Time rippled around them like the surface of a disturbed pond. As the last echoes of Marcus's scream faded into the void, Ethan stood, his legs trembling but steady. The Tether behind him pulsed with a softer light now—restored, but changed. Lily sheathed her blade and touched her comms unit.
"No response from the Watchtower," she muttered. "We must've broken the loop—at least temporarily."
Ethan turned his eyes toward the sky. Once fractured and chaotic, it now resembled a mosaic of stars—each twinkle a separate thread of a universe reborn. He couldn't help but feel both triumphant and hollow.
"Now what?" he asked.
Lily glanced at him. "Now we see what you've undone—or unleashed."
They walked toward a shimmering doorway forming near the edge of the rift—a failsafe of the Tether. As they crossed its threshold, Ethan braced for pain, for time distortion, for disorientation.
But none came.
Instead, they stepped into a corridor that seemed to exist outside all natural laws. The walls shimmered with layered transparencies—each one displaying a different version of events. Ethan paused, stunned. One version of him never invented the time shard. Another joined Marcus. Another never left his lab.
"These are all… possible versions of me," he said.
Lily nodded. "The corridor shows you what could've been, not what must be. You chose the difficult path. Most versions didn't."
He felt the weight of that. Responsibility. Fate. Regret.
At the far end of the corridor was a pulpit. Resting on it: a small metallic cube etched in golden symbols.
Lily approached it reverently. "This is the Anchor Key. It allows the wielder to reset or reinforce fixed points in history. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Necessary in ours."
"Isn't that the kind of power Marcus wanted?" Ethan asked.
"Yes," she replied. "But power isn't always the problem. It's the intention behind it."
Ethan reached forward and lifted the cube. It was warm. A pulse matched his heartbeat. And in that moment, visions crashed into his mind:
—Cities floating above oceans of thought.
—A child speaking to machines that sang in color.
—An old man sitting beside a burning tree, whispering, "You cannot save what must end."
He gasped and stumbled back. "It's too much."
Lily steadied him. "That's why you're not alone anymore."
He clutched the Anchor Key to his chest. "We need to find the original disruption point. The first fracture. Before any of this began."
Lily hesitated. "We may need help."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Her answer was not a name—but a symbol: a swirling spiral etched into the air with her finger. Ethan recognized it from old files in his father's journals.
"The Chronal Assembly," he whispered.
"They've remained hidden since the Collapse," Lily said. "But if they're still out there, they'll know what caused the first tear."
Ethan looked at the cube, then at Lily.
"Then we find them."
Behind them, the corridor dissolved. Before them, a stairway of crystalline light stretched into a realm of unknown design—timelines humming with life.
As they stepped onto the first stair, Ethan felt something stir within the shard.
A name.
Spoken without sound.
"Ada..."
Lily paused. "What did you say?"
He didn't know why the name had emerged. Only that it mattered.
The journey wasn't over.
In fact, it was just beginning again.