In Due Time.

Night settled over the imperial palace with a peace none of its occupants truly shared. By the time the last council meetings had ended, the corridors had fallen silent. Servants moved only when necessary, guards spoke beneath their breath, and even the usual noises of the city beyond the palace walls seemed muted by distance. Somewhere beyond those walls, Outworld continued turning as though one of its Empresses had not disappeared.

Inside Fenrir's chambers, however, exhaustion had finally claimed what grief could not.

Kitana slept near him at his side, her body turned inward beneath the sheets. Even asleep, there was something tense in the way she rested, as though part of her expected to awaken again inside the throne room with Mileena standing before her.

Jade lay closer to Fenrir's other side, one arm resting loosely across him. Her breathing had settled into a slow rhythm sometime after midnight, the strain of the day finally overcoming the stubborn concern that had kept her awake long after Kitana.

Fenrir, on the other hand, had taken considerably longer. Eventually, though, even he had fallen into uneasy sleep.

Then someone spoke his name. A familiar voice that was. “Fenrir…” His eyes opened slowly. There was no urgency in the voice, which disturbed him more. He remained still for several seconds, listening. Nothing came, only the normality he had become accustomed to.

Then came the sound again. Soft and measured, affectionate as it was haunting in the dead of night. “Fenrir.” In that moment, the balcony doors opened by themselves. Cold night air flowed into the chamber with them. The curtains shifted as the cold air began to loom over the chamber. Sand crossed the floor, dry and coarse. Timeless and eternal.

Fenrir's eyes narrowed; the sight was all too familiar to him. The sand carried itself naturally upon the wind. The grains appeared one after another upon the polished stone, forming a deliberate trail from the balcony toward the foot of his bed.

Beyond those curtains, a white-clothed figure moved. Silk drifted with every step. The fine golden sand fell from its hem and vanished moments after touching the floor. Fenrir's weariness disappeared.

Carefully, he lifted Jade's arm and placed it beside her without disturbing her sleep. He slipped from the bed and rose without making a sound. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the two women. They needed to rest, especially after today. He would not wake them unless he had to.

Whatever waited for him outside could belong to him alone for a few minutes. Perhaps that was fitting. Mileena was missing because all of them had failed to notice how much pain she had carried. Reiko's rebellion had already killed more people than Fenrir cared to count. If the universe had finally decided to collect its payment from him, then he supposed losing rest hours was more than deserved.

Fenrir extended one hand. Arondite materialised into his grasp; its dark-blue fire whispered faintly along the blade. With conviction, he followed the trail. The instant he crossed onto the balcony, the world stopped. The cold nightly wind vanished.

A banner hanging from a distant tower froze halfway through its movement. Far below, a torch remained bent sideways without flickering. An owl hung suspended above the gardens with its wings spread against the moonlight. Even sound disappeared.

Fenrir looked behind him. The curtain remained frozen in the air. Kitana and Jade slept beyond it, motionless. Only he continued breathing.

Then he saw her, an all too familiar figure. One that he wished he didn’t have to deal with, yet his fate was eternally bound to her somehow. Kronika stood beside the balcony railing with both hands resting upon the stone, gazing across the empire below as though she had been standing there long before Fenrir arrived.

Her white garments were immaculate. Sand flowed from them continuously without ever seeming to diminish. She turned her head towards him. A faint smile touched her face. “Greetings, Nephilim. It has been some time.”

Fenrir tightened his grip on Arondite. “Kronika.” The name left him without warmth. He shifted immediately into a guarded stance.

Kronika looked toward the sword, unimpressed. With a simple flick of her wrist, Arondite collapsed. The blade broke apart from tip to hilt into billions of grains, its blue-black flame extinguished without resistance. Sand poured between Fenrir's fingers and scattered across the balcony.

He stared at his empty hand, shocked and overwhelmed. Kronika returned her attention to the horizon. “There will be no need for that tonight.”

Fenrir tried to flex his fingers, calling the sword back. Yet Arondite did not return. That alone told him everything necessary about the difference in power between them.

Kronika gestured toward the space beside her. “Come.” Fenrir remained where he was, cautious. She did not look at him. “If I intended to harm you, Nephilim, you would not be presently deciding whether to trust me.”

Fenrir hated that she was right. After several seconds, followed by a deep breath, he approached. The two rulers stood side by side, one sovereign over a realm, the other over the passage through which realms themselves became history, beneath a frozen night; The first days of winter had arrived, and with it the inevitability of time.

Kronika studied Outworld. Her gaze never left the outskirts of the palace in the distance. A pondering hum escaped her lips. “It has changed.”

