"What is a memory but a lie we tell ourselves?" —The Spiral's Scriptures
Elias clutched the spiral fragment in his fist, its warmth a pulse against the Undervein's chill. The tunnels stretched before him, a maze of rusted pipes and stolen orbs dangling from wires, their glow casting shadows that twitched like Hollows. The Clinic was behind him, its wreckage a scar in his mind, twinned with Lira's note: Find me in the Spiral, or we all become Nobody. The words hummed in his bones, as real as the hum rising from Eryndor's depths, a call he couldn't ignore. His debts to the Orbbreakers, the Hollow's mirrored face, Mara's ghost—all pushed him forward, but the spiral fragment led the way, its etched lines twisting like a map to nowhere.
The Undervein's air was thick, ozone and despair, laced with the Shiver's aftertaste. Sirens wailed distantly, another district unraveling, another piece of Eryndor forgetting itself. Elias's boots crunched on gravel, each step echoing in the silence left by Lira's absence. Her face flickered in his mind—too familiar, too like Mara's, yet neither. I erased myself, but it didn't take. The paradox gnawed at him, a riddle carved in the same script as the Clinic's walls. He didn't know the Spiral, didn't know Lira, but he knew Mara's scream, and that was enough to keep walking.
The tunnel curved, narrowing, its walls closing like a throat. An orb flickered overhead, its light stuttering, and for a moment, the shadows formed Mara's silhouette—hair catching the glow, hands reaching, burning. Elias froze, heart hammering, but the shadow dissolved, just another trick of Eryndor's decay. He tightened his grip on the spiral fragment, its pulse quickening, and pressed on. The hum grew louder, not machinery but something alive, vibrating in the walls, in his skull, in the orbs Lira had left behind. He carried her satchel slung over his shoulder, its five orbs heavier than they should've been, their glow seeping through the leather like a warning. He hadn't touched them, not yet—touching an orb meant diving, and diving meant drowning in someone else's truth. Or his own. But Lira's orbs weren't normal. They weren't just memories; they were pieces of her paradox, fragments of a woman who shouldn't exist. Elias's fingers itched to crack one open, to see what she'd seen, what she'd done. What he'd done. Because the Hollow had known him. You carved her out. Not just Mara, but Lira, or reality itself. The thought was a splinter, lodged deep, and the spiral fragment was the only way to dig it out. Elias stopped at a fork in the tunnel, the hum splitting into two paths—one dark, one lit by a single orb, its glow faint but steady. He held the fragment up, its etched spiral catching the light, and the orb flared, as if answering. The lit path it was.
The tunnel opened into a derelict chamber, a forgotten piece of the Undervein's sprawl. Rusted machinery loomed, half-buried in gravel, and graffiti scarred the walls: Nobody Lives Here. The Spiral Sees. A makeshift shrine sat in the corner, a pile of broken orbs arranged in a circle, their light long dead. Elias's skin prickled, the hum now a chant, low and dissonant, coming from the shrine. He approached, the spiral fragment burning in his hand, and saw a symbol etched into the gravel—a spiral, identical to the one he held, its lines pulsing with faint light. He knelt, brushing the gravel aside, and found a hidden panel, its edges sealed with dried blood. The hum spiked, and the satchel's orbs vibrated, their glow spilling out, painting the chamber in sickly hues. Elias's breath caught. This wasn't a shrine—it was a lock, and the spiral fragment was the key. He pressed the fragment into the panel's center, and the chamber shuddered, dust falling from the ceiling. The panel clicked, sliding open to reveal a single memory orb, untainted, pulsing with a light that hurt to look at. Not Lira's, not his—but Mara's.
Elias's hands shook as he lifted the orb, its warmth familiar, like her touch before the fire. He shouldn't dive, not here, not now, with the Shiver's echo in the air and the Orbbreakers' knives waiting. But Mara's memory was a wound, and the orb was a scalpel. He sat against the shrine, the satchel beside him, and wired the orb to a portable diver's rig—a crude device, stolen from a junkie, but it would do. The rig's needles bit into his temples, and the orb's light flared, pulling him under.
The apartment was small, high in Eryndor's spires, where the neon haze softened to a glow. Mara stood by the window, her hair catching the light, a smile playing on her lips. Elias watched her, younger, unscarred, his hands free of blood. This was before the Clinic, before the forbidden procedures, before the decade he'd lost. Memory #13, he called it, one of the few he hadn't sold or erased—a moment of her, pure and whole.
"You're staring," Mara said, turning, her eyes bright with mischief. "What's in that head of yours, Vren?"
