His hand was open again.
Not clenched. Not ready. Just open—like he'd been holding something important and forgot to tell his body it was gone.
He flexed his fingers. The stiffness
in his palm felt familiar, but not in a good way. That dull sort of ache that said, you let go of something before you were ready. Or maybe too late.
No pain. No relief. Just that half-formed sensation of absence, hanging in the air like a missed word.
Behind him, Hero stood quiet.
Still? Still there?
Nahr didn't turn to check. He could feel him.
Or something shaped like him.
The air back there was heavier. Denser. The way it always got when Hero was holding his breath too long. Or just thinking too hard.
The hallway in front of them looked… wrong.
Not dangerous. Worse.
Too clean.
The lines were too sharp. The lights didn't flicker, and the floor was smooth in a way that made him nervous. Like the trench was pretending to be professional.
He hated that kind of clean. It felt like someone hiding a mess under a perfect face.
"You ever seen this layout before?" he asked, voice low.
Hero didn't answer immediately. Which meant he was deciding if it was worth answering at all.
Finally—"Doesn't feel real."
"Yeah," Nahr muttered. "That's what I was afraid of."
The corridor didn't stretch far, but it felt long. Too much space between footfalls. And the walls… the walls looked like they'd been painted with silence. That heayv, humming silence that gets into your throat.
Galieya shifted against his spine, strap digging at the wrong angle. He reached back, adjusting it. The Core buzzed under his hand.
Just once.
He tried not to read into it.
The HUD blinked in with a soft flicker. Ghost-blue text floated near the corner of his vision, a little too slow.
[THREAD ENGAGED]
[PATH CALIBRATION: DELAYED]
[REASON: UNKNOWN]
"Classic," he muttered. "Love that."
Hero tilted his head slightly. "You talking to yourself or to it?"
Nahr gave a dry laugh. "Doesn't matter. Neither one answers."
They walked.
Lights behind them dimmed, but not all at once. First one. Then two. Then nothing.
Like the trench was holding its breath.
He felt it in his teeth.
The floor changed underfoot—softened slightly. Not spongey, but off. Gave too much under the heel, not enough under the toe.
It reminded him of the old gravity pads they used for training back before the trench taught him to stop trusting soft things.
The air shifted.
WARM.
Chemical.
That burnt-dust smell that always came before a machine fried itself—or someone did.
He didn't say anything. Just pulled his collar up slightly.
Hero noticed.
"You smell it too?"
"Yeah," Nahr said, frowning. "Smells like burned-out nerves and old solder."
"Like a memory you don't wanna bring back."
Nahr snorted. "You'd know."
A shimmer broke the end of the hall.
A curved surface, catching light that wasn't there.
He slowed.
"Wait—"
But he was already moving.
Closer.
The surface wasn't glass. Not fully.
It showed his reflection, but not the one he remembered.
Same armor.
Same scars on the leg.
But the Galieya was missing.
And the face?
Wrong.
Like someone had taken him apart and put him back together a little too neatly.
The eyes were too calm.
Too … optimistic.
That was the worst part.
He stepped closer.
Hero said, "Don't."
Too late.
The reflection moved.
Not mirrored. Real.
It stepped forward—and walked right through him.
No resistance.
But his chest ached like it had just been punched from the inside.
He staggered back a step, then cursed himself under his breath.
Heat rushed to his face. Embarrassment.
Wiped his hand down his thigh. Didn't help.
He hated feeling caught off guard.
Hated more that Hero probably saw it.
"You okay?" Hero asked.
Nahr didn't answer right away.
"Yeah," he finally said. "Just... didn't like his face."
"Yours?"
"Close enough."
He turned.
Now there were three of them.
Figures. Same height. Same gear.
One faced the left hallway. One the right. The third was blocking the path forward, watching him.
They didn't speak. Didn't move.
Just stood there.
"Right," he muttered. "Because it's never just one."
Hero stepped beside him now. Close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
He didn't offer advice.
Didn't need to.
Nahr already knew what he was going to do.
He picked the middle path.
Because forward was always dangerous.
And he was already here.
The hallway tightened.
Not in size.
In feeling.
Like walking into a room with too many pictures of someone else's dead.
The walls had stopped trying to look mechanical. Now they just looked tired.
A sharp buzz rippled through his HUD.
[YOU ARE CARRYING A VERSION OF YOURSELF THAT STILL BELIEVES IN SOMETHING]
He stared at the message.
Then blinked it away.
Belief was dangerous.
Belief Belief got you killed.
A round chamber opened up ahead.
Three doors.
Of course.
Red. Blue. Yellow.
Color-coded like a children's game.
He hated when the trench tried to be symbolic.
Red hummed too loud.
Blue pulsed slower than his heart.
Yellow did nothing.
He stepped toward it anyway.
"Wait," Hero said.
Nahr turned.
"You got a better idea?"
Hero just looked at him.
Didn't answer.
So Nahr stepped through.
The door hissed open.
No sound. Just that weird pressure drop in his ears.
Inside: stairs.
