They found it beneath a dead mountain.
No lights. No warnings. No name carved into stone.
Just a jagged, unnatural canyon that hadn't been there yesterday—like the earth itself had parted to whisper a final secret.
The group stood at the edge.
The wind didn't howl here.
It held its breath.
Seth stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "This place doesn't exist on any map, not even in Vault schematics."
"It's older than maps," murmured the gold-eyed man. "Older than memory."
Juno walked toward the canyon's mouth. The stone beneath her feet was scorched black—no marks, no sigils, but something in her blood thrummed like a tuning fork. The closer she got, the louder her pulse became. It wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
Milo adjusted the fractured compass he'd patched back together. "It's pulling again."
Idris scanned the area. "No Council presence."
Seth shook his head. "They won't interfere here. Not directly. They're afraid of what this place means."
Juno stepped to the edge of the opening—and the canyon shifted.
Not visually.
Chronologically.
Rocks rolled backward. Air reversed. Her reflection appeared on the cliff wall beside her, but it was her from the past. Hair shorter. Eyes softer. The her from before the Vaults. Before the Council. Before the world became a loop.
She blinked. The reflection blinked back. Then—
It smiled.
And whispered:
"One last chance."
The canyon opened.
And the entrance revealed itself: a spiraling descent of onyx stone and silver veins, glowing faintly with lifeforce. At the top was a simple plaque:
> Vault 01
The First Rewrite.
Access Level: Origin.
Entry granted to: Kerr, Juno.
Juno turned to the others.
"Only I can go."
"No way," Idris said immediately.
Seth shook his head. "It has to be her. Vault One responds only to the original Rewrite Trigger."
Milo hesitated. "We'll wait right here. But if anything feels wrong—"
Juno smiled faintly. "It already does."
And with that, she descended into the final vault.
Inside Vault One
There were no walls.
Only moments.
Suspended around her like starlight—floating fragments of timelines she didn't remember choosing, but had all somehow lived. She reached toward one: herself, standing with a child in her arms, both smiling under a sky untouched by war.
Another: flames. The Council falling. Herself walking away, alone.
Then the core appeared.
Not a machine.
Not a memory.
But a being.
It looked like her—but stitched together from possibilities. Hundreds of Junos, layered into one face. It opened its eyes and spoke in her voice:
"You've come to remember. But will you come to decide?"
The chamber pulsed.
And the Final Choice began to form.