Aven woke to silence.
For a heartbeat he thought he was dead, floating in a sea of white. But slowly, the light faded, resolving into broken walls, fractured conduits, and piles of ash where the tendrils had been.
Beside him, Rhea stirred. Her face was pale, streaked with blood, but her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. The crystal shard lay shattered at her feet, its glow completely gone.
Around them, the sphere was gone. In its place was a hollow shell of twisted metal, glowing softly with fading neon light. The pulses that had once vibrated through the floor were gone, replaced by a low, dying hum that faded more with every passing second.
"It worked…" Rhea whispered, voice hoarse. "It's breaking apart… from the inside…"
Aven held her as the floor trembled again, the last echoes of the sphere's collapse shivering through the chamber. Sparks rained from ruptured cables overhead, casting brief glimmers of light across the ruin.
Somewhere above, they heard the ceiling begin to give way, huge chunks of concrete and metal crashing into the depths below.
Aven struggled to his feet, helping Rhea stand. "We have to get out," he said, voice thick with exhaustion.
Rhea nodded weakly, leaning on him as they staggered toward the broken corridor they'd come through. The walls around them cracked and groaned, neon veins sputtering out, leaving only darkness and drifting dust in their wake.
They climbed through the shattered sphere, crawling over debris and dodging falling beams. Behind them, the core chamber crumbled completely, a roar of breaking metal and splintering stone echoing through the tunnels.
Aven didn't dare look back. He focused on each step, on keeping Rhea moving, on the faint glow of daylight he saw far ahead through the wreckage.
Finally they emerged into the abandoned train yard. The ceiling had collapsed, revealing a gaping hole to the ruined city above. Sunlight poured through, dust motes spinning in the golden light.
Aven collapsed onto the cracked concrete, dragging Rhea down beside him. They lay there, gasping, staring up at the sky.
"It's over," Rhea whispered.
Aven swallowed hard, his throat raw. "Is it?" he asked softly.
She turned her head to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. "We cut out its heart," she said. "It will take time for the last shadows to fade… but yes. We did it."
The wind blew through the broken walls, stirring the dust. Somewhere in the ruins, a distant echo whispered and died, fading into the quiet.
Aven looked up at the sky again, feeling the sunlight on his face. It felt alien, unreal, almost painful after so long in the neon dark.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
Rhea closed her eyes. "We start over," she murmured. "We find the other survivors. We build something new… without the museum, without the dead futures clinging to us."
Aven let out a slow breath. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to imagine a world where the museum was only a scar, not a living wound. He wanted to hope.
Above them, the sky stayed bright and cold, uncaring.
But Aven held Rhea's hand tighter, refusing to let go.
And in the silence, he whispered: "Okay. Together."
The museum was gone. The future was empty.
They would fill it themselves.