Barcelona – 3:22 A.M.
The rain hadn't stopped. It fell in sheets, blanketing the Gothic rooftops in a soft, metallic hiss. Eros was soaked through as he slipped into a stolen sedan parked in an alley off Carrer del Bisbe. He had disabled the tracker and shorted the ignition in seconds—a trick his grandfather taught him on a different timeline.
The cube floated just above the dashboard, humming faintly, feeding coordinates to his phone's offline maps.
Destination: a plateau near Canfranc, deep in the Spanish Pyrenees.
Estimated arrival: five hours.
He peeled out onto the slick road, eyes on the rearview mirror. The Fragment Hunters hadn't followed him—yet. But he could feel them. Somewhere behind the veil, triangulating his presence.
Highway N-260 – Near Dawn
The mountains loomed like sentinels as the sun threatened the horizon. Mist curled along the cliffs, spilling into the road like slow smoke. Eros' hands tightened on the wheel.
The cube had changed colors—now glowing a soft indigo, a signal he hadn't seen before.
"Stability threshold dropping," it said softly.
"Timeline 117-VK will destabilize in 46 hours."
That wasn't enough time. If the Anchor collapsed, so would every version of him inside this forked reality.
He passed a road sign:
CANFRANC ESTACIÓN – 13 km
Canfranc Estación – Abandoned Rail Hub
Once a grand monument to European rail travel, the Canfranc station was now a rusted skeleton, its iron ribs swallowed by ivy and silence. Eros parked beside a collapsed fence and stepped into the fog.
The cube pulsed faster as he approached the platform.
Then—like clockwork—a section of stone vibrated. A crack split the ground, revealing a descending spiral of concrete steps.
"Anchor Site located. Sub-level four."
He took one last look at the mountains.
And went below.
The Anchor Core
The stairwell descended into a cavern lined with humming walls. Old tech—decades behind modern gear but pulsing with something timeless. At the bottom was a narrow chamber with a massive cylinder suspended in midair.
The Anchor.
A gyroscopic core surrounded by seven rings, each rotating independently, each carved with spiraling sigils.
Eros approached. The cube left his hand and docked with the central ring.
The chamber reacted.
"Stability system unlocked. Manual interface required."
A holographic console formed midair, flickering between languages. Eros recognized some: Latin, Sanskrit, ancient Berber dialects.
He reached toward the console.
And that's when they found him.
Fragment Hunters – Arrival
The alarm triggered—a soft wind turning sharp. The console screamed in red glyphs.
"Breach detected."
Eros turned, heart hammering.
Three Hunters phased into view at the edge of the platform. No entrance. No doors. They simply were. Their bodies emitted no heat, only static.
The one in the center stepped forward.
Its voice was layered—like multiple versions of itself were speaking at once.
"Thread 117-VK is in violation. Termination requested."
Eros backed into the console.
The cube lit white-hot.
"Defensive override active."
The Anchor pulsed. Reality inside the chamber folded, and suddenly Eros was in five places at once—a trick of unstable timelines. He used the confusion to move.
He slammed his hand on the console.
The Anchor roared.
Echo Pulse
A blast of raw memory surged outward, throwing the Hunters back. The sigils on the rings ignited. A voice filled the chamber—not Voss, not Zero, but someone new:
"The Anchor has been claimed. The collapse slows. The gate is open."
A wall of the chamber retracted, revealing a tunnel carved from solid light.
The cube returned to Eros' hand.
"This leads to the next Echo. Voss awaits you. But only one version of you can pass."
Eros looked down and saw himself fracturing—four versions standing in flickers around him.
The cube blinked.
"Choose."