The room felt smaller with two Emrahs inside it.
The older one sat calmly, one hand resting on the arm of his chair, the other loosely gripping the revolver—no, not a revolver. The weapon pulsed faintly, alive, its surface shifting between steel and something far older, far more dangerous.
Emrah swallowed. "You're… me."
Future Emrah nodded once. "What you become."
The system voice hummed softly in the background, present but silent, as if observing something sacred.
Future Emrah leaned forward. "I didn't come here to warn you about love. Or enemies. Or fate." His eyes hardened. "I came because I failed."
That word landed heavier than any threat.
"In my timeline," he continued, "I acquired only one Weapon of Infinity." He lifted the living gun slightly. "This."
Emrah's breath caught. "But the system said—"
"Yes. Two weapons." Future Emrah cut him off. "Two are required to unlock full biological restoration. I never found the second."
Silence filled the room.
"I lived longer than we were supposed to," the older Emrah said quietly. "Seventy years. Strong. Feared. Respected." A bitter smile touched his lips. "But still mortal."
Emrah tightened his grip on the cane. "Seventy isn't—"
"It is," Future Emrah snapped. "When you know what comes after."
He exhaled, calming himself.
"The system," he said, voice lowering, "is not just an assistant. It's a gatekeeper."
The words made Emrah's spine prickle.
"It has a hidden effect," Future Emrah went on. "One that doesn't reveal itself unless more Weapons of Infinity are acquired." His gaze locked onto Emrah's. "Immortality."
The system finally spoke.
"Hidden Protocol confirmed. Immortality parameter locked behind Weapon Threshold."
Emrah felt his heart pound. "You're saying… we can't die?"
"No," Future Emrah corrected. "I'm saying you can't—if you do this right."
He stood, slowly, the years evident in his movements despite the power radiating from him.
"In my future, I ran out of time. I searched too late. Trusted the wrong people. Took peace when I should've taken power." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And the universe doesn't forgive hesitation."
He stepped closer, close enough that Emrah could see his own eyes staring back—older, sharper, burdened.
"You are earlier in the timeline. You have something I didn't."
"What?" Emrah asked.
"Hope," Future Emrah said. "And access."
He turned the weapon in his hand, its core glowing brighter for a brief moment.
"The second Weapon of Infinity exists," he said. "But it won't reveal itself to someone who's looking for survival."
Emrah frowned. "Then what does it respond to?"
Future Emrah smiled—cold, knowing.
"Purpose."
The system voice echoed one final time, heavier than before.
"Objective updated: Acquire Second Weapon of Infinity. Immortality Protocol pending."
Future Emrah began to fade, his form unraveling like time itself rejecting the paradox.
"Remember this," his voice lingered. "Peace is a lie we tell ourselves when we're afraid of becoming gods."
Then he was gone.
Emrah stood alone in his room, heart racing, the weight of eternity settling onto his shoulders.
For the first time, he understood.
The future wasn't asking.
It was demanding power.
Future Emrah didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked past Emrah—through the walls, through the city, through time itself.
"There aren't two Weapons of Infinity," he said at last.
"There are infinitely many."
Emrah stiffened. "Infinite…?"
"They're scattered," Future Emrah continued. "Across timelines. Across universes. Across very specific moments in history. Some exist only for seconds. Some wait centuries to be found."
The system's hum deepened, as if acknowledging a classified truth.
"Sometimes," the older Emrah said, "they are weapons wielded by great people. Kings. Conquerors. Visionaries. Monsters history still argues about."
His gaze sharpened.
"And sometimes," he added, "they are things no human mind was ever meant to classify as a weapon."
Emrah frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
Future Emrah finally looked back at him.
"I mean that not all of them were made by humans."
A beat of silence passed.
Emrah exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh. "So… you mean alien?"
Future Emrah's expression didn't change.
"I mean," he said calmly, "not from this universe."
The system spoke, colder than before.
"Weapon classification includes non-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, and paradox-born constructs."
Emrah felt a chill run down his spine.
Future Emrah stepped closer, his voice dropping.
"That's why you must be careful what you chase," he said. "Some Weapons of Infinity don't just give power."
"They change what you are."
The room seemed darker now.
"And trust me," the older Emrah finished, "not every version of us survives that."
Future Emrah leaned back, the strange revolver resting loosely in his hand.
"You've already seen one Weapon of Infinity," he said. "That gun? In one timeline, it was carried by a man history remembers as a tyrant. In another, as a savior."
Emrah's eyes narrowed. "You're saying… history changes depending on who holds it?"
