Light fractured like glass as the Spiral unraveled, each splintered beam casting ghostly echoes of alternate realities across the chamber walls. Tylor shielded his eyes, barely able to hold his ground as the mechanical bloom trembled violently. The glass cocoon around Amaira cracked, releasing a burst of warm light and a sudden rush of wind that smelled of lavender, oil, and something ancient—like memories being unearthed.
Amaira fell forward—Tylor caught her before she touched the glowing floor. Her skin was cold, her breath shallow, but her eyes blinked open. "You found the thread," she whispered, barely audible. "They didn't want me to wake up."
Above them, the spiral mechanisms began to collapse inward, pulled into a void that opened midair like a gaping wound in the fabric of time. The bridges flickered, turning transparent. The vault around them groaned as centuries of timelines collapsed in on themselves. Faces from other realities flashed in the void—Lila alive in one, Kayla never born in another, Tylor standing beside Elena in a future that never happened.
Kayla grabbed Elias's hand as they ran toward the nearest exit—a pulsing doorway forming in the wall ahead. "Move!" she shouted over the roar. The Weaver's staff lay shattered at the edge of the bloom, its rings twitching like dying clock hands. But the Weaver himself was gone—dissolved into dust and echo, leaving behind only his cloak, now still.
As they crossed the threshold, the vault exploded behind them—soundless, in a brilliant bloom of gold and blue that vanished into a single collapsing point. They tumbled out into a field. Real sky stretched above them—no gears, no shifting walls. Just clouds, wind, and the distant sound of birdsong.
It was their world… but not quite.
The Victorian house stood nearby, but it was partially overgrown, wild ivy clinging to its bones. The windows were intact, the porch unbroken, yet something felt years older. Tylor looked at the cracked watch on his wrist—it blinked 2031.
"What…?" Amaira muttered, standing now, her voice steady despite the wear on her. "We didn't go forward in time. We fell through a seam—one stitched in the wrong order."
Kayla stared at the house's front door. Hanging from the knob was a ribbon Amaira used to wear… but faded, weathered by time. Taped to the door was a photograph—of the three of them, smiling. But none of them remembered it being taken.
Elias pointed to the horizon. "That's not our skyline." Indeed, far in the distance stood a tower—spire-like, carved with spirals, glowing with a familiar golden pulse.
The Spiral had shattered—but something had rebuilt itself from the shards.
Tylor turned to Amaira. "Did they show you this? Is this still part of the Spiral?"
Amaira looked away. "No. This… is something else."
From the woods behind them, a sound echoed—mechanical wheels grinding, voices whispering names, and a single red balloon drifting skyward.
They weren't home. Not yet.