Fenrir followed her gaze. The capital stretched outward beneath them, lanterns suspended like captured stars while the distant city slept. “Most things do, it’s the nature of time.”

Kronika’s eyes shifted toward him. “Not as quickly as this.” There was no admiration in the statement. “Cetrion believed your influence would produce something unusual here.” Her voice remained smooth and even. “Her assessment appears increasingly accurate.”

Fenrir kept his expression neutral. “I'm pleased she approves. Perhaps she can tell me herself someday.” A faint amusement entered Kronika's gaze at the emperor’s boldness. “I have heard a lot about her; she seems to be fond of me. Yet, I still have questions regarding why the two of you decided an Earthrealmer with no experience ruling anything larger than himself should inherit Outworld.”

Kronika turned more fully toward him. “You remain remarkably willing to speak beyond your station.”

Fenrir met her eyes in defiance. “And ever since I know about you, you have kept yourself remarkably unwilling to answer simple questions.”

Silence followed like a veil. For a moment, Kronika's expression became utterly empty. Then she smiled…Not warmly. “Cetrion finds that defiant quality you Nephilim carry since birth endearing.”

Fenrir almost smiled. “And you?”

“I find it inefficient.” Then her tone turned cold, sombre. “I would remove it from you as a blade does to flesh.” Kronika returned her gaze toward the city. “Nevertheless, it has preserved you thus far. Perhaps there’s some strength underneath it.”

Fenrir's amusement disappeared just as quickly. “Why are you here?”

Kronika folded her hands before herself. “Because something has changed.” She continued with detached composure. “Your future has begun to leave an imprint upon the Hourglass.”

Fenrir's face hardened. That frightened him more than he wanted her to see. “I thought it couldn't.” Fenrir watched her carefully; Despite his shaken self, he composed himself. Then, he spoke. “I thought you said I was an 'irregularity '.”

“You are.”

“Then what changed?”

Kronika did not answer immediately. Her eyes studied him as though the question itself were more interesting than whatever truth stood behind it. “You should be concerned, Fenrir.”

Fenrir's jaw tightened at her words. Kronika moved one hand through the air. Sand appeared above her palm. “Before now, your existence behaved like an interruption in a sequence already written. I could perceive what surrounded you, but not always the path you would take through it.” The grains rotated slowly above her fingers. “Your beginning was obscured. Your end even more so.”

Fenrir watched the sand with caution. “And now?”

“Now there are paths.” The answer was almost clinical. “Possibilities where once there was only absence.” Fenrir's eyes lifted toward hers. Kronika's expression did not change; she kept herself cold and distant. A messenger of time itself. “Among them, your death.”

Fear moved through him before he could suppress it. He refused to step backwards, to allow her to see his growing dread. “You saw it?”

“Yes.” There was no comfort nor hesitation in her statement. Only certainty.

Fenrir took one slow breath. “When?”

She smiled, as if enjoying playing with him. “That is the wrong question to ask, emperor.”

His brow furrowed. Kronika extended her palm over the balcony. The sand began falling through her fingers theatrically and slowly. “Most lives are simple from my perspective. A beginning. An ending. There might be variations between them, certainly, but their fate is the same.” She watched the grains disappear into the darkness below. “Yours never possessed that courtesy.”

Fenrir stared at her. With that same hollow serenity, Kronika continued. “When Geras brought your existence to my attention, I considered correcting the anomaly before it could deepen.”

Fenrir's eyes narrowed. “Correcting? Kronika looked at him. The answer needed no translation. Fenrir gave a humourless breath. “You considered killing me.”

“Naturally. After all, it’s my job to keep time as it should. In peace.” She said it as casually as she might have discussed closing an unnecessary door. “Geras advised me to be patient; soon after, my daughter agreed. Both argued that an irregularity acknowledged by the Hourglass yet not governed by it may possess a function worth observing.”

Kronika's gaze returned forward. “I allowed them to persuade me.”

“How generous of you.” The faintest upward movement appeared at the corner of her mouth.

“You are alive, are you not?” She said mockingly.

He didn’t allow her the pleasure of his displeasure. Fenrir looked toward the remaining sand. “What about my end?” He said solemnly. “Was it always hidden from the hourglass?”

“You catch on quickly, little devil.” She said with a chuckle. “It was; it always has. Kronika's fingers closed slightly. “Even more deeply once you took Shao Kahn's throne.”

Fenrir glanced toward the palace beyond them. “So, becoming Emperor made me harder to predict.”

