The thread reached her while she slept.
It slid beneath the door.Slipped through the air.Invisible. Undetectable.Not by quirks.Not by machines.Not even by Eri.
It curled around the girl's forehead.
And pulsed once.
She jerked awake.But not in her room.
Not anymore.
She stood in a hallway of white.
Empty. Silent.
No doors.
No windows.
Just endless walls.
Each one lined with moving images.
Memories.
Some hers. Some not.
She stepped toward one.
It showed a boy kneeling in a burning alley, sobbing over a pair of glasses.
She'd never seen him before.
But somehow—
She felt the weight of the loss.
Another wall.
A woman with hair like ink dancing in the rain.
Another.
A hospital bed.Empty.But the smell of antiseptic and grief was overwhelming.
Another—
Herself.
But not from this life.
A version of her with no Eri.No Midoriya.No UA.Only chains.
She gasped—
Stumbled back—
And the walls collapsed.
The floor vanished.
She fell.
Through memory.
Through time.
Through every version of herself that ever could have been.
Then—
A hand caught hers.
Fingers too long.Too thin.Too cold.
A face leaned close.
A voice—glitchy and layered—spoke with infinite calm:
"You were never authorized to be."
The Architect pulled her upright.
She couldn't see its body—just shifting outlines.
A cloak made of static.
Eyes that bled light in reverse.
She trembled.
"What are you?"
It answered with silence first.
Then—
"I am the editor of potential."
"The guardian of consistency."
"The final hand in stories that stretch too long."
Its fingers reached for her temple.
She flinched.
But it didn't strike.
Instead—
It tapped her head gently.
"You are not in the blueprint."
"You are not in the versions."
"You are an error born from compassion."
Her lips trembled. "So you're here to erase me?"
The Architect didn't blink.
"I am here to see if you are worth rewriting the world for."
In the real world—
Eri sat up suddenly.
Her horn buzzed.
Bright gold. Glowing.
Something was touching the timeline.
She sprinted from her room.
Down the hallway.Around the corner.Straight to the girl's door—
It was open.
Inside—Empty.
No trace of her.
No sound.No residual energy.Not even heat.
In the Architect's dimension—
The girl watched memories flow like rivers.
Each one a branch.
A life.
A possibility.
Some beautiful.Some monstrous.All of them—close enough to touch.
But none of them were hers.
The Architect gestured toward one.
A memory where she had never been saved.
Where the lab broke her into silence.Where her power consumed her.Where she rewrote herself out of time entirely.
"Why do you think they saved you?" it asked.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"They saw something that wasn't broken."
"No."
The Architect loomed taller.
"They saw something they could use."
She backed away.
Shaking.
"No. They cared. They—"
"Every memory lies eventually."
"Even the good ones."
Suddenly—
The walls shook.
A crack split the void sky.
Golden energy bled in.
Eri's quirk.
Her voice echoed through the space:
"I'M COMING!"
The Architect narrowed its eyes.
"She's not strong enough to reach you."
"She'll die trying."
The girl clenched her fists.
Tears welled up.But not fear.Resolve.
"She's coming anyway."
She stepped toward the Architect.
No weapon.No power.Just memory.
Her voice was steady.
"You said I wasn't meant to exist."
"I'm not."
"But I do exist."
"And maybe that's enough."
The Architect hesitated.
For the first time.
Another crack.
This one closer.
Light poured in.
A hand reached through—
Eri's hand.
The girl reached back—
And this time—
The Architect didn't stop her.
But it spoke one final line:
"If you return, I will follow."
"And next time, I will not test."
"I will erase."
Their fingers touched.
The girl was ripped free of the void.
She sat up in her bed, screaming.
Eri collapsed beside her, breathing hard, her horn still glowing.
The timeline stabilized.
The cracks closed.
But something in the air still pulsed.
Still watched.
Still waited.
From a rooftop far, far away—
The Architect stood.
Its cloak billowed in unreality.
And behind it—
Other shapes began to stir.
Forgotten possibilities.
Abandoned timelines.
Unwritten fates.
The girl had passed the first trial.
But the story?
It was only just starting to break open.
To be continued.