Red light surged, and the palace knitted itself back into being around them. The floor, once fracturing beneath infinite horizons, solidified again beneath their boots.
Grant stood motionless. His reflection in the curved Watch looked hollow—rage and regret fused into something unreadable. The burning Earth still flickered across the walls, its glow collapsing into silence.
The Ampers simply watched him, uncertain whether to reach out or stay silent.
Grant exhaled, the breath ragged, barely holding him together.
"It's my fault," he murmured. "Gravax went there because of us… because of me."
John Charleston stepped forward, his tone steady, the kind of calm that came from years of teaching others to face impossible things.
"Whether you came back or not, Grant, he would've come," he said. "You can't change things that were always meant to happen."
Grant didn't answer. His gaze stayed locked on the fading glow, the red light painting his expression like a wound that wouldn't close.
Shla adjusted her lenses, her voice quiet but sure. "The timeline's like fluid, every ripple changes the surface, but the basin stays the same. This—" she gestured toward the fading vision of Earth "—was the planet's fate long before any of us touched it."
Grant's jaw unclenched. His voice, when it came, was smaller, almost human again. "…Thank you."
The Ampers exchanged wary glances. It wasn't often the Red Tempest sounded grateful—or fragile.
Then Anna's voice broke the silence. "If he's from the Negative Zone," she said, eyes narrowing, "how does he reach Veynar? The deal, the exchange—they're supposed to happen on our side."
The others turned toward her. The question struck like static. No one had an answer.
Grant frowned, thoughts flashing too fast for speech. His ring glowed faintly as he replayed fragments of what they'd seen—the orange energy, the breach, the hair, the explosion.
Then, like a whisper sliding between heartbeats, Jazmine's voice echoed through his mind.
You think the ring connects you to the Zone.
Grant stiffened. His eyes flicked toward her. You can hear that too?
Jazmine met his gaze, her expression unreadable. She gave a faint, hesitant nod. It's stronger when you think of him.
Grant's pulse quickened. The ring on his hand throbbed once—an echo that didn't feel entirely his own. He flexed his fingers, but the glow only deepened, pulsing in sync with something vast and unseen.
John watched him carefully. "Grant?"
Grant forced himself to answer aloud. "There's a resonance," he said quietly. "Maybe it isn't a weapon at all—but a doorway."
The room fell into uneasy quiet. For the first time since their return, even the Watch's hum sounded like a heartbeat caught between worlds.
Jazmine lowered her voice. "Then Gravax didn't break through." She met his eyes again, the realization chilling her words. "You let him in."
Grant motioned silently for John, Aldus, and Shla to follow. Jazmine trailed after them, curiosity flickering across her face.
They emerged into a vast corridor that seemed to stretch beyond sight—its walls alive with slow, rippling constellations. The air vibrated faintly, humming with the weight of uncounted realities. At the end of the hall, the passage opened into a dome so immense it made the palace seem small.
Shelves of glasslike crystal spiraled upward, each one glowing with trapped light. Books—if they could even be called that—floated in midair, pages made of pure energy that turned themselves. The entire room pulsed with a low, resonant heartbeat, like the echo of creation itself.
Jazmine's breath caught. "Wow… you made this?"
Grant paused at the threshold, the faint red hue from his ring blending with the golden glow. "The Library," he said softly. "Every Earth, every timeline. Each record writes itself—but only so far. Too much knowledge spoils the future."
Shla adjusted her lenses, her eyes wide with scientific hunger. "This—this is beyond infinite indexing," she whispered, fingers twitching as if she might reach out to touch the light. "You could map eternity with this."
Aldus stepped slowly through the room, awe softening her normally severe expression. "A memory archive of every reality," he murmured. "This is what gods dream about."
Jazmine moved toward one of the floating tomes, drawn by a faint pink luminescence that matched her own aura. It hovered low to the ground, its spine engraved with elegant sigils that pulsed gently like veins of light. Across its surface glowed the title: Earth-61724.
She hesitated, hand hovering just above it. "If I open it… would I see my future?"
Grant's voice came from behind her—gentle, but carrying the fatigue of someone who already knew the answer. "Don't bother, Jaz. There's nothing about us in there." He stepped closer, eyes on the floating script. "Protectors get erased from history. The moment we intervene, the pages rewrite themselves. It's the only way to keep fate uncorrupted."
Aldus tilted his head, half to himself. "Erased by design…" She smiled faintly, reverent. "Even destiny has its safeguards."
Grant turned, his gaze sweeping across the towering shelves. "This room slows time," he explained. "No hunger. No fatigue. No decay. I come here when the timelines start to bleed together—when I need to plan, or… remember."
The echo in his voice was hollow, distant.
Jazmine watched him silently, her awe softening into something deeper. Standing there, surrounded by infinite worlds, she saw the truth that none of the others did—the loneliness behind his power.
She lowered her hand from the glowing book, the light fading between her fingers.
Back in the main chamber. One by one, the Ampers gathered—Acuent, Anna, Nullis, Xylo, Astegger, and Brakkon—each carrying the same tension, the same unspoken dread that had lingered since Celestius's appearance.
Grant stood near the center, his back to the Watch, gaze fixed on the fading echo of the projection that had just ended. The silence was long enough to become unbearable.
Brakkon's voice finally broke the silence, deep and heavy as the chamber itself. "You said the battle kills us all. But my name's missing from your records—and so is hers."
Astegger glanced at him, her expression caught somewhere between suspicion and unease. "Maybe because we're already dead by then," she muttered.
Grant didn't answer. His eyes flickered as he studied the two of them. The air in the chamber seemed to tighten, charged with something unseen.
"No," he said quietly. "Not both."
The others exchanged puzzled looks.
