I ran like the floor would eat me if I slowed down.
Because it would.
Behind us, the Shepherd didn't sprint. Didn't roar. It simply followed—every step warping the air, turning color to static. I felt the Core inside me pulse, out of sync with time itself.
[Threat Detected: Shepherd-Class Entity]
[Level: ???]
[Engagement Rating: Absolute Avoidance]
No shit.
"Left!" Aiko yelled, yanking my arm.
We took a sharp turn through the crumbling halls of the Endling Vault, deeper into the sub-dungeon beneath Akihabara. The lights above us shattered one by one—each bulb dying as the Shepherd passed beneath it.
"You said this place was sealed," I gasped, ducking under a collapsed pipe. "That thing shouldn't be here!"
"It shouldn't." Aiko's eyes were glowing faintly now. "Which means this wasn't an accident."
I didn't have time to ask what she meant before the floor shifted.
Literally.
Like a living Rubik's cube, the corridor ahead spun sideways, walls sliding, metal groaning like it was in pain.
Aiko skidded to a stop. "It's started."
"What has?"
She pointed up.
Scrawled on the ceiling in red light:
[Trial of the Fifth Veil Initiated.]
[Escape with your soul.]
The dungeon wasn't trying to kill us anymore.
It was trying to teach us.
Warp us.
[System Trigger: Trial Event Registered]
[Category: Reality-Distortion]
[Core Response: Active]
[Whisper Core Synchronization Accelerating… 92%]
"Riven." Aiko turned to me, deadly serious. "This is where the Shepherds hunt. It doesn't just want your body. It wants your memory. Your identity."
"What happens at 100% sync?"
She hesitated.
"…You won't be you anymore."
I laughed—shaky, bitter. "You sure know how to sell a trial."
Then everything froze.
Time cracked.
And a third voice entered the vault.
A child's whisper.
"You weren't supposed to awaken yet."
I turned—slowly.
There, standing upside down on the ceiling like gravity didn't apply, was a child.
A boy.
Silver hair. Pale skin. Eyes like broken moons.
He looked… like me.
But younger.
Wronger.
Aiko paled. "That's not possible…"
The boy tilted his head. Smiled.
And every light died.
"You weren't supposed to awaken yet."
That boy's whisper didn't echo.
It devoured the space around it—like sound itself bowed to him.
He stood upside down on the ceiling like gravity was optional.
Like logic was a suggestion.
Same black hair. Same jawline.
Same eyes.
But I swear to god—
Those weren't mine.
His irises looked like static—like every channel on a broken TV screaming at once.
"You're early, Riven Kael," he said again, smiling like it was funny. "This is… irregular."
I took a step back. "Who the hell are you?"
The boy blinked. "Wrong question."
Then he pointed at Aiko.
And everything shattered.
Not the ground. Not the vault.
My memory.
A thousand images hit me at once—flickers of things I hadn't lived:
Me, kneeling in front of a throne of wires.
Me, whispering orders to monsters that wore human faces.
Aiko, kneeling, calling me Zero-sama.
My brother, screaming as something pulled him into a wall of static.
Then—nothing.
"Stop!" I roared, clutching my head. "What the fuck is this?!"
[Whisper Core Instability: 99.1%]
[Reality Deviation Detected]
[Core Prototype is rejecting the Trial]
The static-child crouched on the ceiling, watching me unravel.
"You're not ready. Not yet. But the veil is thin here."
He leaned forward.
"Would you like to see what's behind it?"
"Back off," Aiko snapped, stepping in front of me. "He's not yours."
"Not yet."
The boy smiled.
And disappeared.
Just like that. Gone.
The vault around us went black—not dark.
Black.
Not absence of light.
Absence of truth.
[Trial Phase I: Complete]
[Initiating Phase II: The Labyrinth of Forgotten Names]
Suddenly, we were standing in a hallway again. Smooth marble. Gothic.
Like an old church redesigned by an AI trying to mimic human sorrow.
Aiko touched my arm. "You still with me?"
My breath was ragged. Cold sweat down my spine. The Whisper Core inside me pulsed again.
