—
Outside, the skies over Tokyo stilled.
For the first time in weeks, the Spiral distortions faded. No flickering buildings. No memory bleed. People paused, confused—feeling lighter without knowing why.
Ayame and Kazuki emerged from the ruins of the Archive, coughing from dust and debris.
"Is he…?" Kazuki asked.
Before Ayame could answer, a pulse surged from beneath them—gentle, but ancient.
And then he rose.
Hoshiro.
Clothes scorched, face cut, eyes *clear*. No mask. No twin.
Just him.
But something was different.
He didn't look tired anymore.
He looked *whole*.
—
"You did it," Ayame whispered.
"No," Hoshiro said softly. "*We* did. But the Spiral left something behind."
He opened his hand.
A shard of the Spiral core—glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"It's no longer trying to consume," he said. "It's… waiting."
Kazuki frowned. "Waiting for what?"
Hoshiro looked to the horizon, where reality still trembled at the edges.
"For a choice."
—
That night, as Tokyo slept, Hoshiro sat alone at the top of Hikari Tower. The Spiral shard hovered before him.
It didn't speak.
It offered.
A path forward.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a god.
But as a *bridge*.
—
Hoshiro reached for it.
—