Aryan stepped toward the others, each of them materializing more clearly with every step into the light. The strange echo-lanterns lining the Archive flared to life in succession, illuminating the shop's impossible geometry: staircases that bent in loops, floating orbs that whispered secrets in languages none of them knew, and a ceiling so far above it looked like a twilight sky trapped indoors.

The Archivist stood motionless, arms behind his back, as the four children gathered in a silent square around the obsidian pedestal.

The girl with the recorder glanced warily at Aryan. Her auburn curls were tucked into a weather-worn hoodie, and her recorder—a clunky, analog device—was gripped like a blade."I'm Nara," she said without waiting. "From Tier-9 North. You?"

"Aryan. Neo-Gaia. Sector Twelve," he answered, his voice quieter than he expected.

The tall boy next to her adjusted the strap of his tactical vest. He looked older, maybe fourteen, with bruised knuckles and narrowed eyes."Zair. Shield sector. Was training under Commander Rayyan—"He trailed off, eyes locking onto Aryan. "You're his brother?"

Aryan nodded slowly. Zair didn't reply, but his gaze softened.

The fourth boy, wiry and twitching with a strange energy, spoke next. "Kio. Sector Nineteen. My eyes—" he blinked, and the static returned, brief sparks crackling in his irises. "It started after the blackout. I think… the Archive woke something in me."

"A pity," the Archivist murmured, gliding between them now like a conductor. "Not all awakenings are gentle." He clapped once—sharp, final.

The room trembled.

From the walls, shelves folded away to reveal curved archways leading into dark corridors. Each was marked with an echo-symbol that shimmered faintly. One showed a burning clock; another, an open eye with no pupil; a third, a child's hand pressed to glass.

"These are your paths," said the Archivist. "Each of you must enter alone. Inside, you will confront your first Echo Trial. A test of memory. A test of truth."

"What happens if we fail?" asked Nara.

The Archivist smiled with closed lips. "Then you will remain. Echoes of yourselves, perhaps. Shells. Songs half-finished. Choices have weight here."

He gestured toward the dice rollers. "Choose your symbol. Choose your path."

The four children exchanged glances.

Aryan was the first to step forward. The roller was cool under his hand, like polished stone that had waited centuries for him. The symbols rotated until they landed on one: a broken hourglass, sand flowing upward.

"I know this symbol," Aryan whispered. "I drew it."

"Of course you did," the Archivist said gently. "Time is never lost. Only lent."

Inside the Trial Chamber

Aryan walked into the corridor marked by the hourglass. The light behind him vanished instantly. Ahead, flickers of memory bloomed: his family's shelter, his father's voice in the distance, Rayyan laughing on their rooftop once during a rare rainstorm.

Then the world bent.

He was standing in his old home—but it wasn't ruined. It was whole. Untouched. His mother was humming softly as she prepared food, Idris fixing a light panel in the corner. Aryan stood frozen at the door.

They didn't seem to see him.

He stepped closer, heart pounding. "Mom?"

No answer. But then—his younger self ran past him. A seven-year-old Aryan, carrying a tiny broken drone. He rushed to Idris.

"Fix it, Baba! Please?"

Idris smiled and took the drone. "Only if you promise to stop sneaking into the roof grid."

Young Aryan nodded sheepishly.

The present Aryan watched, stunned, as the room shifted. The ceiling crumbled. Smoke poured in. Alarms blared. This was the day Neo-Gaia's outer shield fell.

A door appeared on the far wall, marked with the hourglass again. But just before Aryan could cross the room, he heard it.

Rayyan's voice, in pain. Crying out.

He turned.

The living room was fading, replaced by an alley of rubble. Rayyan, bleeding and clutching a broken Echo crystal, lay trapped under a collapsed beam.

"Aryan!" he screamed. "Help me!"

Aryan hesitated.

The door behind him glowed brighter, humming with invitation. But his brother—was it real? A trick? A memory? His legs shook with the weight of it.

"If I leave, and this is real…" Aryan choked. "But if it's not…"

He turned toward Rayyan—and stepped forward.

Just as he touched his brother's hand, the illusion shattered.

The rubble evaporated. So did Rayyan. In his place, only silence.

A new doorway opened ahead. Aryan passed through, heart hollow, and emerged once more in the Archive. His hands trembled.

The Archivist stood waiting.

"You chose memory over freedom," he said. "Interesting."

"Was it… fake?"

"Everything here is real," the Archivist said. "But not all of it is now."

The other three had not yet returned.

Aryan collapsed onto the cold stone floor. He stared at the faint scar on his palm—something had cut him in the trial. And yet… he could feel something new humming under his skin. A fragment. An Echo.

Whatever this place was, it had changed him.

And this was only the beginning.

End of Chapter 2