The ticking echoed long after the Weaver vanished, leaving behind the trembling loom and its glowing, unraveling threads. Tylor stepped closer to the strand marked with Amaira's name—its once vibrant glow now flickering like a dying ember.
"She's still here," he whispered, as if saying it aloud could anchor her to the timeline.
Kayla scanned the shifting walls. "This place changes with decisions. Every room's a branch. Every path—an echo." She pulled out Elena's journal, flipping to a page that hadn't been there before. Written in his mother's meticulous hand:"The Weaver guards the origin. But the lie lives in the first fracture."
Tylor clenched his fists. "The red balloon."
That day. The moment Amaira disappeared. The very first time the timeline screamed. That's where it all began.
The cabin's back wall melted like wax, revealing a tunnel carved from woven threads—each vibrating with color and sound. They stepped through it, each thread humming with memories. Laughs. Screams. Whispers of "why?" and "remember."
The tunnel ended in the hallway of their childhood home—but it wasn't 2025.
It was older. Dimmer. A past version caught mid-collapse.
They saw Daniel pacing, younger, frenzied, holding baby Amaira. On the wall, blueprints of the first time machine. Circles around dates. Scribbled names. Elena's crossed out. Tylor's underlined.
"Why are we seeing this?" Amaira whispered, her voice thin.
"Because this," Tylor replied, "is when he made the choice."
Suddenly, the scene froze. A static pulse rippled through the hallway.
From the shadows stepped a second figure—someone they hadn't expected.
Clara Vey.
Not in chains. Not defeated. But younger. Confident.
She stood beside Daniel, handing him a device—a prototype temporal stabilizer.
"You know the fracture's coming," she said. "Save your daughter, or lose them both. Choose."
Daniel's voice broke. "I can't risk Amaira."
Clara pointed toward the timeline chart. "Then erase the boy. Take her away before the balloon. That's your only chance."
Kayla stared at Tylor. "He didn't kidnap her to hurt her… He did it to stop you from losing her."
The truth sank in like ice. Tylor's father hadn't betrayed them—he'd tried to rewrite fate.
And failed.
Suddenly, the hallway flickered again. This time, a new figure emerged from the back.
The Chronarch.
But not in armor. Just a broken man, watching the memory unfold.
He turned to Tylor. "You always blamed me. Blamed him. But the moment you understand why he took her… that's when the Weaver loses."
The timeline began to pulse violently. The memory frayed, bits of light peeling from the walls like paint in a fire.
"We have to go," Kayla shouted.
But Tylor stood rooted, one hand reaching toward his father's frozen image.
"I need to know the full truth."
A final pulse knocked them backward—
—and they awoke back in the loom-room, the Weaver waiting, hands clasped.
"No more illusions," he said. "No more fractures. Only truth."
Tylor stepped forward.
"Then show me where the balloon came from."