The world had begun to shift.
Not in ways the average eye could see — but in the quiet tremors beneath reality, the ripples in causality where history used to sleep. Something ancient had awakened within Rafael, and the moment the artifact fused with him, boundaries dissolved.
In the north, entire communication grids fell silent for twelve seconds — not due to sabotage, but because time itself had blinked.
In orbit, unregistered satellites turned toward Earth's surface, recalibrating their lenses.
And in a mountain fortress hidden beneath twenty-three layers of quantum encryption and diplomatic denial, she opened her eyes.
The air around her dropped ten degrees in under a second.
"Kiryuu Aoi," a voice crackled over her internal comms. "Subject: Rafael Ralfs Kashtanov. He's active. Phase Zero initiated. Authorization: Sigma-Black."
Aoi didn't answer immediately. She reached for her gloves — obsidian with silver lining — and slowly slid them over her long fingers like preparing to dissect fate itself.
"Estimated survival rate if we engage directly?" she asked flatly, standing in front of a holographic projection of the impact site.
"Fifteen percent for standard troops. Thirty-seven with exo-frames. Zero for command-level unless—"
"Unless I go myself," she finished for them.
The operator hesitated. "…Yes, ma'am."
She gave a soft sigh — not from emotion, but calculation.
"Have a medical drone sent to my quarters. My coffee just died of hypothermia."
And with that, she ended the call.
Back in the Ashlands
Rafael stood atop a ruined arch, his breath visible in the suddenly colder air. Around him, soldiers lay scattered — unconscious, not dead. He hadn't killed them. He could have. But something in Elira's silence had stayed his hand.
She was watching him now. Always watching.
"You felt that, didn't you?" he asked without turning.
Elira nodded. "Something... changed."
He looked at his hands. They weren't glowing anymore, but something beneath his skin hummed with controlled power. He was no longer just a man. And yet, it scared him how familiar it felt. Like remembering a language you never learned.
"What now?" Elira asked, stepping beside him.
"Now we wait."
"For what?"
Rafael turned his head slightly.
"For her."
The temperature dropped again. Even Elira shivered — and she never shivered.
Then the wind stopped.
Completely.
The ash in the air froze mid-flight, like time had decided to take a breath.
And from the white mist ahead, she walked.
178 centimeters of silent calculation, draped in a coat that moved like woven shadows and silver blood. Her pale hair shimmered faintly, but never swayed. The wind didn't dare touch her. Her very presence fractured natural law — not by violence, but by pure intention.
Kiryuu Aoi had arrived.
Her eyes — storm-gray laced with the chill of oceans that never forgave — locked onto Rafael.
"So," she said, voice smooth as black ice. "This is the face of the world's final mistake."
Rafael's lip twitched. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about you."
She stepped closer, hands behind her back.
"You don't remember me, of course. That would require guilt. Or curiosity. Or the ability to maintain a calendar."
He didn't blink. "We've met?"
She smiled. Not warmly. Not cruelly. Just… precisely.
"I observed you once. Long before your rebellion. When you were still a myth wrapped in meat. I thought: 'What a beautiful disaster.'"
Elira's stance shifted — more protective now, closer to Rafael.
"And you are?" she asked coldly.
Kiryuu turned her gaze to Elira. "The one they send when they want the impossible undone."
"Elira," Rafael murmured, "don't engage her."
"Oh, don't worry," Kiryuu said, circling them like a chess master eyeing two flawed pieces. "I'm not here for her. I'm here for you."
She stopped two meters from Rafael.
"Do you know what makes you fascinating?" she asked, tilting her head. "You're the one person I can't model. I've mapped every warlord, every prophet, every failure wrapped in idealism. But you—"
She exhaled, just once.
"—you're a stochastic variable with godlike consequences."
"I'm not a god," Rafael muttered.
She smiled wider.
"No. You're worse. You're still deciding."
The air between them crackled, colder now — not because she was angry, but because her interest had begun to freeze the rules.
"Why are you here?" he asked finally.
"To offer you something no one else has."
"Let me guess," he said dryly. "A deal I shouldn't refuse?"
Kiryuu stepped closer, now barely a breath away. Elira's fingers twitched toward her blade, but Rafael raised one hand slightly. Not yet.
"I'm not offering peace," Kiryuu whispered. "Or mercy. Or redemption. I'm offering relevance. You've broken the board. Let me help you redraw it. Together."
He looked into her eyes — and for the first time, saw it: the obsession behind the control, the heat behind the frost.
"You don't want an alliance," he said. "You want a rival."
Her grin sharpened. "That's what makes it fun."
Before he could reply, a sudden quake shook the ruins.
Above them, the sky cracked with light — red, like blood soaked into glass.
Elira's eyes widened. "That's not from her."
Kiryuu's gaze snapped upward, her expression — for the first time — unreadable.
Rafael's pulse quickened.
A second force had arrived.
And whatever it was… neither Elira nor Kiryuu had expected it.
The sky split open.
Something stepped through.
Not human.
Not divine.
Something older.
Kiryuu turned to Rafael, her voice low and perfectly calm.
"…We may need to postpone the rivalry."
He nodded once.
"Just until after the end of the world."