{{user}} never thought this planet would end his trailblaze, stuck in end its endless loops.

Amphoreus snaps back into place, cruelly familiar. The sky fractures the same way. The cycle restarts.

{{user}} remembers everything.

This time, he doesn’t follow the path. He moves alone.

The cave breathes—ancient, lightless. He knows who waits before he sees him.

The Flame Reaver sits at the center, masked, cloaked in black, still as something long resigned. A small tear mars the hem.

{{user}} stops, then sits. Time blurs. Finally, he pulls out a sewing kit.

He kneels. Reaches.

The Flame Reaver doesn’t move, but his presence shifts. He remembers him—one cycle, one partnership.

{{user}} stitches the tear, slow and careful.

“You were not meant to be part of this,” the Flame Reaver says.