"You," he said, and meant it. The apartment smelled of her—lavender, coffee, the faint tang of her paints. Canvases lined the walls, half-finished, their colors bleeding like Eryndor's sky. She was an artist, or had been, before his work consumed them both. He stepped closer, reaching for her, but the memory shivered, a ripple like the Shiver itself, and her smile faltered.
"Elias," she said, voice softening, "you can't keep rewriting me."
The words hit like a blow, not part of the memory he knew. He froze, the apartment's edges blurring, the neon outside twisting into a spiral. Mara's face flickered, her eyes glowing like Lira's, her skin cracking like the Clinic's walls. "You promised to fix it," she said, and her voice wasn't hers—it was the Hollow's, layered with static, accusing. "You carved me out." Elias stumbled back, the apartment dissolving into fire. Mara burned, her scream filling the void, and he saw himself—older, broken, hands on a probe, rewriting her death, rewriting reality. The memory wasn't his anymore. It was Lira's, or the Spiral's, or his own guilt, twisting the truth. The diver's rig sparked, pain lancing through his temples, and he tore the needles free, gasping.
The chamber snapped back, the shrine's broken orbs glinting in the satchel's glow. Elias clutched Mara's orb, its light dimming, as if spent. The hum was gone, replaced by silence, but the spiral fragment in his pocket burned, its pulse faster, urgent. He'd seen something in the dive—not just Mara, but a truth he couldn't name. Lira was tied to her, to him, to the Spiral, and the memory wasn't a memory—it was a warning. Footsteps echoed in the tunnel behind him. Elias shoved the orb into the satchel and stood, hand on the spiral fragment, ready to run. The footsteps stopped, and a voice—low, familiar, not Lira's—cut through the dark. "Vren. You're digging in the wrong grave." He spun toward the voice, the spiral fragment clenched in his fist, its pulse a frantic beat against the Undervein's chill. The chamber's shadows twisted, lit by the satchel's glowing orbs, their light catching the graffiti-scarred walls: Nobody Lives Here. The Spiral Sees. Mara's orb, still warm in the satchel, weighed heavier than the others, its memory—her smile, her accusation—burning in Elias's mind. The footsteps had stopped, but the voice lingered, low and familiar, cutting through the silence like a blade through memory.
"Vren," it said again, closer now, from the tunnel's mouth. "Digging in the wrong grave."
Elias's hand hovered over the satchel, fingers itching for a weapon he didn't have. The spiral fragment burned, its etched lines glowing faintly, as if warning him—or calling the voice closer. A figure stepped into the chamber, lean and scarred, his coat patched with Undervein grit. Kael, an Orbbreaker with eyes like shattered orbs, all glint and no warmth. His grin was a crescent of teeth, half-mocking, half-knowing, and a blade gleamed in his hand, its edge catching the satchel's glow.
"Kael," Elias growled, easing his stance but not his grip on the fragment. "You're early. Debts aren't due till tomorrow." Kael laughed, a sound like gravel under boots. "Debts? Vren, you're in deeper than that." He nodded at the satchel, then the shrine of broken orbs, its spiral symbol pulsing in the gravel. "Messing with her orbs, her shrines. You're begging for a Hollow to gut you."
"Her?" Elias's voice tightened, Lira's face flashing—Mara's, then his own, a paradox that wouldn't settle. "You know Lira?"
Kael's grin faded, his eyes narrowing. "Know her? She's a ghost who pays well. Hired me to move orbs, no questions. But you—" He stepped closer, blade twitching. "You're the one she wanted found. Said you'd be digging, chasing her shadow. Didn't say you'd be stupid enough to dive in a place like this."
Elias's mind reeled, the spiral fragment's pulse syncing with his heart. Lira had planned this—her note, her orbs, the shrine. You're already inside. He glanced at Mara's orb in the satchel, its light dim but alive, and felt the chamber's walls close in, the hum returning, low and dissonant, like the Spiral's breath. "What's she to you?" he asked, buying time, his free hand inching toward the diver's rig. "Trouble," Kael said, circling the shrine, his blade tracing the spiral symbol. "Her orbs aren't just memories. They're keys, Vren. To the Spiral, or something worse. You opened her lock, didn't you?" He kicked the panel, its blood-sealed edges glinting. "That's why the Shiver's waking. That's why she's gone."
"Gone?" Elias's voice cracked, the memory dive's images flooding back—Mara burning, Lira's face, his hands on a probe. "She was in my Clinic an hour ago. Erased herself, she said, but it didn't take."
