“Except this time?” I took a step toward him, and he actually stepped back. Smart of him. My corruption slithering across my body like serpents ready to strike.
“This time is different,” he insisted. “Can’t you feel it? The way reality responds to you both? The impossible flowers, the creatures following you, the way the Convergence itself is behaving? This time, Elle knows about the pattern. That’s never happened before. And that might—might—be enough to break it.”
“Might,” I repeated, ice in my voice.
“I don’t have certainties!” For the first time, Eltrien sounded desperate. “I have sixteen timelines of failure and one that’s finally,finallydiverging from the pattern. Do you want me to risk that by interfering more than I already have? Do you want me to become the thing that makes us fail again?”
“I want you to stop playing games with our lives!” The words came out as a roar, backed by corruption that made everyone except Eltrien step further back. “I want you to tell us the truth so we can make informed decisions instead of stumbling through someone else’s cosmic fucking joke!”
“The truth?” Eltrien laughed, and it was a terrible sound. “The truth is that we’re trapped in a story that’s been told sixteen times. The truth is that no matter what Elle chooses—save you, save the realms, sacrifice herself—we all die. The truth is that I’ve watched everyone I care about diesixteen times, and the only thing keeping me sane is the tiny, desperate hope that this time might be different.”
His marks exploded with light, bright enough to make people shield their eyes. And in that light, I saw them—fragments of other timelines, ghosting through reality like afterimages. Other versions of this moment. Other versions of me, confronting other versions of Eltrien, having this same argument sixteen different ways.
I watched as the rest of the crew looked on with horror. Their eyes shifting between the two of us.
“So yes,” Eltrien continued, his voice echoing across iterations, “I’ve been keeping secrets. I’ve been playing games. I’ve been desperately trying to nudge this timeline in a direction that doesn’t end with all of you dead and me alone in the ashes, waiting for the cycle to reset so I can watch it all happen again.”
The Sage stepped forward, and there was no look of concern on their face. Almost as if they knew this was coming. Great, another fucking person keeping us in the dark. “If Elle has remembered other iterations, then that means the second transformation is complete. All that is left is the final communion with the Bloom.”
Bryx, who had been unusually quiet said, “Gods, did everyone know but us? The people who are constantly dying? I for one, would like a heads-up next time if I’m about to be hacked into a million pieces. Oh my gods, what about Kevin! Poor Kevin!”
The Sage shook their head. “My child, you know not what you speak. As we have said, there are things that cannot be shared if we do not want to further alter the timeline. And this is where I must leave you. If I continue further, we risk resetting everything, again.”
We all stood there in the scorched circle, processing what they’d both just admitted.
“How do we know you’re not just making us fail in a new way?” Sarnyx asked quietly.
“You don’t,” Eltrien said simply. “You have to trust me. Which, given that I’ve been lying by omission for the entire time you’ve known me, is abig ask. I understand that.”
“You’re damn right it is,” Vashael spat.
Peeble landed on my shoulder then, their mental voice cutting through the tension. “He’s telling the truth. About the iterations. About trying to change it. I can feel the echoes too—all the times I’ve died, all the times Elle died, all the times we got this far and failed.”
“How long have you known?” I demanded.
“Since Elle’s marks started really spreading. The memories started coming back—fragments from other timelines bleeding through.” Peeble’s tone was somber. “He’s not lying about trying to change it, Kaelren. He’s just been doing it quietly. Hoping we’d find our own way to break the pattern.”
I looked at Eltrien—still furious at his admission.
“When do we move?” Thrak asked into the silence, always practical.
“Day after tomorrow at dawn,” I said, forcing my voice back toward something human. “That gives us one more full day to plan, gather supplies, and prepare. We have to know everything we can about those tunnels.”
“That’s cutting it dangerously close,” Vashael pointed out. “If anything delays us on the road—”
“Then we push harder.” My corruption flared.
“Why wait at all?” Sarnyx asked. “Why not leave now?”
“Because leaving now means arriving when he expects us. That’s the pattern.” I looked at each of them. “Elle saw the other timelines. Saw how they failed. Every iteration, I charge in early, corrupted and desperate, exactly when Auradelle is ready for me. This time, we arrive right before. We catch him mid-preparation. We break the pattern.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Sarnyx asked. “If we just fail in a new way?”
I smiled, and several people stepped back. “Then we try again in iteration eighteen. But I don’t plan on giving the universe that chance.”
“Alright, everybody, get moving. You heard the man.” Thrak said, already moving into command mode. “Check weapons. Review the tunnels. Gather supplies for five days of hard travel. Make ready.”
The others dispersed, some to prepare, some just to process what they’dlearned. Within minutes, only Eltrien and I remained in the circle of death.
