The ground shuddered beneath their feet as the Archivists descended, their robes trailing smoke that hissed with forgotten moments. Within the protective dome of spiral light, time pulsed erratically—like a heartbeat under strain.
Tylor held the key tight, its glow flickering with uncertainty. "The memory chamber," he said. "We have to get to it before they breach the dome."
Kayla nodded, hands trembling as she focused. "I can slow them down. Not stop them… but bend their sense of now."
Beside her, Amaira was eerily calm. She stared up at the Archivists as though she recognized them, like shadows from a dream. "They tried to unmake my dreams before," she whispered. "But this place remembers me."
With a shimmer of thought, the roots of the glowing tree parted, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward into pure light. Tylor led the way, followed by Amaira, Kayla, and Daniel's echo—its form growing dimmer with every step.
The air grew warm below, humming with layered whispers—memories stitched into the walls. As they reached the chamber's heart, the whispers coalesced into a glowing orb suspended over a crystalline pedestal.
Daniel's echo stepped forward, hand outstretched. "This… is the memory. The truth of why I took Amaira."
Tylor's breath hitched as the orb opened like a blooming flower, releasing a vision into the chamber.
Elena, alive, stood beside Daniel in a lab. They argued—but not with anger. With fear.
"Elena," Daniel said, "Amaira isn't just our daughter. She's the knot. If the Archivists find her—"
"They already know," Elena interrupted. "I ran simulations. Every timeline where she grows up here, they come. The only safe variable is her absence."
Tylor staggered back. "They… planned to hide her from the moment she was born."
The vision shifted. A crib. The red balloon drifting past the window. Daniel lifting Amaira and stepping into the time rift with tears on his face.
"I had to," Daniel's echo said quietly. "I wanted to tell you every day after. But the timelines—your grief—it kept us on course."
Kayla turned to Tylor. "That's why your dreams never found her. She was hidden deeper than time. Buried in the Spiral's blind spot."
Above them, the dome cracked—one of the Archivists had broken through, its ink-like fingers pushing through the light.
Daniel's echo began to fade rapidly. "Take the memory. It will protect her. You're not just her brother anymore, Tylor. You're her guardian of time."
The echo vanished as the orb dimmed and embedded itself in Amaira's chest, glowing through her skin like a small, golden star.
The chamber trembled.
"We have to go," Tylor said, lifting Amaira as the spiral stairs reformed upward.
They emerged to a war above. The Archivists swirled like storms, but Kayla, focused and fierce, pulled time taut around them—buying seconds where none should exist.
Then, from the broken sky, a final figure descended.
Taller. Grayer. Clad in circuitry and cloth—a mix of machine and myth.
Its voice echoed without sound: "Return the Knot. Or unravel."
Amaira stepped forward, her star-like memory pulsing.
Tylor held her back. "Not yet. We still don't know what you are."
The figure tilted its head. "Then allow me to show you."
Time folded in on itself.
And they vanished—together.