Future Emrah nodded.
"Alexander the Great," he continued. "Briefly wielded a fragment—just a fragment—of a Weapon of Infinity. It didn't make him immortal. It made him unstoppable."
The system pulsed faintly.
"Genghis Khan," Future Emrah said next. "A different weapon. Not a blade. Not a gun. Something that bent probability. Armies broke before him because reality itself favored his survival."
Emrah swallowed.
"Joan of Arc," the older Emrah added quietly. "Hers wasn't a weapon that killed. It inspired. Altered perception. Turned fear into faith."
The room felt heavier with every name.
"Even figures you'd call myths," Future Emrah went on. "Some gods. Some demons. Some… mistakes."
Emrah finally spoke. "So all of them—every world-changing figure—"
"Not all," Future Emrah interrupted. "But the ones that shouldn't have been possible."
Silence.
Then Emrah turned inward. "System."
The voice responded instantly.
"Acknowledged, Subject Infinity."
"Scan," Emrah said firmly. "Scan for Weapons of Infinity currently present in this universe. This timeline. Right now."
There was a pause.
A long one.
The system's tone changed—lower, more restrained.
"Warning. Scan access limited."
Future Emrah's jaw tightened. "It's avoiding something," he muttered.
The system continued:
"Result: Weapons of Infinity detected."
Emrah's pulse spiked. "How many?"
Another pause.
"Confirmed: Two."
Future Emrah's eyes widened slightly. "Two… already here."
Emrah clenched his fists. "Locations?"
The system hesitated.
"One weapon is dormant. Obscured by causality distortion."
"One weapon is active."
Emrah's breath caught. "Active… where?"
The system answered:
"Within proximity."
The room went dead silent.
Future Emrah slowly turned his head toward the walls of the estate.
"So close…" he whispered.
Emrah felt it then—a pressure, like destiny leaning in.
"System," he said, voice steady but tight, "why didn't you tell me before?"
The response came after a fraction of a second too long.
"Because Subject Infinity was not ready."
Future Emrah smiled grimly.
"And now," he said, "you are."
"Then give me an exact location," Emrah said.
"Exact location confirmed," the system said.
"Naqsh-e Rostam."
Emrah's breath caught.
"That's… the tomb of the Persian kings."
Future Emrah nodded slowly.
"That's why it's there."
The system continued.
"Weapon sealed behind royal sigils. Access restricted to Subject Infinity."
"Judgment will occur upon entry."
Emrah went still.
"Naqsh-e Rostam?"
The name carried weight. Not just history—judgment.
The system responded, its voice steady, absolute.
"Confirmed. Tomb complex of the Persian Kings. Achaemenid era."
Future Emrah let out a slow breath, the kind a man takes before stepping into a memory he never wanted to revisit.
"So they never destroyed it," he said quietly. "They sealed it."
Emrah turned to him. "You've been there."
"No," Future Emrah replied. "I stood outside it. That's all it ever allowed me to do."
The room seemed to dim, as if the present itself leaned in to listen.
"Why there?" Emrah asked.
The system answered before his future self could.
"Because the Infinity Blade does not belong to warriors."
"It belongs to those who refuse the throne."
Silence followed. Heavy. Ancient.
Future Emrah stepped closer, his voice low.
"A Persian king wielded it once. Just once. Long enough to end three wars without drawing blood."
"And then?" Emrah asked.
"Then the blade judged him unworthy to keep it."
The system continued.
"Weapon sealed behind royal sigils. Access restricted."
"Only Subject Infinity may perceive the entrance."
Emrah felt it then—a pressure behind his eyes, a distant pull in his chest.
Not calling.
Waiting.
"What kind of weapon is it?" he asked.
"Designation: Infinity Blade."
"Form: Ever-changing."
Emrah frowned. "Meaning?"
Future Emrah's expression hardened.
"It becomes whatever you need it to be. Sword. Dagger. Spear. Anything cold. Anything honest."
He glanced at the revolver in his own hand—the Infinity Gun, humming softly, alive.
"It's my weapon's twin," he said. "And the one thing I never reached."
The system's tone shifted—solemn now.
"Warning."
"Judgment will occur upon entry."
Emrah straightened, cane in hand, jaw set.
"What kind of judgment?"
The system paused.
"Not of strength."
"Not of power."
"Of intent."
Outside of time itself, something ancient stirred.
Somewhere beneath stone older than empires, the Blade remembered the last man who walked away from it.
And now—
it had felt Emrah Aybeyli arrive.