They found Gilesus Tavern under a sky that bled twilight into the canyons.
The town was hollowed, full of echoing streets and sagging roofs — but the tavern pulsed faintly with power. A ripple in the current. A memory, still alive.
Inside, it smelled of spice and dust and forgotten joy. Locals barely glanced up. Machines brewed synthetic liquor behind a bar made from old planetary ore.
The bartender — a synth‑organic hybrid — pointed them wordlessly to a booth already prepared.
It was lit from below. Waiting.
Scarlet frowned. "It's like we expected."
Lasi just nodded.
They sat.
And the journal pulsed. Not in alarm. In revelation.
A soft green light spilled over the table, revealing grooves in the wood. Letters. Symbols. Coordinates.
Ka'rui traced one. "That's beneath us."
The table clicked. A trapdoor opened silently beneath their feet.
⸻
The Vault Below
The room wasn't big. But it was ancient.
Dust shimmered in the light like time that had forgotten how to move.
Glass screens lined the walls, some half‑buried in old vine‑wires and blackened cables. Holograms flickered. Voices played on loop — some distorted by age, others chillingly clear.
RECORDING 1:
"Cycle 3001: Memory‑split protocol finalized. Behavioral integrity stable. Clone units unaware of primary origin. Processing reset… reset… reset…"
Ka'rui froze. "Clone units?"
Scarlet moved closer to one screen. It showed a human silhouette, split down the middle — one side glowing bright, the other shadowed, flickering.
Lasi stepped forward. On another screen: ancient coordinates. A starmap. Then: her face. Not her now — her, in ash‑worn robes, standing in a different cycle. Her body younger, older, other.
Ka'rui backed into Salven. "That — that's me. That's ME."
RECORDING 2:
"Soul‑split process ensures dual integrity. Planetary loop remains intact. No full rejoining permitted. Instability detected when halves approach threshold awareness. Reset engaged."
Lasi's blood turned to ice. "What the hell is this?"
Scarlet's eyes locked on another screen. It showed four figures — them, in different worlds, different lives, falling. Each time they reached each other, the image burned out.
RECORDING 3:
"Subject units display soul mirroring. Not clones. Both original. Single consciousness halved at origin fracture. Growth placed under stasis protocols. One aging cycle per four years. Threshold: 24 years. Beyond this, the unbonded half begins terminal degradation."
Ka'rui's voice cracked. "That's why we've never seen anyone make it past—"
A screen behind them flickered on with a burst of light. It showed a diagram: a soul being torn clean in two, seeded into child vessels, curled in sleep, golden threads wrapped around their chests like restraints.
RECORDING 4 (tone deeper, distorted):
"They must pass the Rite. Or fall."
"The Fold accepts only what has failed. It reclaims what is broken."
"It feeds on imbalance. On memory. It hungers for those who breach the current."
The screen changed to shadows. A projection of drifting figures — blurry, fragmented, screaming silently, caught in some invisible tide. Their forms flickered, elongated, twisted.
THE FOLD (in red glyphs) pulsed across the feed.
"DO NOT SEEK IT."
"DO NOT NAME IT."
"THE FOLD DOES NOT FORGIVE."
Ka'rui stepped back. "…THE HELL IS THIS?!"
Scarlet's jaw clenched. "Not just broken. Sacrificed. Like clockwork."
Lasi stared at the projections of her other selves. Shifting. Dying. Forgotten.
"I felt it… in the canyon. When the Shimmer said my name. Something inside me… clicked. That wasn't my first time hearing it."
Salven moved beside her, grim.
"Whatever the Fold is… it's maybe a watcher. a god. It's maybe some kind of cosmic correction."
He touched a panel. It hissed.
"It punishes . It consumes."
Lasi's whisper: "The Fold takes what is lost what isn't meant to be."
Scarlet turned, pale as ash. "And the ones who fail the Rite?"
"They become the Fold," Salven said softly. "Or what's left of them does. Shattered echoes. Fractured wills. Pressure in the dark."
Ka'rui stepped forward slowly, stunned. "So what? We're just… walking toward our own collapse?"
"They only let us live long enough to be useful," Lasi said. "To fight. To prove something. Then they start the loop again."
Salven's voice dropped to a whisper:
"But if we remember… if we fuse before the Rite—"
Scarlet stared. "Then the current breaks."
Ka'rui's mouth went dry. "And the Fold stops catching us."
They stood still. Surrounded by truth wrapped in horror.
Above, the holo‑map rotated once more — a spiral of star‑lines bleeding red at the edges — leading to a single location:
—-
ORIGIN FRACTURE — COSMIC FAULTLINE — ENTRY UNSTABLE — BANNED
—-
It glowed. Then dimmed. Waiting.
⸻
The journal convulsed. Not pulsed. Not flickered. Convulsed.
A jagged whine bleated through the vault, sharp and electric. Its green glow shifted to violet, then static gray.
Symbols flared across its cover — ancient glyphs, Comostic roots unseen in any lexicon.
"⟟⧫⟊ ᚡ⧫ͷ⧫̷̸⧫⧉–"
The voice wasn't human. It crackled, stitched together like a machine choking on memory:
"LIES — all lies — this is not — what it SEEMS —
—
The vault — was curated — not complete — not whole —
—
They only show — the loop THEY kept. Not the lives you
—
—LOST."
Ka'rui stumbled. "What the hell is that?!"
The journal vibrated violently. Pages flipped open, slammed shut, glowing with shifting constellations that matched no known system:
—
"Assumption — FATAL — Panic — counterproductive —
—
Steady yourselves — regroup — they are coming —
—
You must find — the ones who chose — to be left behind —
—
Not the copies. Not the mask. Not the imposters."
The voice cut out. The journal slammed shut. Yet a final glyph pulsed softly — and new coordinates appeared.
Scarlet leaned in. "That's… another city. On this planet."
Salven frowned. "The capital's edge. It was says it was abandoned after the Riftline Collapse. Still active?"
Ka'rui's hand hovered near her blade. "Then why send us there?"
No one answered.
Lasi didn't speak. Her mind turned inward — to a memory that wasn't a memory, an ache that wasn't hers alone.
She stood, the journal's dying hum echoing in her skull.
But her gaze focused on Scarlet.
Scarlet, who stood like she'd always belonged.
Scarlet, who led with certainty, as if this had always been her war.
Scarlet, whose voice Lasi should've known — but didn't.
I remember Ka'rui.
I remember Salven.
But her? Nothing. No warmth. No flash. No shared laughter beneath twin moons.
Only a sharp ache when Scarlet looked at her — as if a promise had been made under starlight Lasi couldn't recall.
Why don't I remember her?
And why, when I try… does it hurt?
She said nothing. Only clenched her jaw, swallowing the ache like poison.
The journal flared again — brighter, insistent: urgent.
Scarlet stepped back. "So we go there now?"
"No," Lasi said softly. "But we will."
Salven's eyes fixed on her. "Why?"
Lasi turned toward the stairs, voice steady but low:
"Because now the truth's unraveling. And someone out there… is pretending to be part of it."
Ka'rui grunted. "Then I hope they're ready."
They left the bar and headed for the pod.
They typed in the new coordinates — six hours to reach the other side of the planet.
Silence followed them—shared, weighty, necessary—as the distance closed.