A lone figure sat by the windowsill, staring at the city skyline as morning sunlight filtered through the glass. The world outside seemed peaceful, but to Chevie, it felt like a mockery. Beneath the calm surface, chaos was brewing—wormholes that led to untold dangers, magical beasts that could destroy entire cities, and the endless hunger of humanity for power.

Today, though, none of that mattered.

Chevie leaned forward, running a hand through his dark, unruly hair. His gaze fell to the small, framed photograph on the table—a woman with straight black hair and warm brown eyes, her smile radiating warmth and strength. His mother.

"It's been five years," Chevie whispered. "I hope you're proud of me... even if I'm not sure I am."

A sharp trill shattered the quiet, jolting him back to the present. He grabbed his phone and glanced at the screen. "Leon – Party Leader" flashed on the display. He hesitated before answering.

"Chevie, you better not be slacking today," Leon's gruff voice boomed through the speaker. "We've found a new Gate. Fresh, unexplored, and—get this—it's stable. We're heading out in an hour."

Chevie frowned. "An hour? You're not even going to report it to the government first?"

"Relax," Leon replied. "We'll report it after. You know how it is—the first team to explore gets the pick of the loot. This could set us up for life, Chevie. But we need everyone there. No excuses."

Chevie's grip tightened on the phone. He glanced back at the photo, his chest tightening. "Leon... I can't go today."

"What?" Leon's tone sharpened. "You're joking, right? This isn't just some random Gate. We're talking about treasures that could make you rich enough to buy your own city! What's more important than this?"

Chevie hesitated, his words caught in his throat. How could he explain it? That today wasn't just any day—it was his mother's death anniversary. The one day he promised himself he'd visit her grave, no matter what.

"It's personal," he finally said.

Leon sighed on the other end. "Chevie, we need you. I'm not asking—I'm telling you. If you're not there, don't bother calling this a 'team' anymore."

The call ended before Chevie could respond. He lowered the phone, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and guilt.

He wanted to be there for his team. He didn't want to let them down. But this day… this one day mattered more than anything else.

Then it hit him—a solution. Chevie's lips curled into a bittersweet smile. It was risky, but it could work.

… ….

Chevie stood in the center of his dimly lit apartment, his heartbeat steady but his mind racing. He hadn't used his ability like this before, but if it worked… it would solve everything.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy within him. A surge of warmth spread through his chest, spiraling outward as he whispered the command. "Manifest."

The air shimmered, like ripples on a still pond, and a second figure materialized before him. A perfect duplicate, down to the faint scar on Chevie's left cheek and the slight slump of his shoulders.

The clone opened its eyes and grinned. "Guess I'm taking your shift today?"

"You're taking my place," Chevie corrected. "Go with the team, stay cautious, and keep me updated if anything goes wrong. Got it?"

The clone gave a mock salute. "Understood. Don't worry—I've got this."

Chevie handed over his communicator and pack, feeling a pang of unease as the clone prepared to leave. Watching it step out the door felt like sending a piece of himself into the unknown.

"Good luck," Chevie murmured. The clone nodded before disappearing into the elevator.

… ….

An hour later, Chevie stood at the edge of the cemetery, a bouquet of lilies in hand. His black suit felt stiff and uncomfortable, but it was worth it—his mother deserved nothing less than his best.

The grave was simple, adorned with a small plaque that read: "Elena Harley: Beloved Mother, Protector, and Friend." Chevie knelt, placing the flowers gently against the stone.

"Hi, Mom," he said softly. "It's been a while. I... I'm sorry I haven't visited as much as I should. Things have been... complicated."

He stayed there for hours, speaking to the grave as though she could hear him. He told her about the chaos of the Gates, his struggles with his team, and even the bittersweet pride he felt in his ability, despite its limitations.

Then, as he was about to leave, the pain struck.

A searing, blinding agony tore through him, dropping him to his knees. His vision blurred as he clutched his chest, a scream ripping from his throat.

"AGGHHHHH!"

His mind flooded with memories that weren't his own—his clone's memories. His body burned, his energy surging uncontrollably. He felt every second of its journey into the Gate, the overwhelming power it absorbed, and... the moment it died.

As his consciousness faded, one thought echoed through his mind: What have I done?