“For a time.” She said solemnly. “Truthfully, since then, you have been my favourite show to watch on the regular. I’m always on the edge of my seat on what your next move will be.” The last trails of sand began to fall from her hand. “But to your question, the end I saw is a possibility. One that can happen.” Then, the last molecule of sand fell to the ground. “…if you choose poorly.”

Fenrir stared into the dark fields beyond the city. A name immediately came to mind. “I suppose that ending you speak about has something to do with what will soon happen in Kuatan.”

Kronika said nothing; her gaze remained forward. “What do you believe?”

Fenrir gave her a long, cold stare. “I believe you've been playing with me since the day we met.”

That finally earned him a direct look. The faint amusement vanished from Kronika's features. “If you only knew Fenrir, how meaningless you are to me.” Her tone never rose. It became colder instead. “You are nothing more than an anomaly in a system I maintain. I observe you because deviations demand my observation.” She turned fully toward him. “You are still just a grain of sand within the Hourglass. One that is incredibly annoying to deal with.”

Fenrir gave her a dry smile. “Glad I can keep eternity interesting.”

Kronika stared at him. Threat gathered in the silence. Fenrir did not withdraw the remark. At last, she released a low sound that might have been amusement. “Nephilim.” She tasted the word as though examining it.

Kronika stared at him for a few moments, threatening. Then a chuckle escaped her lips. “Nephilim…what a funny and graceless word. Your species never fails to surprise me, even after almost fading from existence.” Her grin grew. “Especially when you are earthrealmers. Such conviction and stubbornness. I adored it.”

Then, Kronika's expression changed subtly. She looked through the open balcony doors. Toward the bed, and the sleeping queens that lay on it. Something about the way her gaze lingered made Fenrir's humour disappear. “Our conversation is nearly complete. I will leave you be for now, Emperor, but not without the words I came to provide to you. Heed them and remember.” She stated solemnly.

She raised one hand. The sand scattered across the balcony reversed direction. It flowed upward. Thousands of grains gathered together before Fenrir's chest and twisted into a familiar shape. Arondite reformed. The sword settled into Kronika's hand. She placed the flat of the blade against Fenrir's chest, directly over his heart.

Fenrir did not move. Kronika's eyes began to glow. Blue light spread from them in perfect concentric rings. The frozen world around them darkened. Her next words seemed to come from everywhere. As though the voice speaking beside him simultaneously echoed from moments that had already passed and moments waiting centuries ahead.

“Do not fear death, Nephilim.” Fenrir's heartbeat slowed beneath the sword. The words that followed were all wise and haunting. Inevitable in nature. “For death shall one day give you life.” Kronika's expression remained serene. “When the dark hands stand above you, do not mistake it as closure.” The sword pressed slightly harder against his chest. “Your end depends upon it.”

Fenrir stared into her glowing eyes. He did not understand them, yet he knew he should remember them well. Before he could ask, Kronika's gaze moved toward the sleeping chamber.

Toward Jade and Kitana.

“Do not fear love.” Fenrir followed her gaze instinctively. Both of them slept where he had left her, dark hair spread across the pillow, one hand resting in the empty place where he had been. His expression softened. “The love you take.” Kronika's eyes shifted toward Kitana. “The love you give.” Fenrir looked toward her too. Kitana slept restlessly. Even now.

“For it will give you strength and certainty in the darkest of nights.” Kronika looked back toward him. Then came the words that truly stole his breath. “Do not fear those who bear it with you.” Fenrir frowned. Kronika's gaze drifted once more toward the women in the room. “For soon, they shall carry a part of you within them.”

Fenrir froze; his eyes widened in realisation as he understood at least one possible meaning. His eyes returned to Jade and Kitana. And almost immediately his thoughts turned painfully to Mileena. Somewhere beyond his reach. The possibility of a future filled with life should have felt hopeful. Instead, it struck him with enough tenderness and grief that he momentarily forgot how to answer. Kronika watched his reaction with the same detached interest she might have given the turning of an age and the last breath of a life. “Your future depends upon it.”

Fenrir looked toward her sharply. “What exactly are you saying? Please, help me understand.”

Kronika removed Arondite from his chest. “In due time, answers you will find.” Fenrir almost cursed. Then Kronika reached for his left hand. For the first time that night, her touch felt warm. She opened his palm; from it grains fell into his hand. Black at first, then gold.

For a brief instant, dark-blue flame moved through them. Fenrir's breath caught. He knew that fire. He had felt it in Arondite, in his blood.

Kronika's voice lowered. This final warning carried none of the faint amusement from before. “Fear only yourself. For the enemy most likely to destroy you already courses through your veins. Do not allow it to become your master.” Fenrir looked at her. Kronika's glowing eyes seemed to pierce through flesh, magic, memory. “Seek the primordial flame from which your own was kindled.”

