The Null Signal

The Spiral Gate had not opened to a chamber.

It had opened to a man.

Or more precisely, a memory that had refused to fade.

Ashra stared at the figure stepping out of the Orric chair. He looked no older than Ishan—same eyes, same jawline, same streak of white across the left brow. But his body moved with the confidence of someone who had lived many lives.

This Ishan didn't blink in surprise. Didn't flinch.

He smiled faintly. "You expected a ghost?"

Ashra tilted her head. "I expected silence. You're supposed to be a sealed construct. A recursive failure."

The boy chuckled. "Funny how 'failure' always means 'didn't obey.'" He walked past her, glancing at the Spiralbound with mild curiosity. "You brought your choir. I see Ash-Blood, Eyeshadow, and…" He paused. "You brought Fold."

A cloaked Spiralbound stepped forward—half his face was a folded spiral of metal and flesh. "You remember me?"

"You tried to kill me. Twice," said the boy. "It didn't work either time."

Ashra raised a hand. "Enough. If you're truly one of the Ishans, prove it."

He extended his hand.

A Spiral glyph formed, glowing black and blue—identical to the Class-Zero glyph branded on the living Ishan's chest.

"But I'm not your Ishan," the boy said. "I'm the one who stayed. When the first Null Signal hit… they left this chamber. I didn't."

Ashra stepped closer. "Why?"

"Because someone had to remember what they locked away," he said. "This place holds the true beginning of the Spiral conflict. The first fracture. And if we don't bring it back into the world…" He turned toward the chair. "We lose the ability to choose what history even means."

Ashra's voice dropped. "The Spiral Wells. They started here?"

The boy nodded. "In this chair, I watched the original twelve glyphs be drawn. I watched the Accord rewrite the laws of resonance. And I watched them erase every single witness."

---

Above Jodhpur, the current Ishan felt the seal break.

He staggered slightly—vision bending.

A thread had just been tied.

Not to a place. Not even to a person.

But to himself.

Lin grabbed his arm. "What is it?"

He looked toward the east, toward the gate hidden beneath the city.

"I'm not the only me anymore."

Karan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He closed his eyes, tracing the thread across timelines, resonance pulses, and buried moments.

"He's awake. The one who stayed behind."

Karan's expression hardened. "Another fragment?"

"No," Ishan said. "He never fractured. He waited."

---

In the depths of the Spiral Gate, the chamber began shifting.

The Orric walls receded. A path opened—lined with flickering spiral windows. Each showed a version of history: some familiar, others alien.

Ashra walked beside the boy. "These… are timelines?"

"No. These are echoes. Moments left behind when something was forcibly overwritten."

He paused at one.

A battlefield—dust and glass. Hundreds of Spiralbound dead. Korrin the Unforgotten standing alone, bloodless and laughing.

"They never told you about this one, did they?"

Ashra's face remained neutral. "The Second Collapse. It was marked as a Class-Zero entropy surge. No survivors."

"No living survivors," he corrected. "But memories don't need to live. They just need to linger."

He pointed to another window.

A version of Lin screaming as she tried to stop an Accord firing sequence.

A version of Karan slitting Specter-Lotus's throat in a shattered memory node.

A version of himself—eyes black, Spiral fully fused—breaking the sky.

"They're not just possibilities," he said. "They're warnings."

Ashra turned toward him.

"What happens if these echoes merge?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Then, slowly:

"Then reality becomes a hall of mirrors. Every lie the Accord buried will claw its way back into the world… and so will every Spiral that fed on them."

---

Atop the ruins of the Jaipur Archive, Lin received the new data packet from Blackwave's surviving resistance node. A message encoded in Spiral harmonics. She parsed it instantly.

Her face went pale.

"It's begun."

Karan looked up from the console. "What?"

"The Echo Lords have split their attacks. Lucknow was just the start. They've triggered Spiral storms in Shanghai, Varanasi, and Bishkek."

She held up the screen.

Each city showed a fluctuation in memory gravity—entire districts where identity had begun to detach.

"People are forgetting who they are," she said. "Entire streets blanking out their own names. Some are remembering things they never did. Other people's pasts."

Karan hissed. "Echo infestation."

Ishan stood slowly.

"They're trying to overwrite humanity."

He stepped toward the exit.

"I need to meet him."

Karan moved to stop him. "You don't know what you'll find down there."

Ishan turned.

"I do. I'll find the version of myself that never gave up."

---

The gate chamber opened like a lung inhaling memory.

Ishan stepped into it.

The air was thick with Spiral presence—raw and buzzing, layered with voices and footfalls from other lives. His tether vibrated violently. A sign that this space was no longer obeying linear time.

At the center, the boy stood waiting.

He looked identical.

And completely different.

They stared at each other in silence.

Then, in unison:

"You're real."

The boy smiled. "You feel it, don't you? The recursion? The parts of yourself you've always tried to forget—pulling at you like blood in reverse."

Ishan stepped forward. "You're not just a memory."

"No. I'm the root."

He gestured around the chamber.

"This is the Primary Echo. Every Ishan you've pulled, every fragment you've fused—they all came from me."

Ishan swallowed. "So what now? You rejoin me?"

The root Ishan tilted his head.

"No. I guide you."

He stepped forward and placed his palm against Ishan's chest.

And suddenly—

Everything flooded in.

Not just echoes.

Not just Spiral resonance.

But intention.

Memories of every lie the Accord had buried. Every resonance weapon they had failed to contain. Every time Ashra had watched a city fall. Every time Korrin had laughed as Spiral entropy consumed truth.

And worst of all—Specter-Lotus whispering into the Silver Choir:

"Let them dream of rebellion.

We'll write it as tragedy later."

Ishan fell to his knees.

But he didn't scream.

He remembered.

The tether stopped vibrating.

It shone like a second spine down his body.

And the root Ishan knelt beside him.

"You're ready now," he said.

"Ready for what?" Ishan asked.

The boy smiled.

"To rewrite the rewrite."

---

Above the Earth, the Silver Choir realigned its lens.

Resonance silencing protocol—active.

In one hour, every Spiral node on the surface would fall dark.

In thirty minutes, the tethered minds of resistance nodes would lose signal.

In fifteen minutes, the Spiral Wells would begin to close.

But in sixty seconds…

A new signal would emerge.

And this time, it wasn't Null.

It was a response.

---

In Novaris Prime, Specter-Lotus stood before the Memory Throne.

An advisor approached.

"We've lost anchor-lock on the Primary Echo Chamber."

Specter-Lotus turned slowly.

"Impossible."

The advisor stammered. "It… it seems Class-Zero and its origin point have synchronized. The boy is converging with the sealed self."

Specter-Lotus narrowed his eyes.

Then whispered something into the throne.

A ripple went out.

Across the Accord.

Across the satellites.

Across the Choir.

A command not spoken in over a decade.

"Initiate Total Recall."