The soft hum of the elevator was the only sound that filled the descending chamber.
Arkhan stood silent, arms crossed behind his back, watching the polished metal of the walls flicker with dim white light. Kaito stood beside him closer than necessary but didn't speak. He kept glancing over, as if expecting Arkhan to break the silence. He didn't.
Let him wonder.
The test had been enough. The reflections, the voice his own voice accusing him of failure. It wasn't new. But the way it had been used… calculated, synthetic, deliberately invasive... that was new.
The elevator slowed. A soft chime.
They'd arrived.
The floor opened into a wide hallway filled with tall glass panels and floating holograms that shifted with every step. One panel displayed a slow-motion reconstruction of Arkhan's threshold simulation. The observers had already dissected him.
Kaito muttered something under his breath. Arkhan didn't catch it. Didn't care.
He was already focused ahead.
At the far end of the corridor stood a woman in her late forties. Lab coat pristine. Hair tied into a tight braid. No jewelry. No ornamentation. Just an old analog wristwatch worn facing inward, like someone who didn't need to see time to feel it.
Elena Soryu.
Lead chronophysics researcher. The only person in this world Arkhan remotely trusted.
She turned toward him the moment he stepped into the analysis chamber. Her expression didn't shift. But the faintest flicker of relief passed through her eyes.
"You're earlier than expected," she said.
Arkhan shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair. "The test accelerated."
"I saw," she replied, walking to a glass console. With a swipe of her fingers, data unfolded mid-air spiraling strands of light connected to vitals, memory spikes, heart rate, Chrono Pulse output. "You were exposed to guilt triggers."
"Customized ones," Arkhan said flatly. "Fragments from alternate paths."
"That shouldn't have been possible." Her tone was cold, but her fingers had slowed on the console.
"You authorized the simulation, didn't you?"
"I authorized a closed-thread Threshold, not a spliced echo environment. Someone rewired the layer without going through security check."
Arkhan frowned. "You're saying someone tampered with it?"
"I'm saying someone wanted to see what you'd do under psychological duress… and maybe who you'd remember." She tapped a panel again. "Your time-sync signature was off for nearly three seconds during the collapse phase."
"I know," he said.
She turned. "Then tell me why."
Arkhan hesitated. Not because he didn't trust her but because even now, the memory pulled at him like gravity. That moment in the simulation. The fractured wall of water. The reflections. The accusation.
You failed us.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
"I saw twelve versions of myself," he said. "One was wearing the same lab coat you're wearing now."
Elena's fingers stopped completely.
"That's impossible," she whispered.
"Apparently not."
She stared at him, then slowly reached for the back of her wristwatch. A light beep sounded. Instantly, the room sealed itself doors locked, windows frosted, air dampened.
A secured bubble.
"Kaito doesn't know?" she asked.
Arkhan shook his head.
"Then don't tell him," she said quickly. "Not yet."
She walked across the room, past a tall transparent board covered in equations. Most of them weren't mathematical in the traditional sense they were chronofield drift maps, calculations written not in numbers, but in time distortions. Events, probability spikes, entropy decay.
Arkhan approached and stared at the symbols. He remembered this board.
In his first life, Elena had built it with him.
"Tell me what you're thinking," she said quietly.
"I'm thinking that the Collapse wasn't natural," Arkhan answered.
Elena didn't respond immediately. She just stared at him, waiting.
"I used to believe," he continued, "that the world died because of entropy misalignment. That time fractured on its own. But after that simulation... after what I saw…"
He turned to face her fully.
"I think someone engineered the Collapse."
Elena didn't blink. Didn't nod. Didn't show approval or fear. But her eyes narrowed.
"Then you already know what that means," she said.
Arkhan looked at the board again. The variables had shifted slightly, reflecting his presence. Elena had coded it to react to temporal memory density. His thoughts were warping the math.
He spoke the conclusion aloud:
"There's still someone in this timeline who remembers what's supposed to happen."
Elena exhaled, like she'd been holding that breath for years.
A heavy silence stretched.
The air in the sealed room felt denser now like every word they spoke was being etched into something permanent.
Then Elena turned to him fully, and asked something unexpected:
"Do you remember Lyra?"
The name hit him like a slow-moving blade.
It didn't cut at first. It echoed.
Something in his spine locked. The lights above flickered.
Lyra.
He hadn't spoken that name since waking up. He'd buried it. Forced it down.
But now… the name was out.
And everything was unraveling.
His breath caught.
"I" His voice cracked.
Elena stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I saw your scan," she said. "When the construct echoed your guilt, her name spiked your Chrono signature. You didn't say it, but it was there."
Arkhan looked at her.
Really looked at her.
"She died," he whispered. "In the Collapse. Protecting me. She shouldn't exist in this cycle."
Elena nodded slowly. "Then you're going to want to see this."
She turned to the side panel and input a code. A small side screen flickered to life.
It showed a blurry security feed old, timestamped, grainy.
But it was unmistakable.
A figure in a grey hood. Pale skin. Dark eyes.
Standing in the hallway of the Temporal Academy.
Yesterday.
Arkhan stepped forward, barely breathing.
"…No," he murmured.
The image flickered, and the figure turned just enough for her face to show.
Even distorted, even after two timelines, he would know her.
Lyra.
Alive.
Somehow.