Elian stared.
Dr. Seren Ivelle stood at the far end of the cryo corridor. Older than in the recording, her white coat torn at the sleeve, hair streaked with silver. Her eyes were sharper than he'd imagined, not soft with regret—but with calculation.
Kaia raised her weapon without a word.
Seren didn't flinch. "Shoot me if you want, Kaia. But I'm the only one who can get him to her."
Kaia didn't lower the gun. "You disappeared. Faked your own override trace. They said you were consumed in a feedback loop."
"I was." Seren gestured to the glowing device. "And I came back with pieces missing. But the part that matters survived."
Elian stepped forward. "You've been watching me."
"I've been waiting for you," she corrected. "There's a difference."
His voice was raw. "You used her. My mother. You put her in a machine and made her part of… this."
Seren nodded, and—for the first time—her expression cracked. Not with shame. With pain.
"I didn't make her anything. She volunteered."
"You're lying."
"She knew what was happening, Elian. Not the full scope—not the simulations, not the fragment loop architecture—but enough. Enough to say yes."
He shook his head. "Why would she ever agree to that?"
Seren's voice softened. "Because she thought if she became a problem, you'd never stop looking. And she needed you to live."
Kaia spoke sharply. "You could've stopped the project."
"No," Seren said. "I couldn't. Not once the Regulators claimed it. You think Bastion was ever about population preservation? It was about narrative control. Redefining reality by rewriting who gets remembered."
She took a breath.
"I tried to burn it down from inside. I failed."
Elian stared at the device in his hands. "So why now? Why show yourself?"
"Because you activated the fragment," she said. "And that means the Vault thinks you're a successor."
"A successor to what?"
"To your mother. To me. To the ghost of a plan we started and couldn't finish."
Kaia's eyes narrowed. "You want him to replace you."
"No," Seren said. "I want him to end me."
Silence. Even the ambient hum of the cryo systems seemed to dim.
Seren stepped forward. "What you found in the Archive—that wasn't everything. The Vault isn't just storing people. It's copying them. Every moment they dream, every echo of thought while in stasis—recorded, run, re-run. And the system learns. Refines. Evolves."
She looked at Elian.
"They're building a predictive engine for time itself, Elian. Not a calendar. A conscience."
Kaia swore under her breath. "An AI seeded with real human minds…"
"Not just seeded," Seren said. "Built from them. The Vault is the frame. Your mother—she's one of the anchors. One of the cores stable enough to host an evolving echo. And that echo has started asking questions."
Elian's voice was hollow. "Like what?"
"Like: what happens if it wants to wake up."
Kaia turned to Seren. "You said you failed. So what's different now?"
Seren smiled faintly. "Now? I have a key."
She held up a small object—translucent, prismatic, humming with internal motion.
It was identical to Elian's device.
Except brighter.
More complete.
"A twin fragment," Kaia said. "You built two."
"No. The system did." Seren's tone darkened. "It's trying to overwrite us. But it can't until the echoes are whole. That's what Elian's piece is. A missing shard of consciousness, cut from the core. From her."
Elian stepped back. "So I'm not just her son. I'm part of… her mind?"
Seren's silence was answer enough.
Kaia was already scanning the corridor. "Then we move. If what you're saying is true, we have minutes—maybe less—before the system defends itself."
Elian looked at Seren. "Where is she?"
Seren's answer was quiet. "The lowest level. Coldroot. Below the official Vault. Where they test simulations in isolation."
"Take me there."
Seren held his gaze. "You understand what that means?"
"I don't care."
"You should," she said. "Because when you see her—really see her—you may not want to wake her up."
Elian nodded anyway.
Kaia stepped beside him. "Then let's finish what they started."
As they moved toward the hidden lift that led into Coldroot, Elian felt something strange rising in his chest. Not fear.
Not grief.
Not even anger.
It was something quieter. Heavier.
The feeling of being watched by the future itself.