Downward.
He rolled his eyes.
Of course.
He descended quickly at first, but the air thickened with every step.
By the time he reached the platform, sweat had gathered behind his neck seal.
He wiped it away roughly.
Didn't help.
One figure waited at the center.
Kneeling.
Same gear. Same frame.
Same posture he used when he was too tired to fake confidence anymore.
Galieya stood stabbed into the floor in front of it.
Like a tribute.
Or a surrender.
He walked up slowly.
Didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
This version didn't even raise its head.
Just waited.
He crouched.
His knee popped. Loud.
Felt real.
Felt good.
He reached for the hilt.
Paused.
"Sorry," he whispered.
Then pulled.
The kneeling version collapsed.
No sound.
Just absence.
Like a breath released after too many years.
Galieya pulsed in his hand.
He stood. Let the silence breathe.
Hero didn't speak from behind.
Didn't have to.
Nahr walked forward.
Door opened without permission.
He didn't stop.
Not because he knew what was coming.
But because not knowing was starting to feel familiar.
And maybe that was worse.
The next hallway felt different.
It wasn't longer. Not narrower.
But it pressed in.
Every step tightened something in his throat. Like the air here had expectations, and it wanted him to fail them.
He didn't speak.
Neither did Hero.
Which was worse.
The walls shimmered in intervals now. Not like lights flickering—like memory having trouble rendering.
A blink of static here. A shape-almost-remembered there.
He glanced to the side once, and for a split second he swore he saw a bootprint on the wall.
Upside down.
Didn't check again.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
Hero was behind him again. Two paces.
"Define 'that.'"
"The part where I'm supposed to remember something I haven't seen yet."
"Yeah," Hero said. "That part's thick."
Nahr exhaled hard through his nose. Tried to laugh. Failed.
They came to a turn.
Left only.
Which was unusual. The trench didn't do dead ends unless it wanted to humiliate you.
He made the turn.
And stopped.
A room opened before them.
Larger than it had any right to be.
The walls bent outward like a ribcage built for something that hadn't needed to breathe in years.
The floor was layered—black panels like broken glass stitched together with light. Each step crunched even though nothing broke.
In the center stood a chair.
Not a throne.
Not a command rig.
Just... a chair.
Familiar shape.
Worn at the armrests. One leg slightly off. Like it had been moved one too many times without care.
Next to it was a table.
No—pedestal.
Metal. Bare.
And sitting on it—
Nahr took a step forward, then another, slower.
A memory.
Not a hologram. Not a recording.
But it felt like one.
His old training file, burned into surface-light. Scrolling faintly, glitching near the timestamp.
It was from his first solo trench run.
He remembered that mission. Barely.
Remembered getting pulled halfway through. Something about his vitals spiking, the tether glitching.
On the screen, his younger self was shouting.
He couldn't hear the words, but he could see the posture. The stress. The moment he realized he was alone and the system didn't care.
Nahr looked away.
"You can sit, you know," Hero said softly.
"I hate chairs."
Hero made a small sound—half laugh, half agreement.
"Figured."
Still, he stepped forward and lowered himself into the seat.
It creaked.
A high, anxious sound. Too human for metal.
The lights dimmed.
HUD blinked. Then froze.
[SEAL UNLOCKED]
[THREAD ANCHOR BREACHED]
[—you may now listen.]
He didn't ask what that meant.
Didn't want to hear his voice answering back.
The screen flickered once, and the memory bled away.
Replaced by—
Nothing.
No text. No image. Just white.
Not blank.
Empty.
He stood up. Fast.
Too fast.
Legs buzzed. That same sensation he got during Core dismounts, when the body wasn't sure if it was his anymore.
He turned. "That's it?"
Hero nodded. "Looks like it."
Nahr squinted at the pedestal.
"Felt like it should've said more."
"Maybe it already did."
Nahr hated how often Hero made sense.
The room dimmed again.
Floor glowed faintly underfoot. A path.
Back the way they came?
No. Not quite.
The walls were different now.
Shifted. Wider.
And in the distance, down the new corridor—sound.
Soft.
Wet.
Like someone breathing through cracked lungs.
He didn't like that sound.
"We going?" Hero asked.Nahr hesitated.
Then nodded. "Yeah."
"Even though we know it's going to be worse?"
Nahr glanced at him.
"I think that's the point."
They walked.
The corridor folded in tighter behind them.
Each step buzzed through his calves.
He wasn't tired.
But his bones felt like they wanted to be.
They came to a final junction.
Black panels on either side.
A console in the center. Flickering.
It didn't greet them.
Didn't prompt anything.
But a line blinked in jagged yellow at the bottom.
[YOU ARE NO LONGER CARRYING A REFLECTION.]
He stared at it.
Felt... lighter?
No. That wasn't it.
He felt seen.
And it made his skin crawl.
"Let's keep going," he muttered.
Hero didn't argue.
The door ahead cracked open, slow and mechanical.
As if unsure they really wanted it to.
Nahr stepped through first.
And the trench, for once, didn't stop him.