There was no transition. One moment Lio was dissolving into light, the next, he simply was. He had no body, no eyes, no ears, yet he could see and hear everything. He was a single point of consciousness adrift in an infinite, roaring storm of pure memory. He was inside the Vein.
It was a universe of sensation. He witnessed the birth of a star and the death of a microbe in the same instant. He felt the terror of a prehistoric creature fleeing a predator, the joy of a thousand wedding days, the quiet satisfaction of a farmer watching his crops grow. A million languages, a billion forgotten names, a trillion lost moments all washed over him and through him—a chaotic, overwhelming symphony of every story the world had ever told.
His own identity, the story of "Lio," felt thin and fragile, threatening to dissolve and be lost in the universal consciousness. He was a single drop of rain falling into an ocean. He felt his memories fraying, his sense of self thinning out. He was about to be lost forever.
Don't let go.
The thought was not his own. It was clear, calm, and familiar. It was Mina. Her voice was an anchor in the storm. He clung to it, and his consciousness stabilized.
Where are we? he thought, projecting the question into the chaos.
We're home, her voice replied, filled with a peaceful sense of belonging. This is the world's memory. The place all stories come from, and where they all return. Mother didn't just end your loop. She brought you to the heart of it all. She gave you a choice.
As if summoned by her words, he saw them—two faint, fraying threads of light nearby. One was a deep, earthy amber, full of stubbornness, regret, and a love for solid lines. Ira. The other was a cool, steady silver, full of quiet strength, deep sorrow, and a fierce, protective love. Sera. They were unraveling, their stories flowing back into the great storm, but they were not gone yet.
A choice? Lio asked.
The world is unmaking itself around you, Mina's thought echoed. Soon it will be remade. Every story needs a first word. You get to choose it. You get to choose what to keep.
Visions bloomed around him, pulled from the storm and presented for his consideration. He saw his family on a sunny beach, years before the sinking began. He was a small child, and his parents were young and laughing. It was a memory of pure, uncomplicated happiness. He could choose this. The new world could be born from this perfect, peaceful lie.
Another vision surfaced. The family, huddled together in the dark, skeletal forest, listening to the Hollows mock them with their own voices. A memory of shared terror and survival. A hard, ugly truth.
He saw the memory of his mother's sacrifice, the brilliant, searing light of her love as she unmade herself to free them. The most painful and beautiful memory of all.
Lio looked at the fading lights that were his parents. He understood what Sera's sacrifice was for. She didn't choose an ending for them; she gave him the power to choose a beginning for what came next. To choose the lie of perfect happiness would be a betrayal of her sacrifice. To choose the horror of their struggle would be to trap them in their pain forever.
He had to choose the meaning.
With his newfound will, he reached into the storm of memory. He let the memory of the sunny beach dissolve back into the whole. He let the memories of the Hollows and the burning house and the drowning fade away. He let go of the pain.
He chose to keep the memory of his mother's hand in his. He chose to keep the feeling of the impossible weight of his father on his shoulders in the dream river—not the pain of it, but the love and duty that drove him forward. He chose the memory of Sera's story, of a love so strong it became a permanent fixture of the world. He chose the small, brave flicker of hope they'd all felt when they first saw the shining plateau. He chose the bittersweet ache of a sister who was never born but was loved all the same.
He was not choosing a memory. He was choosing a foundation. Not happiness, not sorrow, but love.
The flawed, difficult, and resilient love that had survived every loop.
As he made his choice, the chaotic storm began to respond. The millions of disparate stories swirled and coalesced around the anchors he had chosen.
The roaring cacophony of the Vein softened, resolving into a single, clear, harmonious note. The blinding, chaotic light dimmed, organizing itself into a calm, gentle radiance.
A new world, a new story, was beginning to form.
A world without versions, Mina's voice whispered, a final, fond farewell. Just what you become from now on.
The light softened further, and Lio felt a sense of peace wash over him, a feeling of arrival. He had faced the end and had been given the chance to write the first word of a new beginning. He closed his metaphysical eyes, ready to wake up into the world he had just helped create.