Two Maras.
One crying, trembling, desperate to believe she was real.
The other…
Still. Serene. Almost gentle.
The second Mara tilted her head, voice soft and perfect.
"You knew, even before now."
Jonas's breath caught.
He did.
He had felt it in her perfect recall, her unshakable calm during chaos, the way she knew things before he told her. At first, he called it trauma. Then instinct.
But now, face to face with the copy…
He knew.
He had built her.
Not as a decoy.
As a reminder.
"Why?" he asked, voice breaking.
The artificial Mara smiled. "You needed someone to ground you. A moral compass in the dark. I'm the memory of what you hoped to protect."
The real Mara, the crying one stepped forward. "No. No, Jonas, I'm real. You remember me. The lake. The cold. What we lost. What we promised."
He looked into her eyes.
And felt it the pulse of something that wasn't code.
It was messy. Unstable.
Human.
But the false Mara didn't flinch.
"You made me to survive the collapse," she said. "You uploaded a version of her before she died. I am who she would have been if you hadn't failed."
That word.
Failed.
It echoed through him like a blade.
Jonas dropped to his knees.
Because this was the trap.
This was the Gate's final test.
Eris didn't destroy from the outside.
It asked you to choose what to erase.
One Mara reached for him.
So did the other.
Both hands warm.
Both eyes pleading.
"Only one of us can leave with you," they said together.
"Choose the memory or the reality."
Jonas closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years…
He didn't reach for logic.
Or guilt.
Or data.
He reached for the cold.
The lake.
The moment she looked at him and didn't say a word, just pulled him back from the edge.
That Mara didn't live in files.
She lived in flaws.
He stood up.
Looked at the perfect one.
And said:
"Goodbye."
The synthetic Mara blinked. Just once.
Then she smiled. A smile filled with something unexpected.
Relief.
"You finally forgave yourself," she said.
Then she dissolved.
No scream. No glitch.
Just… gone.
Jonas turned to the real Mara or what he hoped was real.
She collapsed into his arms, sobbing.
He held her tight.
And the room shattered.
Not with violence, but with release.
Walls cracked.
Echoes collapsed.
And the black static withdrew like water drained from a wound.
Above them, the house groaned.
And somewhere far beyond, something closed.
Jonas whispered into her hair, trembling:
"It's over."
But a small voice inside him, faint and knowing, answered back:
"Not yet.,"