For the first time in longer than he could remember, Emrah Aybeyli woke up without the weight of inevitability pressing on his chest.
Immortality had changed many things—but what surprised him most was not the power, not the absence of pain or illness. It was the quiet realization that he finally wanted to live.
Not just to survive.
Not just to dominate.
But to enjoy.
The Aybeyli mansion was unusually alive that morning. Voices echoed through the halls—laughter, arguments, plans overlapping each other. The upcoming weddings had turned the house into a strategic headquarters of a different kind. Not war councils, not blood oaths—fabric samples, jewelry catalogs, designer names spoken like sacred words.
Emrah stood at the center of it all, watching his parents, Efsun and Efsane, their families, and the allied households gathered together. This—this—was what he had protected. And now, he wanted to give them more than just safety.
"I don't want to shop here," Emrah said calmly.
The room slowly quieted.
Adil raised an eyebrow. "Then where?"
Emrah's lips curved into a faint, confident smile. "Out of the country."
A pause.
"Dubai," he continued. "If we're doing this, we do it properly. There are brands, jewelers, tailors—things that simply don't exist here. I want the best. For them." He glanced briefly at Efsun and Efsane. "For all of you."
There was something different in his voice. Not arrogance. Not command.
Purpose.
Emir studied him carefully, then Whispered in his ear: "Being Healthy suits you, son."
Emrah didn't deny it.
In his mind, the system remained silent—but something deeper had shifted. The endless future no longer felt like a curse stretching into nothingness. It felt like time he could finally spend.
The decision was made quickly. Private arrangements. Secure terminals. Trusted pilots. No expense spared. Within hours, a flight was prepared—disguised as a luxury charter, shielded by layers of security.
Everyone believed this was a pause.
A breath before the next storm.
They were wrong.
Thousands of kilometers away, inside a dimly lit maintenance hangar at the edge of a restricted airport zone, Aykut Yılmaz stood watching silently.
He didn't rage.
He didn't shout.
Grief had hollowed him into something colder.
"They're flying," one of his men said quietly.
Aykut nodded once.
He stepped closer to the aircraft—its polished body gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights. To the world, it was just another luxury plane. To him, it was a coffin waiting to be sealed.
"You took my son," Aykut said softly, his voice steady. "You don't get a future."
A technician's hands trembled as he finished his work deep within the aircraft's structure—wires hidden where no routine inspection would look. A device small enough to escape notice. Powerful enough to erase bloodlines.
Aykut watched every second.
"Let them dream," he said. "Let them plan weddings. Let them believe they're untouchable."
He turned away as the hangar doors began to close.
"Then let the sky take everything from them."
When the families arrived, Emrah Aybeyli stood at the edge of the runway, unaware.
For once, the system did not warn him.
Time itself remained silent.
And above them all, the aircraft waited—perfect, gleaming, and already condemned.
As Emrah stepped onto the plane with his family and allies, a strange sensation brushed against his senses—subtle, almost dismissible. Not fear. Not danger exactly.
Just… wrong.
For a brief moment, he slowed, his gaze drifting across the cabin. Smiling faces. Excited voices. Efsun and Efsane laughing softly as they settled into their seats. His parents speaking with the others about Dubai, about jewelry, about weddings.
You're finally happy, he told himself.
Don't poison it.
He let the feeling go.
Everyone took their seats. Seatbelts clicked into place. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the engines began their low, powerful hum.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot's voice echoed calmly through the cabin, "welcome aboard. This is your captain speaking. Our destination today is Dubai. Flight time approximately—"
Emrah leaned back, exhaling.
For once, everything felt under control.
The plane began to move.
Taxiing.
Acceleration.
The deep roar of engines pushing against gravity itself.
This will go as planned, Emrah thought.
And then—
The world paused.
Not time.
Not space.
Something deeper.
The system's voice resonated inside his mind, colder than ever before:
"Attention, Subject Infinity."
Emrah's heartbeat slowed.
"You have unlocked a Trial Passive: Death Averter."
His pupils contracted.
"Warning: This passive is incomplete."
"Full activation requires acquisition of the Third Weapon of Infinity."
The runway blurred beneath the aircraft.
"Trial Effect Activated."
The system continued, its tone absolute:
"You will now be returned to the beginning of the day—"
"—to the point where a single choice altered your destiny."
Emrah's breath caught.
"Outcome Correction is not guaranteed."
"Survival depends entirely on your decisions."
The engines screamed.
The cabin lights flickered.
Efsun turned toward him, her lips forming his name—
And reality shattered.
The roar of the plane vanished.
The warmth of the cabin evaporated.
The joy, the laughter, the future he had allowed himself to imagine—
Gone.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
As the system delivered its final words:
"How you fix everything… is up to you, Subject Infinity."
And just like that—
Emrah Aybeyli was falling backward through time.
Not to fight an enemy.
Not to claim power.
But to save everyone he loved—
From a mistake he didn't even know he had made.
As Emrah was torn backward through time, consciousness unraveling into fragments of light and shadow, reality resumed its course without him.
The plane lifted off the runway.
For a fraction of a second, everything was normal.
Then—
A blinding flash tore through the aircraft's belly.
The explosion ripped through metal, fuel, and flesh alike. The shockwave swallowed screams before they could fully form. In the sky above the city, the plane became nothing more than fire and debris, scattering lives across the clouds.
There were no survivors.
Every family member.
Every ally.
Every future he had just begun to believe in.
All gone.
And Emrah Aybeyli wasn't there to save them.
Because at that very moment—
He opened his eyes.
Morning light spilled into his room.
The beginning of the day.
The day everything went wrong.
Emrah lay still, staring at the familiar ceiling as his breath came sharp and uneven.
It was morning.
Not the false calm before the explosion.
Not the sky filled with fire.
This was before.
The memories hit him all at once—the blast, the screams that never finished forming, the silence that followed. His hands trembled, then slowly clenched into fists.
They had all died.
Because he hadn't acted.
A quiet, terrifying calm settled over him.
He rose from the bed, eyes no longer clouded by doubt or hesitation. This time, he wasn't chasing peace. This time, he was fighting for it.
Save them.
Disable the bomb.
Find the traitor.
Three goals. No room for failure.
Somewhere out there, a mole was whispering his family's movements into the dark. Someone close. Someone trusted.
And Aykut Yılmaz had made one fatal mistake—
He thought fate had already won.
Emrah stepped into the day with purpose, the God of Time watching in silence.
This time…
Everyone would live.