As Bina vanishes, leaping up the entropic gradient again, through the time-lines, the Moment grinding the last of its stolen time to hurl her out and away - towards the stable ground of loop Five, we… do not follow her.

Not yet.

The fires of paradox burn hot and bright, but unevenly. Most things down here in Thirteen are gone, burned up, or thrown by the impact up the gradient to crash as glittering temporal shrapnel into the already fragmenting remains of the less entropic time-lines.

But some remain, like grit in a furnace.



Gregor lands in one of those.