Dust. Just hanging there.
Not falling. Not rising either. Kind of just... existing. Like it had forgotten how to be dust.
Some clung to Nahr's boots, like it had nowhere else to to go. Some floated beside his head. He didn't shake it off. He probably should've.
He tried to think about how long they'd been walking. Couldn't tell. Minutes? Hours?
Hero was still beside him.
He hadn't said
anything. But he was walking. Same pace. Same direction. Still next to him. So—Hero. Probably.
Nahr glanced over. Not because he was suspicious—actually, yeah. He was. Just a little.
He hadn't been sure since… when? Since the voices stopped working? Since the corridor before this one?? Since before?
It didn't matter. He looked again.
Hero didn't react. Just kept going.
They hadn't said anything since—
Actually, Nahr couldn't remember. He thought maybe Hero hda said something a layer ago. Or maybe it was just a HUD message pretending to be memory.
That happened a lot lately.
Stillness.
Lots of it.
The corridor was flat. Not just level—flat. Like… unnaturally so. Like someone measured it down to the molecules and shaved off anything daring to form a bump.
It reminded him of hospitals. No idea why. He'd never been in one.
Still—he thought "hospital" and his chest got tight. So maybe that meant something.
No lights overhead. None he could see. But there was a glow anyway. Leaking out from the cracks. Lazy, like the trench didn't feel like trying today.
His Galieya buzzed.
Once. Weak.
Then stopped.
Nahr blinked. Hit the side of it.
Not because he thought that would work. More because—its just what you did, right? Like when a door doesn't open so you push again, harder, like maybe it just forgot to be a door.
Didn't help. Obviously.
Hero was… turning?
No, not quite.
He was facing forward. But still. Something in his posture had changed. Not a lot. But enough that Nahr noticed.
Ahead, the corridor twisted.
No—that wasn't the word. Twisting sounds natural. This wasn't.
It kinked. Bent like a broken elbow. Made his stomach drop a little, like the trench was trying to impersonate bad anatomy.
And there was a shape.
Right there, where the bend began.
Nahr stopped.
Not on purpose. His legs just... paused.
The figure didn't move.
Didn't sway.
Didn't breathe.
He squinted, but that didn't help.
Not a Core. No frame alignment. No weight in the stance. It didn't look right. Not wrong in a glitch way—wrong in the way dreams feel wrong when you wake up and realize none of the windows had glass.
He tried TO say something.
Didn't work.
Text scrolled instead:
OUTPUTBUFFER:DEGRADEDOUTPUTBUFFER:DEGRADED
VERBALREINTEGRATION:DELAYEDVERBALREINTEGRATION:DELAYED
BURDENPINGDETECTED//CALIBRATINGBURDENPINGDETECTED//CALIBRATING
Oh.
Right.
He glanced at Hero. Just to check. Still there.
Still... Hero.
Maybe.
Hero didn't ask for permission. Just walked forward. Not slow. Not fast. The kind of pace you use when you're too tired to run and too numb to hide.
Nahr followed.
The figure ahead stayed still.
Then—moved?
No. Wait.
Not movement. Just... a shift. Like it blinked without eyes. Like its shape forgot what it was for a second, then snapped into a slightly different version of itself.
Nahr's chest went tight. Not his body—his core. Where the memory lives.
That meant something was about to hurt.
Then the HUD went black.
Everything.
No compass. No metrics. No tags. Just—
Gone.
And then—
The corridor disappeared.
Gone.
Not collapsed. Not exploded.
Just ... wiped away. Like someone closed the file on reality and forgot to save.
They stood in open space now. Sort of.
There was dust, still. Always dust.
And in the middle of the nothing—
A pit.
No edges. Just the idea of a hole. Like something had carved absence into the floor and didn't bother explaining what it led to.
Then—
A voice.
Too close to be outside. Too distant to be inside.
It said:
"THIS IS WHERE YOU'D FALL IF YOU COULD STILL AFFORD TO."
That—
That was unfair.
He almost laughed.
Didn't.
But almost.
The pit vanished. No sound. Just gone.
Like a hallucination giving up.
Hero turned toward him. Just a little. Not asking. Just checking.
They both stood there for a second.
Then —
The floor buckled.
Not violently.
Just enough to remind him gravity still existed.
Nahr stumbled.
Hero grabbed his arm. Held him steady.
One second. Two?
Longer than needed.
Then let go.
The HUD flickered back.
INPUTRETURNINGINPUTRETURNING
SPEECHRESTORED(LIMITED)SPEECHRESTORED(LIMITED)
Hero spoke. Quieter than usual.
"We go now."
Nahr nodded. Then asked, "Where?"
Hero didn't answer.
Just pointed.
Down.
Because of course.
It's always down.
The trench doesn't hand out instructions.
Just inclines.
The ramp wasn't steep.
At least—not at first.
But Nahr still had to lean into it, like gravity was trying to remember how to happen and he had to help it figure it out.
Hero stayed quiet.
Of course.
They walked like they were syncing pace, except… not quite. Hero was a half-step ahead now. Not enough to call it a lead. Just enough to notice.
