The Council Chamber was no longer still.
Glass that had stood unbroken for centuries now spiderwebbed with tension. The glow behind the twelve chairs had dimmed—some flickering violently, others extinguished entirely.
Only four seats remained active.
Magister Hal Vire stood at the center of the room, coat dusted with ash, his artificial eye spinning too fast to track.
"She's remembered," Seat Three said coldly.
"We were fools to let her near Vault Ten."
Hal didn't respond.
"And now Vault Thirteen is breached," Seat Nine added.
"She's unifying the Echo Children. We swore they were scattered."
"She was," Hal muttered. "Until something pulled them back together."
A pause. Then a whisper from the dark:
"Love," said a voice from the broken glass. "Loyalty. Guilt. Whatever pieces of her survived the erasure—we should have burned them instead."
Hal turned slowly, the synthetic pupil in his eye locking onto the speaker.
"She's heading to Vault One," he said, almost admiringly. "Even after all we erased. She found her way back."
"Then we collapse the thread entirely," Seat Three snapped. "Trigger a timeline purge. Reset every loop."
Another voice, gentler, interjected.
"If we purge now, we risk everything. All of it. Not just her."
Hal raised a hand, silencing them.
"No," he said. "She's too close now. If we destroy Vault One before she reaches it, we confirm what we fear."
He turned toward the center screen.
It showed Juno—walking beside Seth, Idris, Milo, and the gold-eyed Echo Child.
"She's not coming to open the vault," Hal said. "She's coming to choose."
"Choose what?" asked the last remaining voice.
Hal Vire's smile was cold. Tired.
"Whether this world deserves to keep repeating."