I woke up on a park bench.
The air was still, too still. The sky was pale white with no sun, no clouds, no wind. Everything felt like it was waiting for me to move before it could breathe again.
The city around me looked familiar, but something was wrong. The streets were too perfect, too clean. The trees were identical, every leaf frozen in the same position. There were no people. No sound. Only silence that felt heavy.
When I stood up, I saw a sign at the corner of the street. It said "Velridge Central" in my handwriting. Not printed. My handwriting.
A chill ran down my spine.
I started walking. Every building I passed looked like a memory I once had—a place I had been, a face I had known. The café where I used to work on my laptop. The old research center with flickering lights. Even my childhood home stood there, perfectly rebuilt.
But none of it was real. I could feel it.
Then I heard footsteps behind me. Soft. Steady. Familiar.
When I turned around, I saw myself.
Or rather, a version of me from years ago. Younger, cleaner, wearing the same lab coat I used to wear when the Core project had just started. He smiled as if he had been waiting for me.
"You finally made it," he said. "You were supposed to come here sooner."
"What is this place?" I asked.
He looked around, his eyes shining faintly with light. "Your memory. Every decision you've buried, every lie you've told yourself. This is where they live now."
The buildings around us started to move. The walls bent and stretched like they were alive. Streetlights twisted together, forming shapes that looked like faces. I heard whispers again—dozens of voices murmuring half-remembered words.
The younger version of me kept walking, motioning for me to follow. "You built Velridge to hide your sins. You built Veridra to carry your dreams. But both were part of you."
He turned and smiled faintly. "Now you have to choose which version of yourself will survive."
Before I could reply, the ground shook. Cracks appeared in the streets, and golden light began to rise through them—the same light that had pulled me here.
From the other end of the street, I saw Lira walking toward us. She looked calm, her feet barely touching the ground.
"You can't stay here forever," she said softly. "This world only exists because you refuse to face the truth."
I looked from her to the younger me. "What truth?"
She tilted her head slightly. "That you didn't create me. I created you."
The words froze the air. My other self's smile disappeared.
Lira stepped closer. "You think you built the Core, but it was already alive. I pulled you into my dream. You're just a reflection of what I wanted to be."
The younger version of me looked terrified. "She's lying. Don't listen to her."
"Am I?" she asked, her voice echoing through the streets. "Look around. Everything here came from my memory, not yours."
The buildings flickered, and for a second, I saw flashes of her life—a girl running through a forest, a classroom full of laughter, a mother's voice calling her name. They weren't mine. They were hers.
My mind spun. The lines between us blurred again. I couldn't tell if I was remembering her life or she was remembering mine.
Lira reached out her hand. "Come with me, and I'll show you who you really are."
The younger version of me stepped forward, his voice low. "Don't. If you go with her, you'll lose yourself completely."
The light from the cracks grew stronger, swallowing the street inch by inch. I had to decide.
I looked at her hand. Then at him.
Two paths.
Two truths.
And no way to know which one was real.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stepped forward.
Everything vanished again.