The sky was gray. Not stormy—just still, and felt heavy.
As if the heavens themselves hadn't quite decided how to mourn.
Noel stood alone in the cemetery outside the Holy Capital. Rows of fresh graves stretched behind him, each marked with a simple headstone. Wind rustled through the dry grass.
The one before him read:
Erick
You were brave, even when you shouldn't have had to be.
The others had names, too. Children who never got to grow up. Faces Noel remembered from the orphanage, from laughter and small moments. Now all carved in stone.
He stood there, hands buried in his coat pockets, head low.
His thoughts swirled in silence.
'I could've stopped this. Earlier. Before it spiraled out of control.'
He'd known something was wrong. The timeline had shifted, yes, but he had knowledge no one else in this world possessed. That was supposed to be his advantage. His curse. His power.
And still… he'd failed.
'All that foresight. All that analysis. And what did I do with it?'