Fenrir's thoughts immediately turned toward Netherrealm. Toward stories half-heard and truths deliberately withheld. Toward the demon whose name had followed his bloodline like a shadow. Argarath.

Kronika did not speak the name. She didn't need to. “Find him.” Fenrir's jaw tightened at the words that emanated from her lips. “Understand him…Forgive him.”

Fenrir's head lifted. “You don't know what you're asking.”

“I know precisely what I am asking.” For the first time, something almost grave entered Kronika's otherwise hollow serenity. “Hatred will not protect you from what he gave you.” Her fingers closed Fenrir's hand around the sand. “Understanding may.” She stepped closer. “Forgiveness is not absolution, Nephilim.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside him, somewhere unpleasant. Inside a part of his heart and soul he didn’t want to see again. Kronika's eyes dimmed slightly. “Find the fire.” Her voice became distant. “Know the father who carried it before you. Forgive what must be forgiven.” She released his hand. “Your life depends upon it.”

The world shattered back into motion. Wind struck Fenrir's face. The banner on the distant tower snapped violently in the night. The owl completed its flight. Torch flames resumed flickering. The curtains surged outward through the open doors.

And with them, Kronika was gone. Just as swiftly and silently as she had arrived.

Arondite disappeared from Fenrir's grasp. He remained still. His closed fist felt heavier than it should. Slowly, he opened it. A small pile of sand rested in the centre of his palm. Fenrir stared at it, pondering on the goddess's words. He exhaled slowly. “What the hell are you trying to tell me…?”

“Fen?” His entire body tensed as an all too familiar and warm voice called to him. He turned sharply to address it.

Jade stood within the doorway. She wore little more than a loose sleeping gown hastily pulled around herself, one hand holding the fabric closed against the cold wind spilling into the chamber. Her hair was dishevelled from sleep, her eyes barely open. Concerned at the sight in front of her.

Fenrir's expression softened immediately. “What are you doing out here?” she asked. Her voice carried that warm, drowsy cadence reserved for moments when she had not yet fully awakened.

Fenrir looked toward his palm. The sand remained on it, a reminder. One that Kronika had purposely left. “I was…” The truth rose instinctively. He almost said it… Then he looked past Jade toward Kitana still sleeping. For the first time that day. Resting without tears.

His eyes returned to Jade. She looked exhausted. They both did. And what would telling her accomplish tonight?

Kronika's warning was barely understandable to him. Telling Jade about his death would frighten her. Telling her about children, or whatever the prophecy meant, would raise questions he could not answer. Telling her about Argarath would open another wound while Mileena's remained bleeding.

No. Tomorrow. He would understand more tomorrow. Then he could tell her. The reasoning formed so easily that Fenrir almost failed to notice how familiar it sounded.

“I was protecting her.” Kitana's voice from earlier returned to him.

His expression shifted. For one uncomfortable second, he recognised exactly what he was doing.

Jade noticed his turmoil and spoke once again with concern; “Fen?”

He closed his fingers around the sand, and chose silence anyway. “I was thinking.” Jade studied him. Fenrir forced a small smile. “Couldn't sleep.”

She rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand. “Well, you managed to wake me.”

Fenrir winced. “Sorry.”

“You left the door open.” She gestured towards the balcony door. “It got cold quickly. Then I saw you here standing alone, and I got concerned.”

Fenrir looked toward the open doorway. “Right.”

Jade took a step toward him. Her expression sharpened slightly despite her exhaustion. “Are you all right?”

Fenrir hated how quickly she noticed things. Usually, he loved it. Tonight, it made the sand inside his fist feel like an accusation. “I'm fine.”

Jade's eyes narrowed. “That sounded convincing.”

Fenrir gave a quiet breath of laughter. He stepped toward her before she could come farther into the cold. He placed his free hand gently against her arm. “Go back inside.”

“Fen—”

“Jade.” His tone softened. “You need sleep. So does Kitana. Today was…I don’t want you to get sick because of me.” Jade's expression softened. “I will be there in a moment.”

Jade looked at him for a moment, reluctant to let this go. But she trusted him. With a sigh and a smile, she headed back inside. “Alright, but you are preparing breakfast tomorrow.”

Fenrir smiled despite himself. She disappeared back into the chamber. Fenrir watched until she returned to bed. Only then did his smile fade. He opened his hand; the sand remained where Kronika had placed it. Fenrir stared at the grains for a long while, his expression turning sombre once again as a thought crossed his mind.

“In due time…”