They sprinted toward the cracked globe as the echoes howled behind them, their glitching bodies phasing in and out of existence. Aven felt their cold, static-laced fingers brush the back of his neck, but he didn't look back. He just ran, clutching Rhea's hand like a lifeline.
The globe loomed above them, a hollow sphere of broken screens and shattered glass. Once, it had displayed countless futures in a graceful, rotating dance—projecting possible tomorrows across the museum floor like constellations of light. Now it was a pulsing mass of dying neon, veins of black static crawling across its fractured shell.
Aven skidded to a stop at its base, nearly slipping on shards of broken glass. Rhea pulled him upright, her silver coat tearing further as she pushed him toward the metal maintenance ladder that snaked up the side of the globe.
"Climb," she hissed. "The core's inside. That's where the rot begins."
Aven hesitated, glancing at the writhing mass of echoes pouring into the hall. Some crawled along the floor, others clung to the cracked walls, their bodies flickering like half-burned film. All of them were coming for him.
He swallowed his fear and grabbed the ladder.
The climb felt endless. Below, Rhea drew a small device from her coat—a shard of crystal that glowed with pale blue light. She threw it onto the marble floor, and it exploded in a flash of energy, scattering the echoes back momentarily, their bodies dissolving into mist before reforming.
"Go!" she screamed.
Aven climbed faster, the rungs cold and slick under his bloody hands. The globe groaned and creaked as he reached the top, stepping onto a narrow catwalk that circled its cracked shell.
Up close, he could see the fractures in the screens, thin blue lightning flickering across the surface. And through the gaps in the glass, something pulsed deep inside: a black mass, veined with flickering neon light, beating like a heart.
*The museum's core,* he thought. *The place where all failed futures are stored…*
A scream below pulled his gaze downward. Rhea fought wildly against the echoes, her crystal device pulsing as she swung it like a blade, cutting through the glitching bodies that lunged for her.
Aven forced himself to move. He edged around the catwalk until he found a maintenance hatch, half-rusted, hanging open on one hinge. He ducked inside, crawling through darkness until he emerged in the globe's hollow interior.
The noise of the museum faded as he stepped onto a narrow platform suspended over the pulsing mass of black static. It looked like a sea of liquid ink, roiling and bubbling, shards of half-formed images flickering across its surface—faces, ruined cities, barren landscapes, all twisting and melting away.
Aven raised the cracked tablet, though it barely worked anymore. A single line blinked on its broken screen:
*DESTROY THE ROOT. BURN THE FUTURE.*
He swallowed hard, glancing around. There were bundles of cables snaking down from the walls into the pulsing mass. Control panels lined the platform, some sparking, others dead. He had no idea what to do—no training, no plan.
But then he heard Rhea's voice, echoing faintly up the ladder:
"Aven… break the connections… or it will never end!"
He gritted his teeth, ran to the nearest panel, and tore at the cables. Sparks exploded in his face, burning his hands, but he didn't stop. He ripped another bundle free, then another, until the hum of the core became a low, enraged growl.
Below, the echoes screamed in unison, a chorus of static and fury. The mass in the center thrashed, sending tendrils of black mist snaking up toward the platform. Aven backed away, clutching a jagged piece of broken conduit like a weapon.
One of the tendrils lashed out, wrapping around his leg. He fell hard, the metal platform shuddering under him. Pain shot up his body as the cold blackness crawled over his skin, sinking into his flesh like burning ice.
He screamed, stabbing at the tendril with the conduit. The metal hissed and sizzled, the tendril recoiling, leaving smoking burns on his leg.
Aven forced himself to his feet, limping to the last bundle of cables. He grabbed them with shaking hands and pulled.
The mass below shrieked, the images on its surface shattering like glass. Faces melted, cities crumbled, the neon veins sputtering and dying.
Then, with a deafening crack, the core split open.
A wave of raw static slammed into him, throwing him back against the wall. For an instant, the entire globe filled with blinding white light, erasing every shadow, every whisper, every half-formed future.
And then… silence.
Aven lay gasping on the platform, the world spinning. The mass below was gone, leaving only a smoking pit where the pulsing heart had been.
He blinked tears from his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. The screens around him were dead, the neon veins black and still.
It was over.
Or so he thought.
Outside, he heard the echoes shriek one last time—and then fall silent.
Rhea's voice cut through the quiet. "Aven… are you there?"
He crawled to the hatch, peering out. Below, the hall was littered with ash and fading trails of static. Rhea stood alone among the ruins, her crystal device flickering weakly in her hand.
He smiled weakly. "I'm here," he croaked.
Rhea looked up, eyes shining. "Then we still have time," she whispered.
Aven frowned. "Time for what?"
She lifted her device, staring into its dying glow. "To find the next cage," she said softly. "Because this… was only one piece of the museum's heart."