And this… is ours."
The Ampers leaned closer, transfixed. The air around the projection hummed faintly, as though the vision itself radiated decay.
Shla adjusted her lenses, her expression caught somewhere between awe and dread. "It's like a mirror universe made of rot," she murmured. "I swear I've seen this before."
Jazmine stood beside Grant, unable to tear her gaze from the churning landscape. The pit in her stomach deepened; something in that place felt familiar, too—like a nightmare half-remembered. Without thinking, she reached for his hand. Her fingers brushed his, trembling.
"That's where Gravax came from?" she whispered.
Grant nodded once. "Yes. He ruled there once… until he escaped. I still don't know how."
A low hum filled the chamber. Xylo stepped closer to the projection, narrowing his eyes. "Wait. That light," he said, pointing toward a faint orange pulse deep within a crumbling structure. "It's the same glow that appeared when Jazmine first touched your ring."
Grant's attention sharpened instantly. The red aura around his hand flared as he extended it toward the projection. "Show me."
The Watch obeyed. The black surface rippled like water, rising into a sphere of pure energy. Within it, a hologram bloomed—grainy, unstable, but unmistakable.
The moment of the blast. The same explosion that bound their fates together.
Grant's jaw tightened. "Play it again," he murmured.
The projection replayed in slow motion, the explosion that had bound Grant and Jazmine together stretching into an endless moment of color and soundless fury. Energy rippled outward in waves—red, pink, and orange—colliding, twisting, merging like living fire.
Grant stood at the edge of the table, eyes locked on the image. With a flick of his wrist, the projection sharpened, isolating each hue into its own current of light.
"Red," he muttered, pointing to the first streak. "My speed."
Then to the second. "Pink—hers."
And finally, the third: a deeper, molten orange that flickered like dying sunlight. "Unknown."
He turned to Jazmine. "We need to confirm it. Can you create something small? A pen, maybe."
Jazmine froze. The others watched her, silent, expectant. Her hands shook slightly. "I don't think I can…"
John Charleston took a few steps forward, his expression calm and patient, the teacher in him surfacing. "Don't think," he said softly. "Visualize. Every edge, every curve, every detail. Don't force it—shape it."
Jazmine swallowed hard. Her breathing steadied. She closed her eyes, whispering to herself, I have to do this. I'll do this for Grant.
Pink light began to shimmer around her fingers, faint at first. Then it grew denser, the glow gathering form and weight. Slowly, it stretched into something solid—a slender pen, humming faintly before cooling into the dull shine of reality.
She exhaled sharply. Her knees buckled. Grant was already there, catching her before she hit the floor.
"You did amazing, Jaz," he said quietly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
The moment broke when Brakkon grunted from across the room. "Why the hell did we need a pen?"
Grant straightened, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Her heart skipped. She didn't dare look at him. He gave me a nickname, she thought, dizzy with warmth. Maybe he loves me.
"To confirm the color of her energy," he said. He lifted the pen, the faint pink glow still pulsing within its shell. "It's the same as the blast."
Shla adjusted her lenses, leaning closer to the projection. "And the orange?" she asked, voice tense with curiosity.
Her screen reflected the fiery hue of the remaining strand. "It matches the energy coming from that house… in the Negative Zone."
Grant's eyes darkened at that. The pen in his hand stopped glowing.
Grant's eyes narrowed as the last strands of energy danced across the projection. The air around him seemed to hum with restrained power.
"Analyzing frame by frame isn't enough," he said quietly. "You need to see it how I see it."
He raised his hand. "Celeritas."
The word struck like thunder. Crimson lightning erupted from the ring on his finger, flooding the chamber in blinding light. The air warped—then shattered into stillness. Every speck of dust hung frozen midair, every flicker of light suspended like glass.
Only the Ampers could move.
Shla spun in awe, her voice trembling. "This is how you see things?"
Grant's gaze stayed fixed on the projection. "Every second. Every shift in time."
He touched the ring to the image. The explosion replayed—not in moments, but in fractions of infinity. The wave of color unfolded thread by thread, every beam stretched thin enough to reveal what the naked eye could never catch.
Red. Pink. Orange. Then, deeper still—something new.
Blue streaks wrapped around the orange core, coiling like serpents of energy.
Xylo leaned forward, eyes wide. "Wait—there. In the center."
The projection magnified. The Ampers gasped.
Within the explosion, hidden beneath layers of raw creation, something floated—long, drifting strands that shimmered in the light.
Nullis's voice cracked. "That's… hair."
The vision zoomed again, and this time there was no mistaking it: orange and blue energy spiraled around a mass of hair, endless and shifting like fire under water.
Grant's face hardened. His heartbeat echoed in his ears.
"It is," he said quietly. "It's Gravax's."
The words fell like stones.
No one moved. The silence was absolute—thick with realization, with fear.
Astegger broke it first, his breath sharp and unsteady. "Then we know where to go."
Grant didn't hesitate. He pressed his palm against the Watch. "Hold on."
The great construct came alive—rings of red light spinning faster and faster until the floor itself dissolved into motion.
The palace dissolved into color—and in the space between heartbeats, they were gone.