Rewinding Cadence

Volume 1 · Chapter 7She Said: "Last Loop, You Died Here"

The subway tunnel groaned above them.

Ren and Chu moved swiftly through the skeletal remains of the Cadence understructure, Chu's lantern casting pale gold against the damp, rust-veined walls. The echo of their footsteps was sharper tonight—like something else was listening. Watching.

"Where are we going?" Ren asked, his breath visible in the cold.

"To the Sealed Gate," Chu replied, voice tight. "There's something you need to see before we attempt the Nexus Ritual."

She didn't elaborate, and Ren didn't press her. Her tone had changed. She wasn't just focused—she was afraid. He could feel it in the way her fingers gripped the lantern, how her gaze flicked over every dark corner.

As they turned the corner of an abandoned maintenance corridor, the walls began to change. Scorch marks. Deep claw gouges. Ash.

Ren slowed. "What happened here?"

Chu didn't answer.

Not yet.

They reached the chamber ten minutes later.

It was circular, lined with shattered stone murals—once-beautiful mosaics that had crumbled into broken spirals and cracked glass. At the far end stood a heavy iron gate, sealed shut by thick chains that pulsed faintly with a dull red glow. Around it, the ground was scorched black.

Ren moved closer, trying to make sense of the destruction. "This place feels… wrong."

Chu knelt beside the gate and placed her palm flat against the ground. Her eyes fluttered closed. "Leyline convergence beneath this floor. That's why Ark built the first terminal here." She opened her eyes and looked up at Ren. "This is where everything went wrong."

Ren walked to one of the shattered murals. Among the jagged pieces, he could make out an image: a silver-haired girl standing beneath a storm. Beside her, a vague figure—featureless, shadowed. The man had no face, only a spiral where his features should've been.

"This is us," he whispered.

Chu rose. Her face was pale, her voice quieter than usual. "Yes. This is where it happened."

Ren turned to her. "Where what happened?"

Chu hesitated.

Then she walked to the center of the room and traced a half-burned line in the floor with her boot. "Last loop," she said, voice hollow, "you died here."

Ren froze.

"What?"

Chu kept her eyes on the floor. "You remembered everything early, just like now. You insisted we face Ark then and there—before the cycle had time to unravel. We came here, thinking the gate could be broken." She swallowed. "We were wrong."

Ren's mind reeled. He took a step closer. "How did I—?"

"You stood there," Chu interrupted, pointing to the cracked spiral etched into the stone. "Told me you weren't afraid anymore. Said you'd protect me." Her voice trembled. "The Hollow didn't even give you time to scream. It tore through your spine."

She turned away, arms folding around her middle. "I held your body until the loop collapsed. You didn't fade. You bled out."

Ren stared at the spiral, breath shallow. He could almost see himself standing there—facing something he didn't understand. Dying for someone he couldn't remember loving.

He clenched his fists. "And you came back anyway."

Chu turned back to him, eyes shining. "I always come back. Because you always come back too."

Ren stepped forward until they were only a breath apart. "How many times have I died in front of you?"

Her lip quivered. "Too many."

He reached out, brushing a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. "Then this time, I'll live."

Chu stared at him. "You said that before."

"Then I'll keep saying it. Every loop. Every death. Until it's true."

Her voice cracked. "You'll forget again."

"Not if I write it down," he said, pulling the chalk from his pocket. With slow, deliberate strokes, he knelt beside the spiral in the floor and wrote:

Cycle 134 · Day 4 – Died here last time. Not again. She remembers. So will I.

Chu stood in silence, watching the words set like stone.

Then she knelt beside him.

And added beneath his line:

He keeps his promises. Even the ones that hurt.

Later, as they climbed back to the surface, Ren caught the first flickers of green aurora in the sky above. The city pulsed faintly in the distance, like the heart of a dying beast. They didn't speak much after that.

They didn't need to.

Because some truths didn't have to be said aloud.

Not when they were carved in memory.

Not when they were written in chalk.