Jay didn't realize he was shaking until Reina caught his wrist—
the same wrist she held during the first time fracture.
The archive lights dimmed around them as if reacting to his breathing.
Every glowing panel flickered softly, like the entire underground vault was exhaling with him.
"Jay," Reina whispered, "talk to me."
He couldn't.
Words gathered in his throat but wouldn't come out.
His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out everything except that single carved portrait staring back at him.
His face.
His eyes.
His expression carved into history.
He stepped backward in a daze, bumping into one of the crystalized data walls. It pulsed faintly at the touch, reacting to him the way a heartbeat reacts to adrenaline.
Reina gently moved between him and the projected image.
"Jay," she murmured, "look at me. Not the hologram—me."
Jay tried to focus, but everything blurred—
Reina's face, the archive, even the air felt too thick.
He pressed a hand to his forehead.
"I… I'm not him. I'm not. I'm just—"
"Jay Arkwell," Reina said firmly.
"Exactly," Jay whispered hoarsely. "Jay Arkwell. A student. A normal guy. I don't know why these things are happening. I didn't ask for any of this."
The hologram behind them flickered again:
> THE RETURN OF THE LISTENER.
Jay flinched.
Reina stepped closer.
"Forget the messages. Forget the portrait. Right now, it's just you and me."
Her tone softened.
"You can breathe, Jay. You're allowed to."
Jay inhaled shakily.
Exhaled.
For a moment, the world steadied.
But then—
the lights dimmed again.
And the archive began to hum.
Low.
Resonant.
Alive.
Reina's eyes widened.
"What is that…?"
Jay swallowed.
"I think… I triggered something."
The humming deepened, vibrating through the floor.
Panels lit up one by one, each displaying a word, all in elegant script:
LISTENER.
RETURN.
TIME.
RECLAIM.
REMEMBER.
Reina grabbed his arm.
"Jay—we need to leave. Now."
Jay nodded numbly.
But he couldn't move.
His feet were rooted—not physically, but emotionally—as if the very air wanted him to understand something he was running from.
A whisper echoed faintly in the chamber.
Not a voice from the archive.
Not a glitch.
A memory.
A voice he had heard only in dreams.
"When time calls your name, you must answer."
Jay's breath caught.
He staggered backward.
Reina steadied him again, voice shaking but strong.
"Jay. Please. Don't listen to it."
He closed his eyes.
"I don't want this," he whispered. "I don't want to be someone else. I don't want the past to decide who I am."
Reina's expression softened, and she slowly placed both her hands on his shoulders.
"That's not how reincarnation works," she said quietly. "Even if you were Parikshit before… you're Jay now. And you get to choose what that means."
Jay opened his eyes.
For the first time since stepping into the archive, he truly looked at her.
Her silver hair catching the dim light.
Her eyes steady despite the chaos around them.
Her hands warm on his shoulders.
Something inside him—tangled, frightened, unraveling—softened just enough.
Reina exhaled.
"You're not him. Not exactly. Maybe you have echoes, memories, whatever. But you're not the same person carved on that wall."
Jay swallowed.
His voice trembled.
"Then why does the world… feel like it's waiting for me?"
Reina stepped closer.
"Maybe because you're the only one who can hear it."
The humming grew louder, like a heartbeat syncing with his own.
Jay closed his eyes again.
He didn't want to remember.
He didn't want to claim a throne he never asked for.
He didn't want to be a leader, a symbol, a missing king.
He just wanted to breathe.
But the world—the clocks, the fractures, the dreams—
they weren't asking what he wanted.
They were declaring what he was:
The Listener.
The one time responds to.
The name carved into forgotten years.
Reina squeezed his hand, grounding him.
"You don't have to face the world alone," she said softly.
Jay let out a slow, painful breath.
"Reina… I'm scared."
"I know," she whispered.
And for a moment—
just a brief, fragile moment—
everything went still.
The archive fell silent.
The humming stopped.
The glowing panels dimmed.
It was as if the world had paused again—
but this time, not in warning.
In acknowledgment.
The vault recognized something.
Not Parikshit.
Not the ancient Listener King.
It recognized Jay.
His fear.
His confusion.
His humanity.
The system voice flickered back to life, softer than before:
> Temporal Signature Stabilizing.
Listener Identity… Uncertain.
Awaiting next cycle.
Reina exhaled shakily.
"Is that good or bad?"
Jay managed a weak smile.
"Maybe… it means I'm not defined yet."
Reina nodded.
"Good," she said. "Then let's define you ourselves."
Jay swallowed, his heartbeat finally slowing.
For the first time since the fractures began, he didn't feel like he was drowning.
He felt like he was on the edge of something—
not death, not destiny—
identity.
And he wasn't facing it alone.