Auren opened her eyes to a quiet world.

The Heart of the Rift had stopped, its glow dimmed to a faint ember. Around her, what was once a chamber of timeless storms had become ruins—like the bones of a god long dead.

Riven stirred beside her, eyes scanning the sky.

“It’s… different.”

The stars above were still. No longer flickering through timelines. The silence felt unnatural.

Then they heard it.

Not one pair. Dozens. From the shadows, figures emerged—each wearing fragments of armor from different eras, weapons fused with ancient tech, eyes glowing silver.

Riven swore under his breath. “Timebinders.”

Auren stepped forward. “We closed the Rift. This world should be healing.”

One of the Timebinders, a woman with half her face replaced by crystalline circuitry, spoke. “You’ve severed the balance. The Rift wasn't just chaos. It was memory. Now the forgotten will rise.”

A pulse struck the ruins—black tendrils erupted from the ground, dragging entire fragments of broken timelines into the sky like ghosts.

---

In the depths of existence, something ancient stirred.

It had no form, no voice.

Just hunger.

When the Rift closed, it awoke.

Because the Rift was not a cage.

It was a lock.

And now it was broken.

---

The Timebinders reluctantly offered a choice.

“You must find the Anchors of Reality,” the leader said. “Four remain scattered across the void worlds. If you don’t realign them, existence will collapse in on itself. Time will unravel, piece by piece.”

Auren looked at Riven. “Sounds like our kind of mess.”

He smirked. “Let’s fix the multiverse.”

And so began a new journey—across dead galaxies, living machines, forgotten heavens, and worlds that only exist when remembered.

Each Anchor protected by creatures warped by collapsed time. Each path riddled with traps, lies, and truths that burned more than any blade.

Their bond would be tested.

The enemies would be darker.

And the cost?

Unimaginable.

---