The chamber was quiet. Not silent—quiet in the way a graveyard is. Reverent. Expectant.
Evelyne stepped through the arched doors of the Echo Chamber, her boots clicking softly against crystalized floors. The walls shimmered with flickering light, threads of memory suspended like glass veins.
Alaira followed close behind, her fingers resting near the hilt of her blade—not out of fear, but readiness. These were not foes one could strike, yet the instinct to protect Evelyne pulsed stronger than ever.
In the center of the chamber floated a figure. Not formed of flesh, but of starlight and shadow—a ghost of possibility.
At first, it didn't speak. It simply watched her.
Evelyne inhaled. "Are you Timewrought?"
The figure blinked. Then, with a voice that matched hers—older, crueler, cracked with bitterness—it answered.
"I was Evelyne before you rewrote me."
Alaira stiffened. Evelyne didn't look away.
"What do you mean?"
"You think you saved this world," the shade said, its voice like frost crawling over glass. "But in doing so, you damned a thousand others. I was one of them."
The air pulsed. Memory bled through the chamber—images of a throne stained with blood, an empire ruled with an iron hand. A version of Evelyne who had embraced the role of villainess not as curse, but as destiny.
Alaira's hand found Evelyne's. Her grip was firm, grounding.
"You're not her," Alaira whispered. "You never were."
But the shade turned to Alaira, and smiled.
"And yet, in my world, I loved you too."
The words hit like a blade between the ribs.
Alaira looked away—just for a breath. Evelyne didn't.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"Not revenge," the shade said. "Just... to be remembered. To be mourned. We—the Timewrought—are the price of change. But we were real, even if only for a moment."
The chamber shimmered again. More figures appeared—half-formed, shifting, flickering. Children Evelyne never saved. Friends she never made. A version of Chron broken beyond repair. A dozen Alairas—each bearing different scars.
Evelyne trembled, but didn't step back. Instead, she raised her chin.
"Then I will remember. But I won't undo what's been done."
The first shade smiled—not kindly, but knowingly.
"Then prepare. The ones who come next are not memory. They are hunger. We were echoes. They are consequences."
And with that, the shade scattered—light breaking into song, then silence.
Evelyne turned to Alaira, eyes wide, breath shaking.
"They weren't attacking. Not yet. That was just the beginning."
Alaira nodded slowly. "And the real threat... is still coming."
Together, they exited the chamber, the echo of unchosen fates trailing behind them like ghosts.