The fire burned low as night deepened.
Ethan sat with the survivors from the broken world, listening carefully. Every word they spoke made his chest feel heavier.
"When fate broke," one woman said, "something woke up."
"What kind of thing?" Lyria asked.
The woman hesitated. "It doesn't have a true form. It appears differently in every world."
"Then how do you fight it?" Ethan asked.
"You don't," the leader answered grimly. "You run."
A sudden chill swept through the forest.
The Fate Mark pulsed hard—sharp and fast.
Ethan stood up. "It's here."
The shadows between the trees twisted. Darkness folded inward, shaping a tall, thin figure with empty eyes.
The survivors backed away in terror.
"It followed us," someone whispered.
The creature spoke without a mouth.
Freedom creates hunger.
The ground cracked beneath its presence. Trees bent toward it as if being pulled.
Ethan stepped forward, forcing his fear down.
"You won't take this world," he said.
The creature tilted its head.
Breaker of Fate… you smell like choice.
It reached out—and the air screamed.
Lyria grabbed Ethan's arm. "Don't fight alone!"
Ethan nodded.
For the first time since fate ended, Ethan raised his hand—not calling destiny, but his own will.
A faint silver light formed.
The battle had begun.