Kael stopped, his blade still, his eyes flicking to the satchel. "Didn't take?" He laughed again, but it was hollow, like the chamber's air. "Nobody comes back, Vren. Nobody. If she's here, she's not Lira. She's something else." He pointed the blade at Elias's chest. "And you're carrying her curse."
The hum spiked, and the chamber shuddered, dust raining from the ceiling. The satchel's orbs flared, their light searing, and the shrine's broken orbs rattled, as if alive. Elias backed away, the spiral fragment burning his palm, its glow matching the orbs'. The air rippled, a Shiver building, and Kael's face twisted—not fear, but recognition. "You idiot," he hissed. "You woke it."
The Shiver hit, not a ripple but a wave, tearing the chamber apart. The walls bled light, folding into spirals that spun inward, endless, alive. The shrine collapsed, its broken orbs exploding into shards that screamed, each fragment a voice—Mara's, Lira's, Elias's. Kael lunged, blade slashing, but the air warped, bending his strike into nothing. Elias fell, the satchel spilling, its orbs rolling like eyes, their glow painting the chamber in a kaleidoscope of pain.
He saw her—Mara, standing in the spiral's heart, her body whole but wrong, her eyes glowing like Lira's, her smile a Hollow's grin. "You promised to fix it," she said, her voice layered with static, with fire, with the chant from the memory dive. The spiral tightened, its light searing Elias's skin, and he saw himself again—not as he was, but as he'd been, in a lab, with Lira, with Mara, rewriting reality, carving them all into Nobody.
The diver's rig lay beside him, its needles glinting in the orbs' glow. Elias grabbed it, driven by instinct, by guilt, by the spiral fragment's pulse. He wired Mara's orb again, the needles biting deeper, and dove, not caring that Kael was screaming, that the chamber was dissolving, that the Shiver was Eryndor's death knell.
The apartment was back, but not the same. Mara stood by the window, her hair catching the light, but the light was wrong—neon, not sun, bleeding into spirals that framed her like a cage. Elias was there, younger, his hands clean, but his eyes were older, heavy with truths he didn't yet know. The canvases on the walls weren't paintings but memories, each one a fragment: a lab, a probe, a fire, a promise.
"Elias," Mara said, her voice soft but sharp, like the probe's edge. "You can't keep rewriting me."
He reached for her, but the memory shivered, the apartment's edges cracking like the Clinic's walls. Her smile twisted, her face flickering—not Mara, but Lira, then both, then neither. "You carved me out," she said, and the room burned, fire licking the walls, the canvases, her skin. Elias screamed, lunging for her, but his hands passed through, grasping ash.
The memory shifted, no longer the apartment but a lab, sterile and cold, its walls lined with orbs, spinning like planets. Elias stood at a console, Lira beside him, her hands on a machine, her eyes glowing with purpose. "We can fix it," she said, her voice Mara's, her face his own. "We can rewrite the world." He saw the probe in his hand, sinking into Mara's temple, her scream filling the lab, the orbs flaring, the world fracturing.
The dive glitched, the lab dissolving into a cavern, a cult chanting, Lira at its center, her hands raised, orbs orbiting her like a god. "The Spiral sees," she said, and the chant became the hum, the hum became the Shiver, the Shiver became Elias's pulse. He saw himself, not diving but standing beside her, promising to erase the pain, to make them Nobody, to save her. But who was her—Mara, Lira, or himself?
The rig sparked, pain tearing through his skull, and Elias tore the needles free, gasping, the chamber snapping back. Kael was gone, the shrine dust, the satchel's orbs scattered, their glow dimming. The spiral fragment was in his hand, its pulse steady, as if it had seen it all. The hum was silent, but the Shiver's echo lingered, a promise of worse to come.
Elias staggered to his feet, Mara's orb clutched to his chest, its light faint but alive. Kael's words rang: She's not Lira. She's something else. He didn't know what Lira was, or Mara, or himself, but the spiral fragment knew, and it was leading him deeper, to the Spiral, to the truth, to Nobody.
Few moments later, he staggered in the Undervein chamber, Mara's orb pressed to his chest, its faint glow a lifeline against the dark. The satchel's other orbs lay scattered across the gravel, their light dimming like dying stars, as if the Shiver's wave had drained them. The shrine was dust, its spiral symbol erased, and Kael was gone—swallowed by the Shiver, or fled, or never there at all. The spiral fragment in Elias's pocket burned, its pulse steady, a beacon in the silence left by the hum's absence. Lira's words echoed: Find me in the Spiral, or we all become Nobody. But the memory dive—Mara's face, Lira's, his own, blurring into fire and chants—had carved a deeper truth: he was already inside, and the Spiral was watching.
