The ventilation core was a vertical abyss of spinning fan blades and freezing nitrogen mist. It felt less like a machine and more like the throat of a great, metallic beast.
[46:02:15]
Seol-wol and Miran descended using magnetic friction-gloves, their bodies jerking as they slid down the guide-rails. The wind here was a howling gale, trying to rip them off the walls and toss them into the churning turbines a mile below.
"Stay close!" Miran's voice crackled over the short-range comms, but Seol-wol didn't need the radio. He could feel Miran's presence like a heat-map in his mind. The further they dropped into the core, the more the "Sync" blurred their boundaries.
Seol-wol's vision flickered. He wasn't seeing the rusted pipes anymore. He was seeing the flow of energy—bright, arterial rivers of data rushing toward the Vault. And in the middle of that river, he saw the ghost of his mother again, her static-filled eyes watching him from every shadow.
"She isn't real," Seol-wol whispered to himself, his fingers cramping against the rail. "It's just code. It's just the Box."
Suddenly, a massive surge of pressure hit the core. The emergency brakes on Seol-wol's gloves screeched, sparks flying as he slid uncontrollably down the rail.
"Seol-wol!"
Miran didn't hesitate. He released his own mag-locks and went into a freefall, tucking his body into a spear. He slammed into Seol-wol mid-air, his powerful arms wrapping around the thief's waist, and fired his emergency tether.
The cable snapped taut, the recoil jolting their bones. They swung violently through the mist, finally slamming into a narrow maintenance ledge.
Seol-wol gasped for air, his face pressed into the crook of Miran's neck. He was shaking, not just from the cold, but from the psychological weight of the descent. The "Noise" was so loud now it felt like his brain was being scrubbed with sandpaper.
"Look at me," Miran commanded. He pinned Seol-wol against the damp wall of the ledge, his body acting as a shield against the freezing wind.
Seol-wol looked up. Miran's hair was matted with frost, and there was a cut on his cheek from the fall, but his eyes were burning with a terrifying, focused intensity. He looked like a god of the underworld.
"The Architect is trying to drown you in your own memories," Miran hissed, his hands gripping Seol-wol's shoulders so hard it bruised. "He's using your mother because he knows she's the only thing you love more than your brother. If you let him in, he'll hollow you out and use your skin to walk out of that Vault."
"It hurts," Seol-wol rasped, a single tear freezing on his cheek. "Miran... it hurts so much."
Miran's expression softened, just for a heartbeat. It was a look of such raw, egoistic possessiveness that it was almost more frightening than his coldness. He leaned in, his cold lips brushing against Seol-wol's forehead, right where the violet light was strongest.
"Then give it to me," Miran whispered. "The pain, the noise, the ghosts. Push it all into me. I'm the Heir. I was born to carry the weight of this graveyard."
Miran took Seol-wol's hand and pressed it against his own chest, right over his heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The connection was instantaneous. Seol-wol felt a massive "drain" as the static in his head rushed out of him and into Miran. The relief was so sudden he nearly collapsed.
Miran's jaw clenched, his eyes flaring with a dark, reflected violet light as he absorbed the neural feedback that should have killed a normal man.
They stayed like that, huddled on a ledge over a mile-deep pit, sharing a soul that was being torn apart.
"Why are you doing this?" Seol-wol asked, his voice small. "You could have just used me and let me burn out."
Miran pulled back just enough to look Seol-wol in the eye. He reached out and traced the line of Seol-wol's lips with a gloved finger. "Because a burned-out key is useless. And because... I want to see what kind of man you become when you finally stop being a victim."
Miran's gaze dropped to Seol-wol's mouth, and for a second, the 46-hour clock didn't matter. The heist didn't matter. The dead girl and the possessed brother didn't matter.
But before the distance between them could vanish, a sound echoed from the darkness above.
It wasn't a Reaper. It was a laugh. A high-pitched, child-like giggle that Seol-wol recognized from a decade ago.
"Hyung, come find me!"
Seol-wol's heart stopped. He looked up into the mist. Standing on the rail a hundred feet above them was a small, seven-year-old version of Junseo. He looked perfect, healthy, and happy—the way he looked before the gutter took his smile.
But the child-Junseo was holding something. He was holding the metallic bolt, and he was slowly beginning to unscrew the heavy bolts holding the maintenance ledge to the wall.
"The shadow found us," Miran growled, his hand flying to his side-arm.
"Don't shoot him!" Seol-wol screamed.
"It's not him!" Miran roared back.
The ledge let out a horrific groan of complaining metal. The first bolt popped, spinning into the abyss. Then the second.
"Jump!" Miran yelled, grabbing Seol-wol's hand.
They leaped into the darkness just as the ledge sheared off the wall. As they fell, Seol-wol saw the child-Junseo wave goodbye, his eyes turning into empty black holes.
They weren't falling toward the turbines anymore. A massive, circular iris was opening at the very bottom of the core.
The entrance to the Vault.