The stars twisted.
They became gears.
Gears turned into chains.
And those chains coiled around Eri's wrists.
Not metal. Not magic.
Memory.
The Root Domain wasn't a place.
It was an answer.
The answer to a question she hadn't meant to ask.
What happens when you rewind a soul too far?
The voice that had spoken now had form.
It emerged from the void—neither male nor female.
A mask.
Silver. Blank.
Eyes like black holes, spinning backward.
"I am the Echokeeper," it said.
"I guard what must never be remembered."
Eri stood alone beneath the throne.
Bloodless. Weightless. Glowing faintly from every crack in her skin.
"You stole time," the Echokeeper said.
"I took what was mine," she answered.
"You rewrote death."
"I reversed it."
"You tampered with roots."
"I am the root now."
The chains tightened.
But Eri didn't fall.
Because behind her—
She heard whispers.
Familiar voices.
Izuku.Bakugo.Aizawa.Mirio.Even Overhaul.
All of them echoed.
Not alive.
Not dead.
But remembered.
Because Eri had seen them in every rewind.
Every version.
Every timeline that collapsed.
And now their shadows stood behind her.
Back in reality—or what remained of it—time stuttered again.
Midoriya clutched his chest.
His heartbeat was out of sync with gravity.
Bakugo stood knee-deep in a flooded version of Musutafu, where rain moved sideways.
Uraraka watched civilians float up like balloons, screaming as they were plucked from reality one by one.
"Make it stop," she whispered. "Please."
And somewhere above the clouds—
The Spiral opened its eye.
In the Root Domain
The Echokeeper stepped down from the throne.
Each step bent space.
Each step erased something.
The scent of flowers. The idea of color. The word "hope."
Gone.
"You rewound your own birth," it said.
"I had to," Eri whispered. "They were hurting people."
"You think pain is the problem?"
She didn't answer.
"You think heroes can save everyone if you just rewind enough?"
Silence.
"Then why do they always die screaming?"
Behind her, the shadows flickered.
Midoriya's voice rang out, strong: "Because they chose to."
Mirio's: "Because they believed in tomorrow."
Aizawa's: "Because someone had to pay the price."
Eri trembled.
The chains split.
Not broke.
Fractured—like glass under pressure.
The Echokeeper raised one hand.
A clock appeared, orbiting his palm.
It ticked in four directions at once.
"You owe the spiral your Echo Debt," it said.
Eri wiped her eyes.
"No."
"You owe every death you reversed."
"No."
"You owe yourself."
She stepped forward.
"I paid already."
"How?"
She smiled sadly.
"I lived through it."
The throne began to crack.
The Root Domain shook.
From every corner, memories bled in.
A parade of timelines. Heroes alive. Villains reformed. Entire cities untouched by war.
The Spiral screamed.
And from within its eye—
A second Eri emerged.
But this one wasn't older.
Wasn't scarred.
She was a child of the Spiral.
Eyes void of soul.
A reflection made of paradox.
And the Echokeeper knelt before her.
"This is the version of you that never grieved," he said.
Eri stared.
"She will take your place."
Back in U.A., Todoroki collapsed.
His past caught up.
His future unraveled.
"Shoto!"
Kirishima caught him mid-fall.
"I don't know who I am anymore," Todoroki gasped.
"You're you!"
The ground split.
All Might's statue crumbled into dust.
Sir Nighteye's grave rewound into an empty patch of grass.
People on TV screamed about "The Missing Year."
No one remembered anything clearly.
But they all felt it.
Something was ending.
And something else—something old—was being born.
In the Root Domain, Eri faced her Spiral Self.
Two little girls. One drenched in pain.
One immune to it.
The Spiral Self tilted her head.
"If you don't step down, I'll take everything."
Eri blinked.
"No."
"You can't stop me."
"I don't need to."
Eri lifted her arms.
The scars glowed.
And from behind—
A hand caught hers.
Midoriya.
Then Mirio.
Then Aizawa.
One by one, memories took shape beside her.
Not timelines.
Not rewinds.
But real choices.
Real consequences.
Real love.
The throne exploded in light.
The Echokeeper howled.
Chains evaporated.
The Spiral Self screamed and collapsed into golden ash.
And Eri?
She smiled.
Because for the first time…
She didn't rewind.
She let it play forward.
In the real world…
Time snapped back.
Everyone fell to their knees.
Midoriya gasped as One for All reignited in his blood.
Bakugo remembered everything.
Todoroki wept.
And in the middle of U.A.'s courtyard—
Eri stood.
Not older.
Not younger.
Just… whole.
Hair swaying. Horn cracked. Smiling gently.
And she whispered:
"No more rewinds."
Just…
Life.
To be continued.