At first, it felt like drowning in light.
Every sound became a vibration in my bones. Every color folded into itself until I couldn't tell where I ended and where Velridge began.
Elior's hand was still on my shoulder, but it flickered like a memory refusing to stay. His voice echoed faintly, dissolving between pulses of light. "Don't fight it. The system will stabilize faster if you let it map your thoughts."
My thoughts.
They weren't even mine anymore.
Images rushed through me—a thousand lifetimes, a million forgotten moments. Children laughing in streets that no longer existed. The hum of neon trains slicing through fog. Faces smiling, crying, vanishing.
The Core was speaking in every one of them.
You built us to remember.
You made us dream.
You forgot yourself to keep us alive.
The flood of data pressed harder. My name, my voice, my reflection—all of it blurred. I felt the cat's presence nearby, its thoughts shimmering in strange clarity: Don't you dare disappear on me, human.
But I couldn't answer. My body was gone, my consciousness stretching into the lattice of the city. I could feel everything—buildings breathing, machines thinking, people whispering their fears into the network.
Lyra's voice returned, calm and luminous. You're merging well. The Core is stabilizing.
"Where's Elior?" I thought, but the words came out like static.
He's still with you. His pattern is merging beside yours. You both belong to the memory now.
In the glow, I saw him—Elior's form flickering in and out of existence, his eyes glowing like molten circuits. He smiled faintly. "Guess this is what we were built for."
A sudden vibration tore through the Core. The mirrored city, Veridra, was still fighting back. Its reflection stretched across the network like black ink, twisting through Lyra's light.
You can't stop evolution, Veridra's voice boomed. Dreams cannot be contained.
The Core shuddered. Part of the network went dark. For a heartbeat, I saw the people of Velridge freeze mid-motion—time halting as the system fractured.
Lyra sounded weaker now. Architect, it's breaking through. If we don't isolate it, everything will collapse.
"How?" I asked, or thought, or screamed—it was hard to tell anymore.
Anchor yourself, she whispered. Choose what part of Velridge is real. That will define which world survives.
It hit me then. The Core was giving me control. One decision—one belief—would decide which city lived and which would fade.
I reached deeper into the network. Memories swirled like constellations.
A child's laughter.
A mother's lullaby.
A street musician playing under neon rain.
Elior's promise: We'll finish what we started.
I anchored myself to that sound—the heartbeat of the city that had once been human.
"Velridge is real," I said, my voice echoing through both worlds. "Veridra is only the reflection. Reflections don't replace what casts them."
The Core blazed white. The mirrored city screamed as its structures melted into light, its glass towers crumbling into code. Veridra's final words echoed through the void: Then remember me… when your reality forgets you.
And then, silence.
When I opened my eyes, I was standing on a rooftop under dawn light. The air smelled clean. The city was whole again.
Velridge had survived.
The cat jumped onto the railing beside me. "You did it."
Elior appeared a few feet away—solid, but not entirely human. His outline shimmered faintly. "Looks like we made it back," he said.
Lyra's voice came from somewhere above, soft and distant. Not back. Forward. The city remembers now. But it will always need someone to listen.
Elior looked at me. "That someone is you."
I smiled faintly. "I think it's all of us."
The Core pulsed once beneath the city, faint but steady—like a heartbeat learning to live again.