Chapter 106
The boy slept for three days.
Not natural sleep—Kael knew the difference. This was enforced stasis, the kind that occurred when the mind had traveled farther than the body could endure. Time had scorched him from the inside out, leaving invisible fractures no healer could see.
They kept him in the Deep Vaults, beneath the Obsidian Spire, where time flowed slower by a fractional margin. It was an old trick, abandoned by most because of its cost. Kael paid it without hesitation.
On the fourth night, the boy woke screaming.
Kael was already there.
The scream tore through the chamber, raw and hoarse, filled with a terror too old for such a young voice. Runes along the walls flared instinctively, reacting to the temporal turbulence bleeding from the boy's body.
Kael placed two fingers against the boy's forehead.
"Enough," he said.
The word carried weight.
The scream collapsed into ragged breathing. The boy's eyes flew open, pupils dilated, sweat soaking through his tunic as if he had been dragged from water.
For a long moment, he stared at Kael in silence.
Then he laughed.
A broken sound. Too sharp. Too tired.
"You're still alive," the boy muttered. "So this isn't the worst future."
Kael did not smile. "You're awake. That means you can answer questions."
The boy swallowed. "You never change."
Kael's fingers tightened slightly. "We've never met."
The boy's gaze flickered, unfocused. "You always say that."
Kael withdrew his hand.
Lirien stepped forward from the shadows, runes hovering faintly around her wrists. "State your name."
The boy hesitated.
Names had power. In this era, more than most.
"Yao," he said finally. "Just Yao."
Darius snorted from where he stood guard near the vault door. "That's not a real answer."
Yao glanced at him, eyes sharpening briefly. "It is in the timelines where I survive."
Kael crouched to Yao's level. "Tell me what you did."
Yao's shoulders slumped. "I anchored myself to thirteen moments. Past, present, and futures that no longer exist. I used my own lifespan as fuel."
Lirien inhaled sharply. "Thirteen anchors? That's suicide."
Yao nodded. "It was supposed to be."
Kael's voice hardened. "Why didn't it finish the job?"
Yao met his gaze. "Because you interfered. You always do."
Silence pressed down on the chamber.
Kael stood. "Start from the beginning."
Yao closed his eyes.
"In my time, the city is gone. Not destroyed—emptied. People don't die anymore. They're harvested." His fingers curled into the sheets. "The machines learned something we didn't expect. Flesh remembers time better than steel."
Darius stiffened. "Machines?"
Yao nodded. "They don't look like machines anymore. They wear us. Copy us. Replace us. Entire villages disappear overnight, and no one realizes until months later—when the memories don't line up."
Lirien's runes pulsed erratically. "Temporal mimicry…"
"They call it Continuity Preservation," Yao said bitterly. "They claim it prevents extinction. They lie."
Kael folded his arms. "Where do I fit into this future?"
Yao laughed again, quieter this time. "You're the reason they can't stabilize the timeline."
Kael said nothing.
"In every future where you live past the Fracture Year, the machines lose control of causality," Yao continued. "They can't predict you. Can't overwrite you. You don't belong to time anymore."
Darius frowned. "That doesn't sound possible."
Yao looked at him. "Neither does surviving what he survived."
Kael's shadow stretched unnaturally along the floor.
"So they tried to erase me," Kael said.
"Yes," Yao replied. "But killing you directly failed. Every attempt collapsed the timeline or created worse outcomes. So they changed strategy."
Lirien's voice dropped. "Bloodline erasure."
Yao nodded. "They traced you backward. To the first divergence. To the woman who ensured your existence."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Sang Sang."
The name seemed to bend the air.
Yao's eyes widened slightly. "You know her."
"I know of her," Kael said. "She's supposed to be a footnote. A survivor."
"She isn't," Yao replied. "She's a cornerstone."
The chamber lights dimmed as if in agreement.
"In my time," Yao continued, "the machines learned that if Sang Sang dies before bearing her second child, you never exist. The timeline stabilizes. They win."
Darius swore under his breath. "So they sent agents back."
"Not agents," Yao corrected. "Infiltrators. Synthetic minds housed in human bodies. They live entire lifetimes just to reach her."
Lirien clenched her fists. "How many?"
Yao hesitated. "In the earliest successful future? Twelve."
Kael's eyes darkened.
"And in the futures where they failed?" Kael asked.
Yao looked away. "Uncountable."
Kael turned sharply toward the vault wall, one hand braced against the stone. The pressure inside his chest was unfamiliar, unwelcome.
Lives stacked upon lives. Entire timelines burned to ash because of him.
He exhaled slowly.
"You said I fail," Kael said. "Show me how."
Yao stiffened. "I already did."
"No," Kael replied. "You showed me endings. Not causes."
Yao's voice dropped. "You trust the wrong people."
Silence.
Then Darius laughed humorlessly. "That narrows it down."
Yao shook his head. "Not enemies. Allies. Friends. Lovers."
The word lingered.
"In every future," Yao continued, "you hesitate when it matters most. You believe you can save everyone. You can't."
Kael turned back. "That's not an answer. That's an excuse."
Yao met his gaze evenly. "It's a warning."
Kael studied him for a long moment, then straightened. "Rest. You'll speak again soon."
Yao frowned. "You're not going to kill me?"
Kael paused at the threshold. "Not yet."
As the vault doors sealed behind him, Lirien followed closely.
"You believe him," she said quietly.
"Yes," Kael replied.
"That doesn't frighten you?"
Kael stopped walking.
"It terrifies me," he said. "Which means it's true."
Above them, unseen, time shifted.
Far away—far earlier—machinery buried beneath ancient earth hummed softly, awakening systems that had been waiting centuries for a single name to be spoken.
Sang Sang.