The ice gives way beneath my boot, and I’m falling—into darkness, into silence, into something older than breath. My harness snaps, and the fall should’ve killed me. Instead, I land softly on warm stone. The air smells of copper and blooming nightshade. Above, the hole seals itself with glowing sigils. No way back. In front of me, a corridor pulses with faint light, walls covered in carvings that shift when I blink—scenes of a city burning, people screaming, hands reaching toward a sky full of falling stars. One figure stands out: me, or someone who looks like me, standing at the center, arms raised, eyes empty. A voice hums in my molars, not words, just meaning: You promised to forget. And yet… I’m here. The corridor splits ahead—left, the sound of dripping water and distant chanting; right, a door marked with my birthdate; straight, footprints in dust that match my own, leading into blackness.