Rapture was not a grave.
It was a mirror.
Aeon walked through broken halls and half-lit tunnels, each step echoing against rusted steel and water-stained marble. The city was once a dream of man-made gods — now a hollow labyrinth echoing with lullabies and madness.
Every wall whispered contradictions.
Freedom. Control. Beauty. Power.
He passed a shattered vending machine that hissed when he drew near. Its once-cheerful mascot now slumped inside the glass, its eyes gouged, its painted smile cracked.
A mural above him read:
"We all make choices. But in the end… our choices make us."
Aeon stopped beneath it.
"Then why do they scream?" he whispered, listening to the distant cries of Splicers in the vents, of children calling for 'Mr. B'.
Further in, he found a preserved chamber — a child's room sealed behind reinforced glass. Toys drifted midair in water that sloshed against the ceiling. A single light flickered. A music box played Twinkle, Twinkle in slow, warped tones.
On a desk, he found drawings.
Crayon sketches — crude, childish, but familiar.
One showed a girl holding hands with a huge figure in a diving suit. Hearts between them.
Another showed a shadow looming over her. The face was a blur. Scribbled in red.
Aeon ran his fingers over the edge of the page.
Then he heard it.
"Hey, Mister…"
A voice. Soft. Close.
He turned.
And there she stood.
A Little Sister — small, barefoot, eyes glowing gold. Her hair was matted, her dress stained, but her expression… curious.
He knelt to meet her gaze.
"You're not from here," she said.
"No," Aeon answered gently. "And neither are you."
She tilted her head. "I'm from everywhere."
He paused. The phrase clung to him like memory.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She looked around as if unsure. "They call me Rosie… but that's not it. I had another name once."
"What was it?"
She touched her chest. "Something… warm. I don't remember. But he does."
She pointed.
Behind her, a Big Daddy approached — slow, thudding, yet without threat. His massive drill arm gleamed dully in the flickering light.
Aeon stood.
The Big Daddy groaned — low, almost mournful.
Rosie walked to him and hugged his leg. "He keeps me safe. Even when they tried to take me."
Aeon stepped forward. "Has anyone… tried to hurt you?"
She nodded. "The man with the broken face. The one who calls me Ellie. He said I was his. But I'm not. I'm… someone else now."
Aeon's expression tightened.
"Father."
She didn't react to the name, but the Big Daddy did. A sharp hiss vented from its mask.
"I'll protect her," it groaned — not in words, but in sound. Aeon understood it anyway.
He placed his palm against its chest. "I believe you."
The machine didn't move.
But it accepted him.
Elsewhere in the city — Father howled.
He watched the camera feed in fury, seeing Rosie speak to the stranger. To him.
"You don't get to take her," he hissed at the screen. "I saw her first. She was mine before the world split!"
He smashed the projector. Injected more Adam. His hands shook. The veins in his eyes pulsed.
"She was Ellie. Then Anna. Then Liora. I know her name."
He wept.
And behind him, the Shadow reached from the walls — thin tendrils like black roots curling around his mind.
Feeding on his love.
Twisting it into obsession.
Back in the corridor, Rosie looked up at Aeon.
"Will you stay?" she asked. "He says you're like us. Sad. But warm."
Aeon didn't answer immediately.
But then — he knelt again. Looked her in the eyes.
"I will not take you," he said softly. "But I will walk beside you. As long as you'll let me."
She smiled.
And for the first time in what felt like eons, Aeon saw Liora in someone's eyes not as memory, or symbol, or echo — but as presence.
Not whole.
Not yet.
But close.