The masochists

The air in the ruins was thick, heavy with the weight of something unseen. Elara's breath came slow as she forced herself upright, muscles still trembling from whatever force had dragged them through that otherworldly plane.

Rael didn't speak at first. He paced instead, rubbing his hands over his face before exhaling sharply. "We need answers."

Elara's grip tightened on the pendant. "No kidding."

But where would they even start? The Syndicate had used her as a pawn, Darius Vale had given her half-truths, and now this—visions of a future that shouldn't exist.

"We need to find Darius."

Rael stopped pacing. "Are you serious?"

"He knew about the pendant. He knew about the veil." Elara stood, shaking the stiffness from her limbs. "If anyone knows what the hell just happened, it's him."

Rael's jaw tensed, but he didn't argue. "Fine. But if he tries anything, I'm ending him."

Elara almost smiled. "Deal."

They moved quickly, slipping through the broken ruins and back toward the underground tunnels leading to Varos. But something had changed. The air smelled different—like burnt stone and iron.

And when they reached the surface, the city was burning.

Darkness spread unnaturally through the streets, thick tendrils of void energy coiling around buildings like living things. People ran, their screams echoing through the night.

At the heart of it all, a tear in the sky pulsed, black and endless.

The veil had already begun to break.

Rael swore under his breath. "Looks like we're out of time."

Elara's fingers curled around the pendant, its glow flickering as if in warning.

They weren't just running from the past anymore.

The future had come to meet them.