They stood like mirrored statues—Zayn and the one who called himself Omega-Z1.
Althea, Patch, Fry—all frozen, not by force, but by something older. An instinct. The room was thick with recursion tension, memory barely held in stasis.
Zayn broke the silence. "How long have you been down here?"
Omega tilted his head. "Long enough to become your opposite. Your regret."
Zayn took a step forward. "I don't regret remembering."
"No. But you regret who you had to become to forget."
Omega flicked his wrist. The air warped. A projection blinked into existence—an image of Zayn during the early recursion experiments, cold-eyed, clinical, surrounded by shattered memory threads.
"You erased others to spare yourself. I watched. I waited. I was the price."
Zayn's hands curled into fists. "You're a remnant."
"I'm your beginning."
He surged forward.
The clash wasn't physical—it was mnemonic. Thought against thought. Memory against memory. Every lie Zayn had told himself shattered on impact. The seven threads shimmered around him, resisting the assault.
Fry gasped as time fractured around the combatants. Althea raised a barrier, shielding them from raw memory shards.
Patch whispered, "We have to help him."
But Althea held her back. "This is his alone."
Inside the storm, Zayn felt pieces of himself slip. Doubt. Fear. The quiet thought that maybe he wasn't worthy of carrying the shard.
But then—
Mira's voice. Not spoken, but remembered:
"You didn't make us to forget. You made us to find you."
Zayn opened his eyes.
And for the first time, Omega flinched.
"You're not my error," Zayn said. "You're my proof."
With a burst of light, the seven threads merged into him—not consumed, but embraced.
He struck.
Omega shattered into fractal shards—each fragment a memory, now freed.
The vault pulsed once, then stilled.
Zayn stood alone.
But for the first time—whole.