Morning did not arrive naturally.
The sky outside the lighthouse lightened as if instructed to—color adjusting itself into something acceptable. No birds. No wind. Just the faint sound of the sea continuing its loop, wave after wave arriving on schedule.
They gathered without being called.
No one asked where the teddy was. It was already there.
AX-01 stood beside Lucia, unmoving, its presence heavier than before. The singularity in its chest emitted no light now—only depth, like a hole where illumination had once been sufficient.
The teddy sat on the table.
Not at the head.
Not at the center.
As if hierarchy no longer applied.
"You will not leave together," the teddy said.
No preamble.
No justification.
Andy nodded slowly. "We felt that already."
"Of course you did," the teddy replied. "The fragments don't coexist. They diverge."
Heaven shifted her weight. "So this is the part where we split."
"Yes," said the teddy. "But not as teams. As directions."
Lucia frowned. "Directions toward what?"
The teddy looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.
"Toward what Septet refused to reconcile."
The air changed.
The lighthouse wall—stone older than memory—began to show fractures that were not cracks but windows. Not opening outward. Opening through.
Each one revealed a place.
Not clearly.
Not safely.
But undeniably.
Andrew stepped closer to the first.
A city folded into itself, streets looping back into their own beginnings. People walked with purpose, never arriving. Buildings were numbered, not named.
"The Continuity Zone," the teddy said. "Where nothing is allowed to end."
Andrew swallowed. He felt the pull immediately. Space already felt thinner there.
Sylence's window shimmered next.
A battlefield long after the war had ended. Weapons rusted in mid-air. Time stuttered. Every step echoed twice—once forward, once backward.
"The Witness Field," the teddy continued. "Memory without mercy."
Sylence closed his eyes. "I can hear it already."
Andy's window flickered into existence.
A city identical to their own—except every banner, every screen, every slogan contradicted itself. Riots that led nowhere. Revolutions scheduled years in advance.
"The Refusal Engine," said the teddy. "Where resistance is harvested."
Andy laughed once. It came out hollow. "Figures."
Sony's place emerged quietly.
A cathedral of machinery, gears turning with organic patience. The walls pulsed. The structure listened.
"The Interface Vault," the teddy said. "Where matter remembers who commands it."
Sony stared, breath shallow. "It's… responding."
Peter's window was last.
Nothing dramatic.
Just a road disappearing into fog, lined with signs pointing in conflicting directions. Some signs were broken. Others rewritten so many times the original message no longer existed.
"The Collapse Route," the teddy said. "Where systems fail without villains."
Peter didn't ask questions. He nodded. He understood weight when he felt it.
Heaven looked around. "And me?"
The teddy smiled—not kindly.
"Wherever choice collapses first."
Her window did not stabilize. It shifted constantly, unable to settle on a single destination.
Lucia stepped forward. "And us?"
The teddy's button eyes met hers.
"You stay."
The word landed harder than expected.
"With me?" Lucia asked. "Doing what?"
The teddy looked toward AX-01.
"Watching the center."
AX-01 spoke for the first time since the windows appeared.
"I am not assigned," it said.
"No," the teddy agreed. "You are anchored."
Lucia's chest tightened. "Anchored to what?"
The lighthouse groaned softly.
"To the place Septet can still reach," the teddy replied.
No one liked that answer.
The windows widened.
Not aggressively.
Patiently.
"This is not a rescue mission," the teddy said. "You are not fixing anything. You are retrieving alignment failures."
Andrew turned. "And if we don't come back?"
The teddy did not lie.
"Then the system will consider that acceptable loss."
Silence.
Then movement.
One by one, they stepped forward—not bravely, not hesitantly, but because the direction no longer felt optional.
Andy paused beside Lucia. "You better not disappear while we're gone."
Lucia managed a smile. "You better come back fractured, not erased."
Sylence lingered last. "If we meet him…"
The teddy interrupted gently. "You won't."
Sylence nodded. "Then I'll listen anyway."
And then they were gone.
Each window sealed itself without sound.
The lighthouse felt larger afterward.
Too large.
Lucia sat heavily on the floor. "So this is what being left behind feels like."
AX-01 turned slightly toward her.
"Correction," it said. "This is what remaining at origin feels like."
The teddy hopped down from the table.
"Rest while you can," it told Lucia. "The ones who leave face fragments. The ones who stay face absence."
Lucia looked up sharply. "Absence of what?"
The teddy did not answer.
Instead, it stared at the place where the last window had been.
Where something had almost looked back.