—
The chamber inside Mt. Kuroi wasn't made of stone—it was memory turned solid.
Every wall shimmered with images: Spiral cities, fallen timelines, reborn worlds… and at the heart, a golden throne that no one had ever sat on.
Until now.
—
Hoshiro stepped forward, drawn by something older than instinct.
The child whispered, "It's not for power. It's for *understanding.* Sit, and you'll see."
He sat.
The world *opened*.
—
He wasn't in his body anymore.
He was *every version* of himself—Spiral soldier, rebel, twin, destroyer, guardian. He saw the world through infinite eyes, felt the weight of every decision.
The Spiral hadn't been evil.
It had been afraid.
Afraid of choice. Of chaos. Of *truth.*
And now it was gone.
—
Ayame reached out. "Hoshiro?"
He opened his eyes, glowing faintly.
"I remember everything. The resets. The reboots. The failed salvations."
Kazuki swallowed. "So what now?"
Hoshiro stood.
"Now… we write the future without fear."
—