Nero hit the metal grate hard enough to rattle his bones. Helia collapsed beside him, still clinging to his wrist as if she wasn't convinced, he made it through the tear in one piece.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Nero's ears rang from the transition — the sound was like getting dragged backward through a waterfall.
Helia finally pushed herself up on shaking arms. "Are you hurt?"
Nero coughed. "Define hurt."
She actually laughed — weak, breathless, but real. "You're impossible."
The corridor they'd fallen into was narrow and dim. Old warning lights flickered along the floor, glowing in uneven bursts. Nero braced a hand on the wall to stand, only to jerk it away instantly.
The wall was warm.
Alive.
He whispered, "Sector Zero is breathing."
Helia didn't deny it.
The suppressor on Nero's arm sparked weakly again. The crack along its center had widened. It wouldn't hold much longer.
"How deep are we?" Nero asked.
Helia checked the panel on the wall — half the digits were scrambled symbols. "Deep enough that the Archive doesn't name this place anymore. Deep enough that it… forgot it."
Nero swallowed. "Forgot?"A harsh memory flashed — the cracked boy's empty eyes.
He tightened his fists.
They started walking, the corridor bending oddly, angles shifting like the building couldn't decide what shape to take. Nero's footsteps echoed twice — one echo real, the other half a second late.
After a few minutes, Helia slowed.
A door stood ahead.
It shouldn't have.
Not because it was locked, or damaged — but because it was pristine. Perfect white. Smooth edges. As if it had been placed there recently.
Nero frowned. "This doesn't belong here."
"It doesn't," Helia whispered.
A soft whisper passed Nero's ear.
"Go in."
Nero stiffened.
Helia caught the change in his breathing. "Is it him again?"
"No…" Nero said slowly. "This voice was different."
Helia didn't like that.
She approached the door carefully, pulled out her access tool — but the door clicked and slid open on its own.
The room beyond was bathed in white light. It was too white.
Smooth. Clean. Wrong.
Clusters of floating screens hovered in the air, all displaying fractured symbols and incomplete memory files. Energy threads pulsed between them like veins in humans.
In the center of the room stood a cylindrical console shaped like a spine, glowing faintly.
Helia gasped. "This… this is an Architect Terminal."
Nero felt cold. "The Architect was here?"
"No," she said slowly. "This is a prototype. One level below the real ones. It shouldn't exist anymore."
Nero approached the floating screens. One flickered sharply, and suddenly—
His name appeared.
Just his name.
NERO VALE CLASSIFICATION: CONTINUATOR TIMELINE: APPROVED
His hands trembled.
Helia rushed to his side. "Don't touch—!"
Too late.
The console materialized a new screen.
A memory file.
Label: UNLIVED — RECOVERY PROTOCOL
Nero whispered, "Recovery…?"
Helia's eyes widened. "The Archive doesn't recover Unlived."
Nero tapped the file.
A hologram came from the console — a rotating image of a small metallic object. A pale-blue core. A stabilizer module.
Nero froze.
"That's… in me."
Helia stared at him, horror dawning in her eyes. "Nero… that's not a stabilizer."
He looked at her sharply. "Then what is it?"
She swallowed hard."…a replacement core."
Nero's asked. "A replacement for who?"
"You know the answer."
Nero's understood. "The boy."
As if summoned by the thought, the lights started flickering. A cold pressure pressed down on Nero's skull — a familiar, hungry pull.
"No," Helia hissed. "He followed us through the tear?!"
Shadows bled from the corners of the room.
A whisper slithered out — "You have my core."
Nero turned.
The cracked boy stood behind him. Older than before. More complete. His missing pieces formed from pure temporal static. He slowly started getting complete.
Nero stepped back instinctively. "Stay away."
The boy tilted his head. "I can't. You have what I lost."
Nero's chestplate glowed faintly in response — a pulse answering a pulse.
Helia stepped between them. "He isn't yours. He never was."
The boy looked at her with a detached curiosity. "And what are you? A guide? A mistake? Or another file they will delete?"
Helia didn't flinch. "I'm the reason he's still alive."
Nero whispered, "Please… I don't want to fight you."
The boy's voice cracked — a thousand tones overlapping.
"I know. That is why I must take it back."
He raised his hand.
Nero's vision blurred.
Helia screamed, grabbing him, pulling him back —
But Nero was already collapsing, body failing under the pull.
The last thing he saw was the cracked boy stepping forward, reaching into the air as if pulling threads from reality itself —
and the Architect Terminal exploding with light.
Everything vanished.