[Synchronization: 99.9%]
[Next Threshold Approaching: Catalyst Event Required]
"…Define 'catalyst,'" I muttered.
Before Aiko could answer, a new message bloomed across the air:
[To proceed, sacrifice something real.]
[Name it.]
The message floated before me like a sentence carved into the air, burning with quiet finality. It didn't blink. Didn't flicker.
It waited.
The hallway we stood in—this gothic corridor of fractured memory—felt still. Like a grave that had forgotten the names of its dead.
"What the hell does it mean, sacrifice something real?" I asked, voice dry.
Aiko didn't answer.
She was staring at her hand.
No—through it.
Like she wasn't sure it was real anymore.
I turned to her. "Aiko—"
"I think… this phase isn't about monsters."
"Then what is it?"
She looked up. Eyes dim. "Us."
I didn't get it.
Didn't want to.
The System chimed again—cold, clinical:
[To progress through the Labyrinth of Forgotten Names, you must relinquish a binding: a memory, belief, or identity.]
[Non-compliance will result in Core overload.]
I took a step back. "So what—just give up a part of myself?"
Aiko bit her lip. "That's how the Veils work, Riven. They strip you down. Layer by layer. Until they find your core."
I felt it then—like a pulling in my chest.
The Whisper Core inside me was hungry. Not for mana. Not even survival.
It wanted truth.
Or at least, the cost of it.
One of the white walls nearby shimmered.
A door appeared—seamless, unmarked.
Then another message:
[Your chosen sacrifice will become your key.]
[Name it.]
I clenched my jaw. The static from earlier still rang in my ears—the child's voice, the warped memories. This labyrinth didn't want to test my strength.
It wanted to rewrite me.
"What did you give up last time?" I asked Aiko.
She hesitated.
"I don't remember."
"…What?"
"I mean it." Her voice broke. "I don't know what I gave. That's how it works. You lose it. It's erased. Whatever you name here—it's gone."
My hands curled into fists.
But what could I even sacrifice?
My fear?
My brother?
No. Not him.
Never him.
"Riven," Aiko said softly. "Don't stall. The longer you hesitate, the more the Core syncs without you."
[Whisper Core Synchronization: 99.93%]
[Stabilization Failure Imminent]
The pressure built behind my eyes.
And then—something inside clicked.
Fine.
You want something real?
Take it.
I stepped forward.
And said, "I give up… the memory of my father's voice."
Aiko gasped.
The System accepted.
[Validated: Irreversible Memory Extracted]
[Unlocking Path]
Pain punched through my skull like a spike of ice.
And just like that—I couldn't remember it anymore.
His voice.
Not even a trace.
Not a laugh. Not a whisper. Not the way he said my name.
It was gone.
The door clicked open.
And the corridor beyond it bled light.
Not bright. Not warm.
Just white—blinding and sterile.
We walked through.
---
The next room was different.
Massive. A domed chamber filled with thousands of floating nameplates—each spinning in place like relics in a forgotten museum.
Each one had a name.
Each one was crossed out.
In the center, a monolith rose from the floor—black and breathing, like obsidian made of smoke.
[Labyrinth Phase II: Identify the Forgotten]
Aiko whispered, "It's a test of anchors. If you don't know who you are—if you've given up too much—the maze claims you."
I stared at the monolith.
At the names etched into its sides.
One caught my eye.
Riven Kael.
Struck through in red.
A beat passed.
Then another.
And then—
[Warning: Whisper Core Identity Fragmentation Detected]
[System Stabilizer Offline]
[Imprint Overlap Approaching]
I staggered.
The pain returned. Worse this time.
Like something was rewriting me from the inside out.
And that's when I saw him again.
The child from before.
Standing behind the monolith.
Smiling.
"You gave up his voice," he said, tilting his head. "But not the scream."
I lunged forward.
Aiko grabbed me. "Don't! That's not him—it's your Echo!"
"My what?!"
"The part of you the Whisper Core tries to replace. If you engage it—"
But I already had.
The boy didn't move.
He just watched.
And whispered:
"Soon, you won't know which one of us is real."