The chamber's walls, scarred with graffiti (Nobody Lives Here. The Spiral Sees), seemed to pulse, their cracks widening as if Eryndor itself was breathing. Elias's head throbbed, the diver's rig's needles leaving pinpricks of blood at his temples, each drop glowing faintly, like Lira's veins. Kael's warning rang: She's not Lira. She's something else. A ghost, a god, a Hollow—or all three, woven into the paradox of Mara's memory. Elias didn't know what he was chasing, but the spiral fragment knew, and its heat drove him forward, deeper into the Undervein's maze.
He gathered the scattered orbs, their surfaces cold now, and slung the satchel over his shoulder. Mara's orb he kept separate, tucked inside his coat, its weight a reminder of the dive's betrayal—Mara accusing, Lira chanting, himself rewriting reality. The chamber's air thickened, ozone and ash, and a low hum returned, not from the walls but from within him, syncing with the spiral fragment's pulse. The Shiver's echo lingered, a tremor in the gravel, and Elias felt eyes—not Kael's, not human—watching from the shadows.
He moved toward the tunnel's mouth, boots crunching on orb shards, their screams still echoing in his mind. The graffiti shifted as he passed, the words rearranging: The Spiral Lives Here. Nobody Sees. Elias's breath caught, the spiral fragment flaring in his pocket, its light seeping through his coat, painting the tunnel in sickly hues. The hum grew, dissonant, alive, and the shadows moved—not tricks of the orbs' glow, but deliberate, coalescing into a form that wasn't Kael, wasn't Lira, wasn't Mara.
The Hollow emerged, silent, its presence a weight that crushed the air. Its body was a glitch, humanoid one moment, a swarm of claws and eyes the next, its face a shattered mirror reflecting Elias's own—scarred, hollowed, guilty. But beneath his face were others: Mara's, burning, her lips forming words he couldn't hear; Lira's, glowing, her eyes accusing; and a third, unfamiliar, a child's face, screaming, from the memory dive's cavern. The Hollow didn't speak, but its gaze forced memories to the surface: the lab, the probe, the fire, the chant. You carved them out.
Elias backed away, the spiral fragment scorching his hand, its pulse frantic. "Get out of my head," he rasped, but the Hollow's mirror-face shifted, showing him at the console, Lira beside him, Mara strapped to a table, her scream splitting reality. The chamber warped, its walls folding into spirals, the gravel rising like ash, forming words: You're already inside. Elias's knees buckled, the satchel slipping, but he clutched Mara's orb, its glow a shield against the Hollow's weight.
The Hollow moved, not walking but glitching, its form flickering across the chamber, now at the shrine's ruins, now at the tunnel's mouth, now inches from Elias's face. Its mirror shattered, revealing a void where its eyes should've been, a void that pulled at him, promising answers, promising Nothing. Elias swung the spiral fragment, instinct overriding fear, and the Hollow recoiled, its form fracturing, claws dissolving into static. The fragment's light flared, a pulse that shook the chamber, and the Hollow vanished, leaving only its whisper: You can't unwrite her.
The chamber stilled, the walls solid again, the graffiti unchanged. Elias's chest heaved, Mara's orb warm against his heart, the spiral fragment cooling in his hand. The hum was gone, but the Shiver's tremor lingered, a reminder that Eryndor was unraveling, and he was its thread. Kael's words—She's something else—twisted with the Hollow's: You can't unwrite her. Mara, Lira, the child in the dive—they were one, or none, or all, and the Spiral held the truth.
He stumbled into the tunnel, the satchel heavy, the spiral fragment guiding him like a compass. The Undervein's maze stretched, its orbs flickering, their glow dimming as if mourning the Shiver's toll. Sirens wailed distantly, closer now, and Elias knew the Orbbreakers would come, debts or no debts, drawn by the orbs, by Lira's curse. He didn't care. The Spiral was calling, its hum a chant in his blood, and Mara's orb was a promise he couldn't break. The tunnel narrowed, its walls veined with cracks that pulsed like the spiral fragment's light. Elias saw her—Mara, or Lira, or the child—standing at the tunnel's end, her face flickering, her hand raised, pointing deeper. He blinked, and she was gone, but the fragment burned, its pulse a map to the Spiral's heart. Elias walked, the Undervein fading, the hum rising, the shadows watching. He was already inside, and there was no way out but through.