The corridor didn't change. But it felt different .
Same materials, same width, but… off. Like it had been redrawn from memory. Not real memory—bad memory. Someone trying to describe a hallway they only saw once, blurry, while falling.
"Looped again?" Nahr muttered.
Hero didn't answer.
Maybe he didn't hear.
Or maybe he wasn't Hero.
Nahr almost said that out loud, but didn't. It sounded too dramatic in his head, and saying it would've made it real.
He hated that.
The air got thinner.
Not air-air, not like there was oxygen in the trench anyway. Just thinner in the way sound gets when no one wants to be the first to talk.
HUD blinked a little. Just once.
Then twice.
It didn't say anything helpful.
No warning. No marker.
Just a hiccup. Like even the system was unsure of what this part of the trench was for.
Then the corridor widened.
Not b lot.
Just enough that Nahr's shoulders didn't feel like they had to fold in anymore.
Funny how space did that. How just a little more room made you think maybe things were okay.
They weren't.
But the trick worked anyway.
He found himself breathing slower. Not intentionally. It just… happened.
Then they hit a wall.
A literal one.
Stone.
Gray. Too smooth. Like it had been printed in one pass, no texture pass after.
It didn't belong here. The trench didn't do stone.
Except when it did.
Hero stopped. Stayed a few steps back.
Nahr stepped up.
Touched it.
It was warm. Not hot. Not meaningful. Just... warm in the way metal gets when someone stood near it too long.
The HUD flared.
Bright white. Too sudden.
Then:
MEMORYSPOOLENGAGEDMEMORYSPOOLENGAGED
VIEWING:DEEPSTORAGE/TIER0.9/UNSORTEDBURDENVIEWING:DEEPSTORAGE/TIER0.9/UNSORTEDBURDEN
He tried to back up. Didn't work.
Not physically. He just didn't move.
Then—
He wasn't in the corridor anymore.
The world blinked.
He was somewhere else.
Black floor.
Flat. Not reflective, not textured. Just there.
Above him: a ceiling that looked like light, but didn't cast any.
Weird how he could still tell it was a ceiling. Maybe because there was no sky here.
Center of the room: a vault bed.
And—
A Galieya.
A mask .
Someone inside the mask.
His frame jolted.
Not fear. Not recognition.
Just... rejection. Like his own body didn't want to accept the idea of what it was seeing.
Was that him?
No.
Maybe.
He stepped forward.
Or thought he did.
But distance didn't matter here. The space didn't honor walking.
So he blinked, and he was there.
The mask hissed.
Opened.
Inside: a face. Not a face. Just… presence. Him. Or the version of him that remembered differently.
Its voice was soft.
"I didn't do it."
"What?"
"The choice. I didn't make it. The trench did. I just… survived it."
Nahr shook his head
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to."
"Are you me?"
"No. I'm the part you didn't carry."
That made him pause.
"I carry everything."
"Then what's left when you stop?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't want to.
The other him reached for the Galieya beside the bed.
Touched it.
It flickered.
Red.
Then blue.
Then black.
Black spiral.
Nahr stepped back without meaning to.
"That's what it means, isn't it? When it turns black?"
The other-him almost smiled. But it didn't look right. Like the Face forgot how to do it.
"It means it's not yours anymore."
Then the clamps slammed shut.
The mask closed.
And the room—
Gone.
Just blinked out. Like a tab closed.
He was on the floor again.
Real floor. Corridor floor.
Hero crouched beside him. Hand hovering like he'd been about to help, then thought better of it.
Nahr sat up. Slow. Head fogged.
His back felt lighter.
Too light.
He reached.
The Galieya was gone.
He blinked. Blinked again.
Then: "Where is it?"
Hero didn't say anything.
Just pointed.
Up ahead.
There—
In the corridor.
A figure.
Holding it.
Nahr's Galieya.
Same spiral.
Same worn hilt.
Same scarring along the edge.
And the figure—
Same shoulders.
Same frame.
Same left-thigh damage.
Nahr stood. Wobble in the legs. Static in the knees.
Hero didn't move.
The figure didn't move.
Nobody moved.
Until Nahr did.
One step.
Then another.
The figure mirrored him.
Not exactly. Just enough to feel familiar.
Nahr didn't speak.
Neither did it.
He lunged.
Too fast. It dodged. Effortless.
Then it threw the Galieya.
Up. Spinning.
Twice.
He reached—
Caught it.
Pain flared in his palm. Not heat. Just... ownership.
It burned.
Then calmed.
Settled.
The veins didn't glow.
They pulsed.
Like a wound.
The figure knelt.
No fight.
No tension.
It knelt. Pressed its face—if that's what it had—against the ground.
And said:
"You still think you're the only one who survived?"
Then it dissolved.
Not into smoke.
Not into light.
Into... grain.
Like dust, but heavier.
Nahr stared at the spot for a while.
Then turned to Hero.
Hero nodded. Just once.
Then started walking again.
Nahr followed.
Because what else was he supposed to do?
The corridor narrowed.
