There was a problem.
And it wasn't small.
The descent tunnel—the only exit from the Furnace Echo—had collapsed.
Not suddenly. Not violently. Just… disappeared.
Halfway down the slope, the ground crumbled beneath their feet, revealing a fractured trench wall. A slow fault ripple had rippled back up the shaft, sealing their passage with inch-thick plates of pressure-welded alloy.
The trench had closed behind them.
And the path forward?
Nothing.
Just a thirty-meter vertical drop into a dark basin.
Featureless.
Unstable.
Impossible to gauge.
Nahr stared down at the ledge.
A moment passed.
Then two.
No one spoke.
Hero stepped beside him and scanned.
No signal markers.
No echo pressure.
Just silence.
That was worse.
Slate approached, jaw clenched. "So… what now?"
Kelar rubbed a line of sweat from his jaw, voice low. "The trench doesn't collapse paths."
Nahr nodded. "Not unless it's offering a different one."
Hero frowned.
"You mean we're meant to fall?"
"No," Nahr said quietly. "We're meant to choose to fall."
The difference was everything.
—
They camped at the edge of the drop, if it could be called a camp. There was no shelter. Just proximity and restraint.
Hero had deployed a thermal anchor—its blue pulse offering faint warmth against the rising cold. The chamber wasn't freezing yet, but the air was thinner. Lighter. Wrong.
Not enough oxygen to last the night. Not without ration cycling.
Kelar sat on a broken panel, flexing a joint that refused to lock. Slate leaned against the wall, arms folded.
Nahr stood alone, staring down into the abyss again.
It was still there.
Still waiting.
Still measuring them.
Hero joined him after a while.
"We can't stay."
"I know."
"They're too damaged to jump."
"I know that too."
"You're not saying it."
Nahr didn't look away.
"I'm not ready to."
Behind them, Slate shifted.
He'd heard.
Kelar stood.
Spoke without warmth. "We're not blind. Say it, Nahr."
Nahr turned.
"You want me to weigh you."
Kelar shrugged.
"You're already doing it in your head."
The trench didn't demand death.
It demanded decisions.
And this drop wasn't a test of gravity.
It was a test of loyalty.
Of leadership.
Nahr exhaled slowly.
"There's a ledge below. Twenty meters down. Just wide enough for one to land."
He looked to Hero.
"I'll drop first. Secure the anchor. We lower Slate second. Then Kelar."
"I'll go last," Hero said.
Kelar tilted his head. "What makes you think we'll survive the fall?"
"I don't."
But he didn't offer anything else.
No faith.
No speech.
Just choice.
They packed in silence.
—
Nahr dropped with his Galieya strapped and legs braced.
The wind caught him wrong.
Not resistance.
Pull.
Like gravity changed angles mid-descent.
He corrected just in time.
Landed hard on the outcrop.
Knee cracked.
Pain bloomed.
But he held.
Deployed the anchor.
Signal blinked green.
"Send him."
Slate came next.
He didn't jump.
He fell.
Hard.
Too hard.
Nahr caught him.
Dragged him clear.
His chestplate cracked—but he breathed.
"Still alive," he muttered.
"Not enough," Nahr said. "Not yet."
Kelar descended after.
Smoother.
Until the last meter.
Then the wind hit.
Spun him sideways.
He slammed shoulder-first into the rock.
Skidded.
Nahr grabbed his arm.
Held him.
But barely.
Kelar's Galieya slipped.
Fell into the dark.
He swore.
"I needed that."
"You still have your hands," Nahr replied.
Then Hero dropped.
Landed clean.
The four of them stood on the ledge.
Crowded.
Unstable.
And the path ahead?
Gone.
Just a slit in the trench wall.
Thin.
Barely crawlable.
They had no choice.
Nahr moved first.
—
The tunnel was wrong.
Bent.
Compressed.
The kind of path a Core wasn't meant to take.
They moved single file, hunched, scraped, half crawling, half pressing forward with elbows and heels.
The trench made them suffer every meter.
And all the while, something listened.
They emerged into a hall of broken mirrors.
Shards embedded into the walls.
Each reflected wrong.
One showed Nahr's back as bleeding.
Another showed Hero headless.
A third—Slate moving while standing still.
Nahr turned to them.
"We're in judgment now."
Kelar stared at his reflection.
It showed him alone.
Dismantled.
Naked.
"No kidding."
Nahr turned again.
