The world stopped burning before it stopped glowing.
Ash fell like snow—soft, silver, and warm enough to sting.
Every flake hissed when it touched the wet earth, whispering the sound of glass cooling after the forge.
Above us the storm had folded inward, a great spiral of black and red light circling one still point—the god.
He knelt where the crater bled steam, half-human, half-idea.
His skin was stone one moment, light the next.
Each movement sent ripples through the air, slow and graceful, like a heartbeat too vast to fit inside a body.
Lirya stood beside me, hair plastered to her face, eyes wide but unblinking.
The storm's reflection swam inside her pupils.
"Rin," she said, voice barely audible, "it's remembering you."
I didn't answer.
Because she was right.
The god's gaze met mine—and recognition bloomed.
"The Repeater," it murmured, the words sliding through the rain like a prayer spoken backward.
"You burned my breath and shattered my pulse. You dragged the sky down until it begged for silence. And now you wear that same face again."
Its voice was everywhere.
In the thunder.
In the tiny tremor beneath my ribs.
Each syllable carried weight—memory, not sound.
The Limit System flickered against the inside of my vision.
[Deity Connection: Stable.]
[Historical Data Corruption Detected.]
[Recovered Fragment → Cycle 001 / Designation: RIN KAI].
The rain thickened, heavy as oil.
Images pressed against the edges of sight—blurred memories that weren't mine: a sun splitting open; oceans folding into black glass; seven figures watching from behind a wall of light while a white-haired boy laughed and fell into fire.
My own laughter.
Lirya caught my wrist. "Stop! Whatever it's showing you—it's not real."
But it was.
I could smell the ash of that world, the metallic sweetness of air turned liquid by heat.
I could taste the guilt that never aged.
I tore my hand free and stepped forward until the air between me and the god vibrated with tension.
"I killed you?" I asked.
The god smiled—an expression too human for something that had outlived centuries.
"You killed everything. But you were kind enough to die with it."
Lightning traced the rim of the crater.
For a moment the rain became horizontal lines of white fire, freezing the scene in a single frame:
The god rising; Lirya behind me, dagger drawn though it would never matter; the light of two infinities colliding.
"The cycles began because you begged for them," the god said.
"You could not bear the end, so you built mirrors to watch yourself trying again."
The words hit harder than the thunder.
I felt the Six Eyes flare, burning through the water that dripped from my lashes.
Threads unfolded again—thousands this time, all leading backward instead of forward, each one another version of me dying, kneeling, reaching for a mother who never answered.
The world spun slowly, like time itself was tilting on an axis I couldn't see.
"I didn't ask for this," I whispered.
"You did," the god replied.
"You always do."
He extended a hand. Light bled from his palm—soft, crimson, almost kind.
"End it properly this time. Let the mirror fall."
Behind me, Lirya moved. I felt her magic stir, faint and fragile against the storm.
The silver glow of her illusion circled her wrist, twisting like smoke.
"Rin," she said, "if you take his hand, you end everything. Even me."
The world contracted into that single moment—one heartbeat stretched across eternity.
I could feel both futures pressing against my skin: the warmth of surrender, the cold clarity of defiance.
The Limit System pulsed once, sharp enough to hurt.
[Choice Detected → Merge / Reject.]
My fingers twitched.
The rain around us reversed direction for half a second—falling upward, caught in the indecision between worlds.
Then I closed my hand—not on the god's, but into a fist.
"No more mirrors," I said.
Blue light exploded outward.
The ground cracked, the crater split open, and the god staggered backward as the Reality Limit ignited for the first time.
Every color vanished except blue and red, both bending toward white.
The storm screamed, the earth folded, and somewhere far above, the moon shattered into a thousand fragments of frozen light.
When the sound returned, I was on my knees.
Lirya was beside me, breathing hard, blood running from her ear.
The crater was empty.
Only a single feather of light floated where the god had been—slow, luminous, harmless.
She reached out to touch it.
It dissolved.
The wind moved again, gentle this time, carrying the smell of rain mixed with something older—dust and memory and the faint sweetness of things that refuse to die.
Lirya's voice was raw. "What did you do?"
I looked at my hand, still glowing faintly, and felt the hum of something vast coiled inside me—the god's final heartbeat, still echoing.
"I remembered," I said quietly.
"And I refused."
Far away, the Seven Lights dimmed, one after another.
In their fading glow, the reflection of a boy with white hair and blue eyes smiled—tired, human, infinite.
The cycle had cracked.
And the world began to dream of ending..