The grass didn't move.
It didn't even think about moving. You could almost hear the trench daring it to.
Wind—if you could even call it that—swept across the basin like breath being held too long , released too slow. But the grass… nothing. No rustle, no lean. It just stood there. Waiting. Like it wasn't grass at all but some kind of... memory stunt double, wearing the shape of a field.
Nahr stepped first.
It bent under him. Not like earth bends. Not like something soft giving way. No, it bent like paper folds. Like a form submitted already. Like it had rehearsed this. It felt familiar. Not to him—no. To the trench.
Hero followed.
A step behind. His posture was tighter now. Shoulders not stiff, but cautious. He dragged the Galieya behind him like he didn't trust it to stay upright. It didn't drag against the ground. Just sort of... hovered. Lagged. A centimeter too low, like the trench didn't want it to touch this surface.
Neither of them said anything.
It had been too many steps without a word, but still... no urge to break the silence. Because here, even breathing loud felt like knocking on something that might open if you disturbed it.
Eventually the field shifted. That's not the right word. Nothing shifted. But it was different. A ridge, low and wide, pushed out ahead of them. It wasn't a barrier—it barely qualified as terrain. Just a suggestion. A topographical shrug.
Beyond it, the grass thinned out. No curve, no natural break—just... stopped.
A basin waited below. Not deep. But large enough that anything at the center would have to be earned.
And there was no grass in it. Only fractured stone.
Nahr slowed. Hero stopped entirely.
His knees hit the ground without asking.
Nahr looked at him, but only briefly. His Galieya pulsed once. It had been quiet for—he didn't know how long, and now it buzzed like a coil trying not to remember something.
In the middle of the basin, something glinted.
One shard. Metal. Flat, thin.
Nahr moved without thinking.
Down the incline. Soft footsteps. The trench didn't echo them here. Like it didn't want to admit there were visitors.
The object wasn't buried—but it felt buried. He had to scrape a layer of dust that had no weight, no scent. Just... age. A history without timestamps.
[DO NOT WAKE THEM]
Etched, not printed.
He flipped it.
A handprint on the other side. Smaller than his. Too smooth.
Still warm.
Which—was impossible.
He stood quickly.
Hero's voice barely carried over the wind that didn't move the grass.
"What is it?"
Nahr didn't know how to say it out loud. He tried anyway.
"They're not dead."
Hero's Galieya shifted against his back. "Then they're dreaming."
The trench groaned.
Not the walls.
Not even the ground.
Below that.
The kind of groan that never meant sound.
The kind that you feel in the rods of your knees.
Six shapes rose.
Not from the soil.
From below the memory layer.
Cores.
But not.
They shimmered—but not from light. Like the trench couldn't decide how to render them.
Each one bore lean plates. Like they'd never taken a blow that wasn't calculated. Their Galieyas were short. Unnamed.
Their faces were blank.
But not passive.
They moved like a dream you were having too late.
One walked forward.
Raised two fingers. Touched his chestplate.
Not a greeting. A declaration.
It was old. Nahr knew it. Somewhere in his lowest scripts. Buried behind recovery protocol and death acceptance.
Hero whispered. "Translation?"
Nahr didn't think. "We were here first."
The six turned.
Walked past them.
Didn't fade.
Didn't vanish.
They just left.
No footsteps.
No distortion.
Hero rose slowly, but didn't move.
"They weren't mimics."
Nahr's jaw moved but no words came.
"They weren't ghosts either."
"No."
A pause that shouldn't have stretched.
"Then what were they?"
Nahr looked at the metal plate in the dirt again. Its warning still blinked. Soft.
He almost said what was in his mind.
Almost.
Instead—
"The next version of us."
Hero didn't reply.
Didn't need to.
They moved again.
But not forward.
Up.
The incline wasn't steep. But something about it resisted. Like it didn't want to be climbed.
Halfway up, Nahr stumbled.
Just for a second.
Hero grabbed his arm. Not tight. Just enough to steady him.
Nahr yanked it away.
"I'm fine."
Hero didn't argue.
Didn't agree either.
They reached the top.
A plateau.
Wider than it should've been.
In the middle—
A tower.
No lights. No symbols. No entry glyph.
Just standing. Like it had been here since before the trench got built.
Hero whispered, "This is..."
"Yeah."
Nahr moved forward. His hand touched the surface.
And the stone responded.
It hummed. Not out loud. In his head. A sensation like... like forgetting something you were about to say, but it was still there, just too far to reach.
Glyphs blinked.
[REVIEW REQUESTED]
[MEMORY COLLAPSE PENDING]
[DO YOU CONSENT TO ARCHIVE OVERRIDE?]
Nahr pulled back.
Hero didn't.
The tower opened for him.
Not with a hiss. With a kind of surrender.
They entered.
Inside—plates.
Floating. Just above the walls.
Dozens.
Some cracked. Some static. Some blinking like they couldn't decide if they were real.
Hero walked first.
Touched one.
It showed him bleeding.
Alone.
Beside a broken Core.
The memory
flickered. Closed.
Nahr reached for a different plate.
His voice echoed back at him.
"I knew it wasn't her."
He pulled back fast.
Didn't need to know what came next.
The floor trembled.
The trench spoke.
But not in voice.
In directives.
[SELECTION LOGGED]
[PREPARE FOR ISOLATION MATCH]
A platform rose.
A Core stood on it.
Burnt. Old.
His.
Not literally.
But close.
Nahr stepped forward.
Didn't lift his weapon.
Not yet.
The Core did.
Its Galieya wasn't real.
