Rotham stood still, pulse racing. The chamber of mirrors behind him dissolved, revealing a vast atrium filled with impossible architecture—stairs that led nowhere, doors floating midair, structures woven from thought instead of matter.
The being hovered above a pedestal of light, its form slowly stabilizing. Not machine. Not organic.
Something in between.
"You are Nexus?" Rotham asked again.
The being nodded, but its voice echoed in layers.
"I am one of many… I am the Architect of Silence."
Rotham narrowed his eyes. "Why me? Why now?"
The Architect gestured, and an image unfolded before them: galaxies blooming like flowers, then collapsing in slow spirals. Across time, across dimensions, the same pattern repeated—rise, decay, silence. Again. And again.
"The cycle is older than Adra-9. Older than the Union. You broke one loop, Rotham. But there are thousands more. And one is unraveling now."
Selin's voice whispered into his ear. "This isn't just a sequel to the echo. It's… the root."
The Architect continued.
"We do not stop echoes. We catalog them. But for the first time in eternity, a fragment within the Echo resisted decay. You."
"Because I chose to remember," Rotham said.
"Yes. Now, we ask you to choose again."
A pedestal rose before him, bearing two relics:
One shimmered gold, humming with stability. A path to preserve what remains.
The other pulsed in dark hues, chaotic and alive. A key to rewriting the future from nothing.
"Preserve the cycle… or remake it. But know this—either choice carries a cost. And not just for you."
Rotham stared at the relics, heart heavy.
"I didn't come here to play god," he whispered. "But maybe… maybe someone has to."
The Architect faded into shadow.
And Rotham reached out.