After the glowing threads vanished into the ether, silence fell-not just quiet, but a silence that erased even the memory of sound. There was no gravity here. No up. No down.

Yet something inside Erah still thundered-not his heart, but something deeper.
A memory trying to rebuild itself.

A thought, or maybe an echo, rippled through his mind:

"If you still remember, then they are not dead."
"And if they still exist... time still has somewhere to begin again."

He turned-not with his body, but with something beneath thought.

Before him, a chamber unfolded-not because he walked, but because his presence drew it into being. The room was made of faded gold light, its four walls pulsing gently like they were breathing.

Above, seven interlocked rings hovered like broken clockwork, unmoving. Each bore a different mark: an eye, a shattered hourglass, a feather, a cube, a decaying strand of DNA, a collapsed star, and...

A name.
Carved in red.
Erah.

Why is my name here?
How can something be written... before I ever was?

Then-a knock.
There was no door, but the sound struck like thunder.

And a voice followed.
Old. Cold.
But not unkind. It carried patience-the kind that waits a lifetime:

"I am the Last Rememberer.
And you... are what I forgot."

From the shadows stepped a figure in a fractured brown cloak, face hidden beneath a hood. His skin looked like aged parchment, flaking with every breath. But his eyes-those burned with clarity.

"You think you're the first?" he asked.
"No. You're merely the latest version-
and the only one that couldn't be erased."

Erah took a step back.

Something about the man's words twisted the room itself.
Above them, the rings creaked.
Something inside them stirred.

"I remember them all," the man whispered.
"Thousands of versions. Born. Deleted. Forgotten."
"Only you survived-not by strength, but by disobedience."

Something in Erah's chest clenched.

Memories-broken, scattered-started drifting back. A boy drifting between worlds. A soul that couldn't be pinned. A name that kept being reset every time it reached too close to the truth.

"You are the surviving anomaly," the man said.
"And the key to either collapse or rebuild all Seven Constants."

Erah didn't answer.
He looked up at the red name carved into the gold.

His name.
Still wet.
Still bleeding.

Beneath it, new words shimmered into existence:

"If memory survives, nothing is truly permanent."