The Hall of Echoes did not collapse.
Instead, it unfolded.
The golden lines beneath our feet stretched wider, sliding apart like seams in reality. There was no shaking, no violent drop—just the unsettling sensation of space deciding it no longer needed to obey familiar rules. My stomach tightened as the floor softened into light, yet my body did not fall.
We drifted.
Downward, but without wind. Without weight.
I instinctively reached for something solid, my fingers brushing against empty air until the pearl flared brighter, casting a faint sphere of illumination around me. Within it, dust-like motes floated lazily, each one reflecting fragments of memories that didn't belong to me.
Or maybe they did.
EG stood across from me, unmoving, as if gravity had never applied to him in the first place. His coat hung naturally, undisturbed by the descent.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice strangely clear despite the impossible space around us.
"Lower," he replied. "Not deeper."
"That doesn't help."
A corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. "It will."
The light around us dimmed gradually, the mirrors from above fading into distant stars. Below, something vast took shape—not darkness, but layers. Platforms suspended at different heights, connected by faint bridges of mist and light, each level marked by symbols etched into the air itself.
We slowed as we approached the nearest platform. My feet touched down first, solid stone meeting my weight with a muted hum. The surface was smooth, warm beneath my boots, etched with patterns that reminded me uncomfortably of veins.
EG landed beside me without sound.
"This is the Threshold Layer," he said. "Most never reach it consciously."
I swallowed. "What happens to those who don't?"
"They still pass through," he answered. "They just don't remember."
That sent a shiver through me.
The platform extended far beyond what the light revealed. Columns rose at irregular intervals, some broken, others intact, each carved with incomplete figures—people, perhaps, or shadows pretending to be people. Their faces were deliberately unfinished.
I approached one cautiously. As my fingers brushed the stone, a jolt ran up my arm.
Sound flooded my ears.
Whispers—not loud, not frantic, but layered. Hundreds of voices speaking at once, overlapping in languages I didn't understand yet somehow felt familiar. I pulled my hand back sharply, heart racing.
EG was already there, placing himself between me and the column. "Don't touch too much," he warned. "This layer feeds on recognition."
"Recognition of what?"
He hesitated again. I was starting to notice that pattern far too clearly.
"Of the self you are not yet ready to accept."
I crossed my arms, forcing myself to breathe evenly. "You keep talking like I'm walking toward something inevitable. Like this whole thing was decided before I ever stepped into the rain."
EG studied me for a long moment. "Do you believe choice stops existing just because the path is narrow?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn't have an answer.
A low vibration rippled through the platform, subtle but powerful. The symbols etched into the air brightened, rearranging themselves. Lines curved inward, forming a circular sigil at the platform's center.
I felt it immediately.
Pressure—not on my body, but on my thoughts. Memories brushed against the edges of my mind, testing, probing. Images flickered: hands not mine holding a blade of light; standing before a gate that refused to open; a voice—my voice—swearing an oath I couldn't hear clearly.
I staggered, clutching the pearl as its glow intensified, pushing back against the intrusion.
EG's voice cut through the haze. "Focus on the anchor."
"The pearl?" I gasped.
"No," he said. "On the reason you kept it."
The reason.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The rain. The shadow. The fear of being erased without ever understanding why. The stubborn refusal to disappear quietly.
The pressure eased slightly.
The sigil stabilized, its glow dimming to a steady pulse.
"Well done," EG said softly.
I looked at him sharply. "You knew that would happen."
"Yes."
"And you still brought me here."
"Yes."
Anger surged, hot and sharp. "You don't get to keep doing this—throwing me into things I don't understand and calling it preparation."
"This is preparation," he said, equally firm now. "And I am not your enemy."
"Then what are you?" I demanded.
The vibration returned, stronger this time. From the edge of the platform, the mist thickened, coiling inward. Shapes began to form within it—humanoid silhouettes, faceless and pale, their outlines flickering like faulty reflections.
My pulse spiked. "EG…"
"Stand your ground," he instructed calmly. "They cannot cross the sigil."
The figures stopped just short of the glowing circle, tilting their heads in unison. Though they had no eyes, I felt their attention lock onto me.
"What are they?" I whispered.
"Residuals," EG replied. "Echoes of those who reached this layer and tried to move forward without understanding why they wanted to."
One of the figures lifted an arm, its shape distorting, stretching toward me. The sigil flared in response, pushing it back with a sound like cracking glass.
"They look…" I swallowed. "They look empty."
"They are," he said. "But they're drawn to fullness."
The pearl pulsed violently, reacting to their presence. I tightened my grip, heart hammering. "So what now?"
EG stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Now you choose."
"Choose what?"
He gestured toward two paths forming beyond the platform—one descending further into layered light, the other leading sideways into a narrow corridor of shadow.
"To continue," he said, "or to stabilize."
I stared at the paths, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
And for the first time since the rain began, I understood one thing clearly:
Whatever I chose next would change the way the echoes followed me forever.