The corridor that followed Riven's disappearance was unlike any before.
Instead of shifting glass or spiraling code, this one was made of old, unfinished thoughts—patchwork walls stitched from torn memory fragments. Zayn walked slowly, as if afraid to disturb the air.
Patch muttered, "I feel like if I say the wrong thing, this whole hallway is gonna start reciting my childhood traumas in iambic pentameter."
Fry didn't laugh. "You're not wrong. This is a mnemonic echo path. It replicates mental residue from unfulfilled recursion bonds."
"Cool," Patch whispered. "Now I want to forget I asked."
They emerged into a dimly lit observatory. A dome of semi-opaque light hovered above, distorting their reflections into haunting versions of themselves. In the center sat the chair.
A simple thing. Wood and iron, wrapped in a glyph-etched cloth that frayed with age. And yet—
It radiated something.
Absence.
"Is that... hers?" Zayn asked.
Fry approached slowly. "Althea's? Possibly. Or maybe it belonged to someone before her."
Patch whistled. "This just keeps getting cheerier. Maybe the next room will be filled with puppies made of regrets."
Fry scanned the glyphs with her drive. "No active threats. But the chair's tied to a recursive bond."
Zayn tilted his head. "Which one?"
"Yours."
He stepped forward.
The moment his fingers brushed the chair, the dome exploded into light—not blinding, but revealing.
A memory unfolded in full projection.
A young woman sat in the chair—Althea.
She was younger than he remembered. Smiling. Laughing. Surrounded by the five original hosts—Zayn included. They were all children.
She handed each of them a small shard.
"These are not weapons," she said gently. "They are seeds. Plant them in the worst of places—and something good might grow."
Zayn's projection, childlike and unsure, asked, "Will it be enough?"
Althea had looked at him then—just him.
"Only if you remember why you buried it in the first place."
The vision dissolved.
Zayn's chest tightened. "She was never trying to win the Karnyx war. She was trying to break its cycle."
Fry nodded slowly. "She seeded escapes. Memories that couldn't be overwritten."
Patch poked the chair. "So what now? Sit in it and gain her powers? Or get stuck watching a never-ending therapy session?"
Zayn sat.
And nothing happened.
No light. No glyphs.
Just silence.
Then—
A whisper.
"You're late."
Zayn looked up.
Althea's voice.
But not a projection.
"Don't look for me. Find the others. The real ones. Before Riven does."
Then the dome cracked—and a new path appeared.
One leading downward. Much deeper.
Fry placed a hand on Zayn's shoulder. "She's still ahead of all of us."
Zayn nodded. "But we're catching up."
Patch took a deep breath. "Right. Into the mysterious tunnel of no return. Again."