Slowly. Like it didn't want to scare them. Like it was trying to act casual about it.
One meter.
Then less.
Nahr kept his arms close. He wasn't claustrophobic—he didn't think—but this didn't feel like space anymore. It felt like a question with no good answers.
Hero didn't slow down.
He never did.
Then—open.
Just like that.
Like the trench flipped a page.
A platform. Smooth. Pale. No cracks. No dust. Not even trench texture—this was too clean. The kind of clean that made Nahr feel dirty just standing in it.
In the middle: a chair.
Not a machine. Not a vault. Just... a chair.
That felt wrong somehow.
And in front of it—a screen. Small. Bright enough to pulse but not to glow.
Three words:
THISISITTHISISIT
Nahr didn't move. Not yet.
Hero did.
But only to the edge.
He didn't cross into the platform.
Didn't look at the screen.
Just stood there.
Nahr asked, "I have to sit in it, don't I?"
Hero shrugged. "You don't have to."
"Yeah, I do."
"You will anyway."
"Yeah."
The silence stretched. Not tense. Just... wide.
Nahr stepped forward. One boot. Then the other. Felt like walking into a memory. The air didn't change. The pressure didn't shift. But something in his shoulders got heavier.
The chair didn't do anything.
No lights. No restraints. No sound.
It didn't need to.
It just waited.
He stood in front of it longer than he meant to. Thought about asking something. Didn't know what.
He sat.
The screen blinked.
TRANSFERINITIATEDTRANSFERINITIATED
BURDENDUAL−HOST:ACCEPTEDBURDENDUAL−HOST:ACCEPTED
NEXTDESCENT:VOLUNTARYNEXTDESCENT:VOLUNTARY
Voluntary.
That word stuck. It shouldn't have. He was already here. What did choice mean now?
He looked back.
Hero had already turned away.
"See you," Nahr said.
Hero paused. Didn't turn around.
"Eventually."
Then the floor cracked.
Not loud.
Only beneath the chair.
And—
It dropped.
Not falling. No wind. No lurch. Just... movement without motion.
Like someone erased the layer beneath and the chair was filling the space left behind.
He didn't resist.
Didn't grip anything.
Just sat.
Because falling means gravity.
And burden—
Burden chooses its own pace.
COHORTSTATUS:ACTIVEBURDENLEVEL:77.9DESCENTCONFIRMEDCOHORTSTATUS:ACTIVEBURDENLEVEL:77.9DESCENTCONFIRMEDIt wasn't dark.
That was the worst part.
It should've been.
There was no light source. No flickering HUD. But he could still see. Just enough to know he shouldn't be seeing anything.
There were no walls.
No tunnel.
Just the idea of direction.
The chair was gone now. Or maybe still beneath him, but not part of this.
He stood.
Still weight on his shoulders.
Still pressure in his chest.
Galieya: still there.
Pulse: still there.
Everything else: uncertain.
The floor—if it could be called that—was thin.
Like someone had sketched stone and forgot to color it in.
Each step made a sound, but not a real one.
More like a suggestion of friction. Like the trench wanted him to believe he still existed.
Ahead, something shifted.
Not an object. Just space.
A gentle pressure. Like breath. But sideways.
He walked into it.
Not because he wanted to. Not because it made sense.
Just because stillness was worse.
Inside, everything narrowed.
Not physically.
More like his perception folded. Shrunk. Turned inward. Like the trench was taking his mind, flattening it, seeing what would crack first.
Then—
A voice.
Not Hero.
Not Nahr.
But from him. Deep. Slow.
"You left him."
Nahr froze.
"That's not fair."
"It's not about fair. It's about true."
"I didn't."
"You did. Or you wouldn't be this far."
He wanted to argue.
He didn't.
Because it was true.
Because it didn't matter.
Because arguing would've meant stopping.
And the trench loved arguments.
The path split.
Not left or right.
Just—split.
Two directions made of nothing. One hummed. One sighed.
He chose the sigh.
It sounded tired.
So was he.
—
Then the light shifted.
Fast.
_ _
Too fast.
And memory hit.
Maldrin.
Just a glimpse.
Sitting again. Bent forward. Elbows on knees. That crooked-laugh he did when the truth wasn't safe to say out loud.
"You're getting close," Maldrin said.
"You're not real."
"Never was."
"I absorbed you."
"Wrong tense."
He wanted to say something dumb.
Didn't.
Maldrin was already gone.
Just a shimmer left.
No drama. No echo.
Just absence you only notice too late.
The corridor ended.
Not collapsed. Not blocked.
Just stopped existing.
Ahead: a horizon with no curve.
He stepped to the edge.
No slope. No ladder. No signs.
Just—below.
No sound.
No prompt.
No path.
He reached back, hand brushing the Galieya.
Not to draw.
Just to feel.
It pulsed once.
soft.
Almost like it still believed in him.
He stepped forward.
Not off.
Not down.
Just—forward.
And the floor moved to meet him.
Or pretended to.
Or maybe he was falling after all.
Didn't ask.
Didn't care.
Because wherever he was headed—
It wasn't back.