The Archive trembled.
Floating pages convulsed midair, some tearing themselves into ash, others multiplying, as if reality couldn't decide which version to keep. The two Amairas stood apart—one grounded, breathing, real; the other flickering like a candle caught in wind, her form slightly translucent, as if time were unsure of her place.
Tylor stepped between them instinctively. "This is a mistake. There can't be two of her."
"She's not a duplicate," Margra said from her perch atop a floating spine of books. "She's what was left behind when you pulled your Amaira through the Spiral. A reflection caught in the fracture. Neither born nor erased."
The flickering Amaira didn't speak. Her eyes searched the room, wide and trembling, like a child lost in a dream she couldn't wake from.
Kayla closed her eyes. "She's leaking timeline energy—every second she exists, the Archive fractures more."
And it was true. The walls of the Archive warped with every heartbeat. Entire shelves blinked in and out, revealing shadowed glimpses of places they'd never seen—Kayla's mother smiling in a home that never existed, Lila sitting with a living Elias in a garden, the Chronarch standing over a peaceful city.
"We can't destroy her," Amaira whispered. "She's me. A version of me. She didn't ask for this."
"But we also can't leave her," Elias said grimly. "She's a time anomaly. She's unraveling everything."
The flickering Amaira finally stepped forward. Her voice was small. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I just… want to exist."
Tylor knelt before her, heart torn. "I know. And I want you to… but this place, this world… it's not built to hold both of you."
Margra floated down, her long inked cloak trailing across the floor. "There is one way. The Archive has a Mirror Room. If the Echo willingly merges with the original—without resistance—it can be absorbed. Memories will overlap. The two timelines can blend, stabilize."
"But the Echo would be gone," Kayla said.
"No," Margra replied softly. "She would become part of Amaira. As if she had always been whole."
Amaira stared at her other self. "You'd live on inside me. You'd be me."
The Echo tilted her head, uncertain. "Would it hurt?"
Amaira held out her hand. "No. I promise."
There was silence.
Then the Echo took her hand.
A pulse of white light burst outward, shaking the Archive. Books fluttered open, pages scribbling themselves blank and new. The two Amairas began to merge, light curling around them like ribbons pulled by wind.
Tylor watched as one version of his sister—half-light, half-memory—smiled and faded into the other, a single tear slipping down her cheek before she was gone.
When the light faded, only one Amaira remained—eyes closed, then slowly opening. Her breath was steady. Her presence… complete.
"I remember both," she whispered. "The me who waited. And the me who came back."
The Archive walls stopped flickering. Everything settled. Even the pages stilled.
"You're whole," Margra said quietly. "And the Archive thanks you."
A stairway appeared behind her—spiraling upward into a soft, pulsing glow.
"The way out," she said, gesturing. "To your time. Your true one."
They turned to leave, but Margra's final words stopped them.
"Remember: the Archive has closed… but the ink never dries. Some echoes still wait to be heard."
As they stepped into the light, the Archive slowly folded shut behind them—its final page blank, waiting for whatever story came next.