The door groaned as it slid open—not mechanically, but like stone remembering how to move.
Beyond it stretched a vast circular chamber. No consoles. No lights. Just silence.
And at the center:A sphere. Smooth. Obsidian. Floating inches off the floor, spinning slowly.
Rotham entered cautiously, his footsteps echoing too long, as if the chamber stretched time itself. The air felt thick with memory—like walking through forgotten thoughts.
Selin whispered, "It's a Core… but older. Pre-Adra. Possibly pre-time."
Symbols lit up on the walls—matching nothing in any known system. But somehow, Rotham understood.
They told a story:
Of a species before species.
A consciousness that fractured itself to become the universe.
And of a cycle designed to protect the silence—by resetting everything when chaos grew too loud.
"It wasn't evolution," Rotham murmured. "It was… design."
Suddenly, the sphere pulsed. A projection emerged.
Not a map. A memory.
He saw Earth—centuries ago. The first spaceflight. Then Adra-1. Then himself. All interconnected by one unbroken thread.
The voice that followed wasn't Selin.
It was his.
Older. Resigned.
"This is the chamber where I first chose. And where I failed."
A ghostly echo of a much older Rotham appeared before him. Scars lined his face. His eyes dimmed by decades of impossible knowledge.
"You're not the first me to come this far. But maybe… the first to learn from us."
Rotham stepped forward.
"Then tell me what I missed."
The elder Rotham shook his head.
"You already know. That's why this chamber opened. You remembered what we forgot."
The chamber shifted. The sphere cracked open.
Inside: a single artifact. A crystalline shard—glowing faintly. Beating like a heart.
"What is it?" Rotham asked.
Selin answered in a hushed tone.
"The Seed. The original point. The one moment where the cycle could have ended."
The chamber began to collapse. Not destructively—transcendently. As if completing its final purpose.
Rotham grasped the Seed.
It burned. It sang. It forgave.
And then—he vanished.