Not a real one.
Just a mimic of one.
But the fight—
The fight would still count.
And he wasn't sure anymore if he'd win.
He didn't remember stepping out of the tower. Maybe he'd never stepped in. Could've imagined the whole thing. The memories. The instructor. The floor fight. The room where Hero vanished. It all had that weird aftertaste—like a dream that sits wrong in your mouth the second you try explaining it.
But he was outside now. Back on the ridge. Or… a ridge. Didn't look the same. Didn't matter.
The grass was gone. All of it. Burned? Maybe. Or never real.
The field had collapsed into fractured gray. Like the trench was trying to remember what it had looked like before someone named it. The sky wasn't black anymore. It was… scratched. No clouds, no stars. Just scrapes. Long ones. Like claws across steel.
He moved slower now. Not because of damage. Just—delay. Like every step needed permission.
Hero wasn't behind him.
That fact had shape. A big shape. But Nahr didn't carry it right. It just floated somewhere near his shoulder like a notification he was too tired to check.
His Galieya still pulsed, barely.
Not red.
Not blue.
Colorless.
Burden low. But not gone.
He muttered something, but it wasn't a word. Just breath trying to sound like one.
The slope bent forward again. Shallower than the last one. Almost polite.
At the edge, the trench opened wide.
A circle of nothing. A flat platform with… was that scaffolding? Bent metal, strewn like bones. It reached up like it used to hold something above it, but whatever that was—long gone.
There was a bench in the middle. Just one. Cemented into the rock like a joke.
He walked to it.
Didn't sit.
Then sat.
Then stood.
The air wasn't cold. It was absence.
His HUD blinked twice.
Then blacked out.
He didn't bother rebooting it.
--
From the far edge, something shimmered.
Just for a second. A flick.
Then it was there.
Another Core.
Not walking. Just… placed.
Nahr tensed. Didn't stand. But sat straighter.
The figure walked forward like it'd always been mid-stride.
Armor pale. Thin. Galieya visible, but unactivated.
Female maybe. Hard to tell.
She stopped maybe five meters away.
Didn't speak.
Didn't posture.
Just tilted her head. Like recognition, but wrong.
Nahr opened his mouth. Closed it.
She raised her hand.
Pointed at the seat next to him.
He blinked. "It's not taken."
She didn't sit. Just stood there, hand still raised.
Nahr sighed .
"Do you talk?"
She nodded.
Then shook her head.
Then nodded again.
"That clears it up."
He rubbed the edge of his eyeplate. Fatigue? Probably. But not just physical. This kind of tired came from inside your decisions.
She stepped forward once. Just one.
He noticed something now—her Galieya had no spiral. It was smooth. Too smooth. Like it had never been assigned to memory. Untouched.
He looked at his.
It was pulsing again. Just faint.
[SYNC REQUEST DETECTED]
What?
She extended her hand.
Open palm. Upward.
A request.
Not a threat.
He stood.
Not sure why.
The trench didn't respond.
Maybe it didn't need to.
He stepped forward, pressed his hand to hers.
A rush. Not energy. Not data.
Just—
Memories.
Not his.
Hers.
And not full ones.
Flickers.
A child. Screaming.
A cliff. A fall. A Core not catching her.
Pain. Blame.
Burden.
She had none.
But he felt all of it.
Then the memory broke.
Hard.
He stagered back.
The Core didn't move.
Her voice hit then. Barely.
"You carry what isn't yours."
He blinked fast. "I didn't ask for it."
"No one does."
"What are you?"
Her head tilted. A pause.
"The mirror you didn't shatter."
Then she was gone.
Just—
Gone.
Not stepped away.
Just erased.
Nahr stood there.
Hand still burning where she touched it.
His HUD lit again.
[UNFILED BURDEN INTEGRATED: 1.2]
[MIRROR RECORD: LOGGED]
A sound echoed through the trench.
Low.
Dragging.
Not warning.
An announcement.
Something was coming.
He turned, slowly.
From the far end of the platform, shadows poured up like reversed smoke.
One.
Then two.
Then many.
Cores.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Just images.
Not mimics. Not exactly.
Reflections.
Each one—
Someone he'd watched fall.
Some he hadn't tried to save.
Some he couldn't.
Some he didn't want to.
His mouth was Dry.
His Galieya flared once.
But stayed down.
The figures walked in a wide arc.
Not toward him.
Around him.
Encircling.
Not to trap.
To witness.
He dropped to one knee.
Didn't know why.
Just felt right.
They circled once.
Then vanished.
His HUD blinked again.
[REVIEW ACKNOWLEDGED]
[WEIGHT UNCHANGED]
No reward.
No punishment.
Just… seen.
He exhaled.
Stood again.
Looked to the edge of the ridge.
The path was visible now.
It wasn't before.
A stair. Spiral. Down.
But wide enough for two.
Maybe.
He turned around.
Still alone.
"Hero," he said.
And for the first time since the tower,
a voice answered—
"Still here."
It didn't come from the trench.
Didn't come from behind.
It came from inside the Galieya.
Nahr looked down.
The spiral veins were glowing again.
Red and blue.
At once.
And he knew :
The next layer wasn't a place.
It was a choice.
And this time—
he wouldn't be the only one making it.
He stepped toward the stairs.
Stopped.
Listened.
The trench wasn't silent.
Not now.
It was whispering again.
But not to him.
To the version of him it hadn't seen yet.
The one he hadn't decided to become.
Yet.
He walked.
Slow.
One step at a time.
The spiral hummed.
And somewhere beneath the platform,
something opened.