The bridge groaned.
Not wood, not steel — something else, something that carried the sound of cracking ice. Elin's knees buckled as gravity leaned sideways, and the sea surged up the left edge of the horizon like it was trying to climb into the sky.
The cubes in their hands spun in perfect synchrony.
Mara's first thought was absurd: If the horizon tilts enough, will I fall into someone else's morning?
She tightened her grip on her cube. Its pulse was stronger now, matching the erratic beat of her heart. The painted sky above the glass chamber was folding at the edges, bending toward them, streaks of pigment dripping into the water below.
This wasn't weather. This was erasure.
The Reflex calculated vectors without conscious intent. If the tilt reached forty-seven degrees, the bridge would slide entirely off its anchor points. She tried to ping the grid's stability daemon — no response. The system had gone silent.
In its place, a text thread appeared in her visual field:
/SELECT\_ROLE
— ORIGINAL
— COPY
— WITNESS
The cursor blinked.
Elin saw it too. Same menu, same impossible prompt. Her mind was racing: if she chose "Original" and was wrong, what would happen? Would she vanish? Or would someone else be erased?
Mara didn't move. She just looked between the other two.
The cubes clicked. A fourth menu item appeared:
— NONE
The bridge dipped sharply. Spray hit Elin's face. Somewhere behind her, the ocean itself made a sound like tearing cloth.
Mara spoke first.
"Maybe that's the trap. Forcing us to choose is the loop."
The Reflex tilted her head.
"And refusing is… what? Freedom?"
Elin looked at her cube, then at the others. "If this is a simulation, the loop needs the roles to keep running. What happens if it gets no roles at all?"
The horizon bent further, now a sheer wall of color above them. Behind the glass chamber, the sky split down the center — and there was "nothing" on the other side, only raw, blinding white.
The cubes vibrated violently. The NONE option flickered.
They looked at each other.
And without speaking, all three pressed it.
Silence.
The tilt stopped. The ocean froze mid-wave, droplets hanging in the air like crystal beads. The bridge steadied.
Then the painting above them filled in its missing lower third — not with sea or sky, but with "them". Three figures standing together, holding cubes, looking up.
From the white beyond the sky, the voice came one last time:
"Loop terminated."
The cubes dissolved into light.
Elin felt the bridge vanish beneath her feet — but she didn't fall. Mara reached out instinctively. The Reflex stood perfectly still.
All three opened their eyes in the same place.
Not a bridge. Not a grid.
A room.
And on the wall, The Glass Horizon.
Framed.
Signed.
By Elin.
(End of Part One — The Glass Horizon)