Then Grant turned, his voice steady—but weighted with something personal, something buried. "Brakkon," he said. "You're my father."
The words detonated like a shockwave.
Acuent took an involuntary step back. Anna's eyes widened.
Brakkon didn't move. His jaw tightened, and for a long, breathless moment, he said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly, the sound low and rough, like the start of a storm.
"I suspected," he said. "The pieces fit—the timing, the way the energy reacted to you." His gaze dropped for the briefest second, then lifted again, sharp and haunted. "John read traces of it once, in my mind. I told him not to speak of it."
All eyes turned to Charleston. The old telepath stepped forward, his calm composure strained by guilt.
"I found fragments," he admitted softly. "Memories sealed by something stronger than any psychic barrier I've ever touched. Buried deep, like someone wanted them forgotten. But they were there."
Grant's voice cut through the tension, low and resolute. "They were never supposed to be found." He stepped closer to Brakkon. "Father, you're right—you and I survive the battle."
He stopped, his tone faltering for the first time. His gaze slid toward Astegger.
"But, Astegger…" He hesitated, the weight of foreknowledge pressing down on him. "You die two days before it happens. They send your head as a warning from Veynar."
The color drained from her face. "What?"
Her voice cracked, a rare break in her iron control. The others looked at her—Acuent's eyes full of sympathy, Nullis's with disbelief.
Grant's expression hardened, the faint glow of his ring flaring. "That's not happening this time." His tone sharpened, command filling every syllable. "We're bringing the fight to them before they bring it to us."
Brakkon's gaze lingered on Grant—no longer just as a soldier, but as something closer, something far more dangerous.
His voice carried a note that almost sounded like pride. "Then let them come," he said. "This time, they'll learn what blood really means."
The Ampers filed in behind Grant, their footsteps echoing through the expanse. The Zenith Watch had guided them here—an arena that didn't belong to any one world.
Grant stopped at the center, the faint crimson glow of his ring casting sharp highlights across his face.
"This won't be against Gravax," he said, voice steady and cold. "It'll be against someone worse—me."
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
Xylo raised a brow, his tone half-amused, half-wary. "You? We can't even touch you."
Grant didn't blink. "You can if you unlock what's hidden," he said. "You'll train until you do."
Before anyone could respond, the air crackled around him. His body blurred, the space he occupied vibrating like a struck chord. Then—split.
Two Grants stood side by side, each moving in perfect synchronization. The air shimmered with the residual energy of speed beyond human comprehension.
Gasps broke from the Ampers.
Acuent murmured, "That's not cloning…"
Grant smirked faintly, both versions speaking in unison. "No. Just speed. Fast enough to split myself across a moment."
One Grant remained before the team, while the other turned toward Jazmine. His gaze lingered on her—measured, deliberate.
"You train with me," he said.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Anna's voice snapped across the room, sharp and edged. "Train her? Alone? Why not with us?"
Jazmine tilted her head, a smirk curving her lips. "Because my training matters more than you'll ever matter to him."
The air between them turned volatile, tension sparking like live wire.
Anna took a step forward, fists clenched, but Grant's raised hand stopped her cold. The red glow of the ring dimmed, commanding silence.
"Enough," he said, his tone cutting through the air like a blade.
He turned his gaze toward Anna. "Come with me."
She hesitated, confusion and frustration warring in her eyes—but the authority in his voice left no room for argument. She followed, leaving the others behind as the second Grant and Jazmine stepped into the opposite corner of the chamber.
As the walls shifted again, dividing the arena into two vast spaces of light and shadow, the meaning of Grant's words settled over the Ampers like gravity.
They wouldn't be training against their enemies.
They would be training to become what they feared most.
Grant guided Anna down a quiet corridor, the hall opened into a smaller chamber—softly lit, familiar in its warmth.
Anna stopped cold.
It was her old room. Every detail had been rebuilt: the shelves lined with books she'd once carried from safehouse to safehouse, the scratched desk, the window framing the same false sunrise she'd always painted. Even the air smelled the same—dust and memory.
She turned slowly. "It brings me back… You made this?"
Grant's eyes softened. "It brings me back. I saw you here—when I was trapped in the coma. You'd breathe my name like a prayer, a secret no one was supposed to hear."
A faint smile crossed her lips. "Then you remember."
"I remember everything," he said quietly.
Her gaze flicked to the far wall. "But the painting's missing."
Grant smirked. "Wouldn't be unique if I copied everything."
For a moment, the weight between them lifted. The silence wasn't heavy—it was tender, like something old rediscovering itself.
Grant looked at her, really looked, and his voice lost its edge. "When I came here again… I thought of you. I missed you."
Anna's breath hitched. "Grant… I missed you too."
The quiet dissolved into tension.
Grant's expression hardened. "You moved on—with Xylo."
She flinched. "You abandoned me! Xylo was a mistake… I was just trying to fill the void you left."
His anger cracked into something raw. "I left because I loved you. If I'd stayed, I'd never have become what I needed to be—to protect you."
Anna's voice trembled. "Then why didn't you take me with you?"
Grant's jaw tightened. "Because you're an Amper—an inspiration. I'm a weapon. Little girls will look up to you. You'll give them hope. I can't do that."
She blinked away the tears, smiling faintly through them. "Thank you… but what about us?"
Grant turned away, his voice low and final. "It can't happen. I see the multiverse, Anna. I see everything that could go wrong. I can't afford distractions."
Her tears steadied, turning to resolve. "Then I'll be your reminder of what you're fighting for."
He didn't answer.
The light dimmed, fading into the soft shimmer of starlight. The room—once a memory of warmth—now stood as a monument to what they'd lost.
Protector and mortal, standing only a few feet apart, but separated by worlds.