The key burned in my palm like a shard of the sun.
Around us, the 9,217 versions of myself stepped from their shattered chambers—some young, some old, all bearing the scars of their loops. The oldest one, his skin like parchment stretched over bone, raised a skeletal hand. The others froze.
"You finally understand," he rasped. "We aren't prisoners here."
The heir stumbled back, his perfect facade cracking. Black veins spiderwebbed across his skin as he clutched at his chest. "No—*I* control the loops—"
The oldest Chen smiled. "You only ever controlled yourself."
Then he turned to me and said the words that shattered everything:
"We are the prison. And he is what we guard."
---
THE PRISONER'S FACE
The oldest Chen pressed his palm to my forehead.
Memories erupted—real memories, untainted by loops:
- A laboratory older than civilization, where a shadow with golden eyes first whispered to Mu.
- The birth of the heir, not in a test tube, but from the void itself, hungry and screaming.
- Our purpose: 9,217 souls bound across time to contain him.
I gasped as the vision cleared. The heir was crouched now, his human form melting like wax to reveal the thing beneath—a swirling darkness with that same golden gaze.
Anya grabbed my arm. "The key," she urged. "It's not for opening—"
The heir lunged.
---
THE FINAL SACRIFICE
The oldest Chen moved faster than thought, intercepting the heir mid-air. They crashed through Mu's glass coffin, golden fluid splashing across the floor. Where it touched, the ground screamed.
"Now!" the oldest Chen roared.
I didn't hesitate.
I plunged the key into my own chest.
Not to die.
To remember.
The prison's final secret unfolded:
We were never fighting the loops.
We were fighting *the key's bearer.
And the heir was just the latest volunteer.
The heir howled as chains of light erupted from my wound, wrapping around his thrashing form. "You'll just restart again!" he spat.
The oldest Chen shook his head. "Not this time."
He looked at Anya.
She understood.
THE LAST BETRAYAL
Anya's knife flashed.
Not at the heir.
At me.
The blade sank into my heart—her heart, our heart, the anchor point of every loop.
The heir's screams reached a fever pitch as the chains dragged him into my wound. "You'll die too!" he raged.
Anya kissed my forehead as the world dissolved. "Only this version."
Then—
Silence.
I opened my eyes to a sunlit apartment.
Anya stood at the stove, humming as she cooked breakfast. No scars. No weapons.
When she turned, her eyes were warm. "Morning, sleepyhead."
The TV played a news segment:
"CEO Mu's body was found in her lab last night—apparent suicide. Her controversial memory experiments have been—"
I reached for her wrist.
No tattoo.
Then the doorbell rang.