The chamber swallowed sound the moment we stepped inside.
Our boots crossed the threshold, and the echo of our footsteps dulled as if the air itself had decided to listen instead of answer. The circular dais at the center of the chamber sat slightly elevated, carved from darker stone than the surrounding floor, its edges smoothed by countless hands—or perhaps knees. The carvings here were denser, layered so tightly they bled into one another, prayers stacked atop prayers until meaning collapsed into pattern.
And there, hovering just above the dais, was the core.
It wasn't large. Not the way I'd expected something this oppressive to be. About the size of a human heart, suspended in midair by nothing visible, it pulsed with a dull, golden-red glow. Veins of light ran across its surface like cracks in cooling metal, each pulse accompanied by a faint vibration that thrummed through my teeth and into my skull.
With every beat, the surrounding carvings shimmered, as if responding.
Mira sucked in a quiet breath. "That's… it?"
Theo didn't answer. His jaw was tight, eyes locked on the thing like it might suddenly lunge at us.
This Core was... a heart.
Even just looking at it made my chest feel crowded, like I'd stepped into a room already full of voices that hadn't noticed me yet.
[Careful,] Aetherion warned, subdued for once.
[Don't waste your time and get it over with as quickly as possible.]
All of a sudden, a memory surfaced.
---
Chief Silva stood at the head of the briefing room, arms folded, the morning light catching her Green eyes. The table between us held three thin paper talismans, each inscribed with Bureau seals and layered sigils, edges reinforced with a faint metallic thread.
"This anomalies cores will be subdued with the help of these Talismans." she'd said evenly. "They dull all effects within the radius of an Anomalies Core. Invented recently by the Research department."
She'd tapped the table once. "They have to be placed cleanly, or else their effects won't kick in properly."
Her gaze had swept over us, sharp and unyielding.
"Three talismans atleast. Three anchors. You place them simultaneously. Equidistant around the core. No hesitation. No improvising."
Theo had raised a hand. "And if we can't place all three simultaneously?"
Silva's drank from her coffee before answering "Then its pointless. You retreat."
---
Back in the chamber, the memory faded like mist burned away by heat.
The core pulsed again.
I realized my hand had drifted toward my chest, fingers curling unconsciously, as if mirroring its rhythm. I forced them back to my side.
Mira stepped closer to the dais, slow and deliberate. "It feels like a chapel," she murmured. "Like we're intruding."
"No," Theo said quietly, moving to her other side. "Like we're expected."
The three of us stopped just short of the dais, forming a loose triangle without meaning to. The talismans rested heavy in my pocket, their presence suddenly very real.
The beat of the floating Heart slowed.
Not weaker, but gentler.
Theo barely noticed the change at first. His boots still echoed against stone, the chamber still loomed around him, Mira and Yuwon just ahead—
Then the sound dulled.
Like cotton pressed into his ears.
The cold of the underground receded, replaced by warmth that settled into his bones without asking permission. The lantern light softened, stretched—
And the stone beneath his feet turned to polished wood.
Theo stopped walking.
The smell hit him next. Old paper. Tea leaves. A faint trace of oil and ink. The kind of smell you only noticed when you weren't braced for danger.
He turned slowly.
Tall windows framed a quiet street bathed in morning light. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books—real ones, dog-eared and annotated, spines cracked from use. A familiar room, reconstructed with loving precision.
Too precise.
Theo's breath caught.
"No," he whispered.
A kettle whistled somewhere behind him.
He didn't want to turn.
He did anyway.
They stood by the small table near the window, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back loosely the way Theo remembered. Older, just a little. Softer around the eyes. Alive in a way memory never allowed itself to be.
"You're late," they said, smiling—not teasing, not accusing. Just… happy to see him. "I thought you'd forgotten."
Theo's throat closed.
"That's not funny," he managed.
They laughed quietly. "You always say that."
The room felt right. No static in his head. No pressure in his chest. The endless hum of responsibility—the thing that never shut up—was gone.
He didn't realize how much it weighed until it wasn't there.
"Sit," they said, pulling out a chair. "You look exhausted."
Theo stared at the chair.
Every instinct screamed anomaly. Trap. Mind game.
But instincts were loud. Tiring. They demanded things.
This place didn't.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
The chair slid smoothly beneath him as he sat. The wood was warm. Solid.
Real.
"You don't have to be strong here," they said gently, pouring tea. "No missions. No reports. No people watching your back because they're afraid you'll burn yourself out."
Theo laughed under his breath. "That's a lot of assumptions."
"Are they?" They met his eyes. "You never stop. Even when you're asleep, you're halfway ready to jump up and fix something."
The words slipped past his defenses like they'd always belonged there.
"I don't mind," Theo said automatically.
They tilted their head. "You do."
Silence stretched—not tense, just… patient.
Theo's shoulders sagged before he realized they were tight. His hand shook as he lifted the cup, then steadied. The tea tasted perfect.
Too perfect.
"What about the others?" he asked quietly. "They're waiting for me."
"They'll be fine," they replied without hesitation. "They always are."
Theo didn't argue.
He wanted that to be true.
The floating Heart pulsed somewhere far away, slow and approving.
"Stay," they said. "Just for today."
Theo closed his eyes.
Just for today.
That was always how it started.
The thought of standing back up— of walking away from this warmth, this rest, felt unbearable.
Like dragging himself out of deep water only to drown again on purpose.
"I'm tired," Theo admitted softly, a sad, crooked smile tugging at his lips. The words felt lighter once spoken, as if the room itself had been waiting to hear them.
"I know."
The reply came without judgment. Without urgency. It wasn't reassurance so much as recognition— someone finally acknowledging what he had carried without complaint for far too long.
The room leaned in around him, subtle and heavy in a way that felt almost affectionate. The shelves blurred at their edges, the neat rows of books smearing slightly as carved symbols bled into the spines, ink reshaping itself into unfamiliar prayers and half-remembered scripture. The walls breathed once, slow, deep— then settled.
Theo didn't care.
The pressure in his head tightened, but not sharply. It was gentle. Patient. Like hands guiding him back into a familiar rhythm. The same thoughts looped again and again, never raised to a shout, never forced.
You've done enough.
You deserve this.
They don't need you.
Each phrase landed softly, sinking into the spaces where doubt usually lived. Where guilt should have pushed back, there was only quiet agreement.
Theo's grip— on the moment, on himself— loosened.
He lifted the cup again and took another sip of the tea. Warmth spread through his chest, deep and steady, and for the first time he realized how long he'd been holding his breath.
He exhaled.
Really exhaled.
There was no danger here.
No mission waiting to go wrong.
No core pulsing somewhere just out of sight.
No responsibility hanging over his head like a blade.
His life wasn't in danger here.
The thought settled comfortably, like a blanket pulled up around his shoulders.
So why leave?
The idea felt absurd the longer he considered it. Why would anyone willingly abandon a safe haven? Why step back into exhaustion, into fear, into a world that only ever asked for more?
No.
That would be stupid.
Theo let his shoulders relax. The chair beneath him felt solid, supportive, as if it had been shaped precisely for this moment. The room grew quieter, sound dampening until even his own heartbeat felt distant.
Outside the window, the light never shifted.
Time didn't move forward here.
And for the first time in a very long while, Theo allowed himself to stop moving too.