Each mirror held a message.
A false past.
Or a possible future.
They weren't threats.
They were distractions.
Hero whispered:
"They want us to see what could've been."
Nahr touched the largest shard.
It showed him leaving Slate behind.
He saw himself walking forward while Slate's frame collapsed.
He didn't look away.
Then punched the glass.
It cracked.
The trench roared.
Silently.
A wave of pressure rippled through the floor.
The air thickened.
Slate doubled over.
Kelar hissed.
Hero gritted his teeth.
Nahr staggered.
Then righted himself.
The mirrors shattered.
The floor opened.
And the trench spoke.
Not in words.
In weight.
A new path opened below.
Stairs.
Cut at angles.
Leading down.
Each step bore a number.
Each number marked a decision.
They walked.
One step at a time.
One choice per second.
Every stride demanded memory.
Hero stumbled once.
His Galieya flickered.
Burden spike.
He gripped Nahr's shoulder.
"I remember too much."
"So give some back."
"I already did."
"Then carry it," Nahr said.
"Or stop here."
Hero didn't stop.
Neither did Slate.
Nor Kelar.
They reached the bottom.
Another chamber.
Circular.
The word was scrawled across the wall.
RECKONING
And waiting for them—
A mimic.
But not trench-born.
This one was shaped like a Core.
Exactly like Nahr.
Same weight.
Same scars.
Same cadence.
Same pain.
It stood in the center, hands empty.
But not passive.
It waited.
Nahr stepped forward.
The others didn't stop him.
They couldn't.
The mimic only matched him.
It tilted its head.
Spoke.
"You walked past death."
"I had to."
"You forgot too little."
"I remembered enough."
"You led without knowing the price."
"I paid it."
"You made them follow."
"They chose to."
The mimic smiled.
"Then prove it."
They clashed.
Not like Cores.
Like mirrors.
Every strike matched.
Every parry perfect.
Every motion predicted.
Nahr pushed forward.
But couldn't break through.
Then—he did something different.
He hesitated.
Half-beat.
Held a step.
Didn't strike.
The mimic did.
Missed.
Overextended.
Nahr caught it.
Pressed his Galieya into its chest.
Whispered:
"You weren't me."
And pierced.
The mimic shuddered.
Collapsed.
Ash.
Gone.
Slate exhaled.
Hero stared.
Kelar closed his eyes.
The trench pulsed.
Path opened.
Final slope.
They walked it.
Together.
Not unbroken.
But whole enough.
At the bottom, a platform waited.
And above it, etched into the wall—
Three words:
YOU ARE ACCOUNTED
And then—
They didn't vanish.
They sank.
Letter by letter, the trench absorbed them.
As though acknowledging the moment…
Then filing it away.
The air in the platform chamber began to shift.
Not from temperature.
But intent.
It no longer felt like they were inside the trench.
Now it felt like the trench was inside them.
Slate turned toward the wall, hands resting on his knees, breathing shallow.
Kelar crouched, one arm cradling his left side—somewhere along the descent, he'd cracked a rib.
Hero remained standing.
Still steady.
But his Galieya's core was flickering more than it should.
Nahr didn't speak.
He approached the far wall—flat and smooth—and ran a hand across its face.
There was no opening.
No switch.
No signal.
But there was something.
A hum.
A breath.
A pull.
Then the wall peeled open like paper beneath heat.
Not violently.
Not mechanized.
It simply unfolded.
Beyond it—
A room.
Massive.
Vaulted.
And lined with vertical alcoves.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Inside each:
Galieyas.
But… broken.
Hung like husks on hooks.
Their spiral veins were drained of light.
Their cores hollow.
And at the center of the room stood a single plinth.
A cube.
Polished.
With nothing on it.
But carved in sharp, brutal glyphs was a title:
BREACH VAULT
Slate stepped forward and whispered:
"This isn't storage."
Kelar answered him.
"It's recordkeeping."
Nahr stared at the cube.
"There's no test here."
Hero's voice was quiet.
"There's only truth."
Nahr reached out—
Stopped his hand just short of touching the plinth.
A tremor passed through his fingertips.
Then the glyphs changed.
New letters burned into view:
IF YOU OPEN THIS, YOU CANNOT GO BACK.
Nahr turned to the others.
Hero gave one nod.
Kelar said nothing.
Slate met his eyes.
"Some truths are worth it."
Nahr touched the plinth.
And the Vault began to open.