The FoldCore vibrated with quiet instability, as if it knew they were about to push it too far again.
Their ship—barely more than a refitted mining pod—hovered in dead space near the outer shell of the Epsilon Rift. Beyond it, space twisted unnaturally, like a broken mirror reflecting a universe that didn't want to be seen.
Vian ran final checks. The ship's shields were reinforced with quantum dust they'd stolen from a Nebulite smuggler two jobs ago. It wouldn't hold long. Maybe five minutes inside the Rift. Maybe less.
Sairaj stood by the neural interface, syncing their minds with the short-range fold anchor. He didn't speak, just placed his hand on the glass surface. The ship responded with a soft hum. It recognized him now.
Ravi handed out injectors—temporary stabilizers for gravity shift and memory echo. One shot in the neck each.
Pulse grinned, holding up the injector.
> "Cheers to forgetting how painful this will be."
Ishan was quiet, as always. Watching the Rift swirl, calculating infinite scenarios in silence. Behind his calm eyes was something deeper—a curiosity laced with fear.
Elara's voice came through the comm.
> "Once you're in, comms won't work. You'll have three minutes to locate the Cradle, extract the relic, and trigger the beacon. FoldNet jammers will only hold for four."
> "Understood," said Ishan. "Initiating jump in ten."
The countdown began.
10.
They strapped in.
9.
The ship locked itself to the temporal anchor.
8.
The air became heavier.
7.
No turning back now.
6.
Pulse flicked his switchblade once and grinned.
5.
The Rift flared, reacting.
4.
Reality bent at the edges of the screen.
3.
The ship groaned.
2.
Ishan whispered to no one,
> "Let this be the last one."
1.
Jump.
—
It wasn't space.
It wasn't time.
Inside the Rift, nothing made sense.
The ship twisted, stretched, then compressed into a pinprick before re-expanding into its full shape. Voices echoed from the past and future. Gravity inverted, then corrected. Blood felt like it moved in reverse. Time bent.
But they were alive.
Ahead of them floated The Cradle—an impossibly large, living structure. It pulsed with red veins of light. Mechanical tendrils floated like frozen tentacles. Inside, a single glowing core beat like a heart, dimly ticking.
> "There it is," said Vian, breathless. "That thing's alive."
Suddenly, the ship shook violently.
A message appeared on every screen, written in a language none of them understood.
Then it translated itself.
> "WHO STEALS TIME SHALL BLEED MEMORY."
The Cradle had seen them.