The room darkened, but the loom glowed brighter—its center thread now red, pulsing in sync with Tylor's heartbeat. The Weaver extended a long, pale hand, touching the strand. It shimmered, twisted, and unraveled into a doorway made of braided light.
"This is your origin fracture," he said. "The one hidden even from time."
Tylor stepped through, Kayla and Amaira close behind. The world bent around them, the ground reforming beneath their feet as they emerged into the park—that park. The wind was still. The air, brittle. A red balloon floated above the sandbox, its ribbon curled like a question mark.
But something was wrong.
Tylor turned slowly. The trees were too still. The sun was stuck mid-rise. Everything was suspended—trapped in a snapshot.
Kayla pointed. "Look. Two figures."
Near the sandbox stood a man and a woman. One was Daniel—Tylor's father—his face gaunt, torn between urgency and regret. The other… Tylor gasped.
It was Elena.
His mother.
Not dead. Not gone. Alive.
She was holding a device—sleek, humming with fracture energy—and gesturing at the balloon. Amaira sat nearby, playing, oblivious.
"They weren't trying to stop the fracture," Kayla whispered. "They were trying to cause it."
The realization struck hard: the red balloon wasn't an accident. It was bait. A catalyst. A designed spark.
Tylor lunged toward them—but the Weaver's voice echoed like thunder.
"Touch the past, and you become it."
He stopped, frozen in place. Elena turned, as if sensing him across time, her eyes glassy with burden.
"I'm sorry, Tylor," she murmured. "This was the only way to keep her safe—from him."
From behind a tree emerged a third figure. Not Daniel. Not Clara.
But Dr. Elias Hale—the Architect himself.
He wore a white coat, untouched by dust or war. Calm. Focused.
"She's a conduit," he said coldly. "Her presence will rupture the timeline unless we bind her with a fracture anchor. The balloon draws her to the spike. Once she crosses, the echo loop begins."
Elena hesitated. "But she's just a child…"
"You asked how to protect her," Hale replied. "This is how."
A crack split the air.
A glowing fracture opened beside the sandbox. Amaira stood, mesmerized by the balloon's drift toward it.
Tylor cried out. "No—don't let her—!"
But the past played on, indifferent.
Daniel reached for Amaira. Elena grabbed his arm. Hale pushed them both aside, stepping toward the girl.
That's when the fracture surged—and swallowed her.
The memory collapsed into smoke.
Back in the loom-room, the thread snapped.
Tylor sank to his knees.
"She didn't vanish," he whispered. "She was sacrificed. My mother helped build the fracture that took her."
The Weaver nodded solemnly. "And now you see—redemption was never about closing rifts. It was about understanding why they were opened."
Tylor rose slowly, fire in his eyes.
"Then I'm done chasing echoes. I'm going to the source."
The loom shifted once more, revealing a staircase of crystal threads spiraling downward.
Kayla touched his shoulder. "What's down there?"
Tylor stared into the void.
"The fracture before the first."