It hummed.

Faint ripples moved through the air—barely visible, like heat distortions blf. Hana could hear them if she listened hard enough: the echo of Keller's voice, faint and distant, buried under layers of interference. It wasn't sound exactly—more like static woven with emotion. Pain. Resolve. Love.

Her eyes were locked on the portable console she had salvaged from Lin's wrecked equipment. It glowed weakly, its circuits flickering in rhythm with her heartbeat. Lines of corrupted code pulsed across the display, forming fragments of words.

> SIGNAL ANCHOR DETECTED.

> THREAD ORIGIN: UNKNOWN.

> CONNECTION — FRAGMENTED.

"Come on…" Hana whispered, her fingers trembling as she typed. "Talk to me, Keller."

Lin stirred nearby, pale and exhausted, his bandaged arm still leaking faint light beneath the wrappings. "You shouldn't even be able to detect him," he muttered, voice low. "The Seam's collapsed—its signal shouldn't exist outside quantum interference."

"Yeah?" Hana shot back, eyes burning. "Tell that to him."

She turned the monitor toward him. The pulse was steady—slow, faint, but real.

Lin froze. "That's his neural signature…"

"Exactly." She didn't look up. "And as long as it's there, he's alive."

She began rerouting the scanner through the city's buried data grid. Seoul's underground network—the lattice of transit tunnels, abandoned fiber lines, and obsolete AIs—had become unstable ever since the Seam burst open. Now those dead circuits hummed faintly, resonating like veins pulsing beneath a wound.

The farther she reached into the system, the more the air began to warp. Screens flickered. The sound of electricity deepened into something like breathing.

Lin stepped closer, uneasy. "You're touching the Seam's ghost code. It's unstable, Hana. If you dive too deep—"

"I'm already in it," she said. "There's no halfway anymore."

Inside the Seam

Keller opened his eyes to darkness. Not empty darkness—alive darkness. The kind that shifted when you looked at it, like it was thinking. He could feel the ground breathing beneath him, soft and cold, made of memory instead of matter. Every surface shimmered faintly, pixel-like fractures crawling through space.

He exhaled, and his breath turned to silver threads that floated upward, weaving into the air.

"Back here again," he murmured. "Guess I really don't learn."

He tried to move. Each step sent ripples through the ground, spreading light across the void like veins. Fragments of faces flickered within those veins—voices whispering in a dozen languages. People the Seam had swallowed over the years.

Then, one voice rose above the rest.

Hana's.

It wasn't words. It was the feeling of her voice—fear, determination, the electric spark of her trying to reach him through the barrier. It hit him like a pulse to the heart.

"Hana?" he called out.

The Seam reacted instantly. Threads of light twisted toward him, tugging, forming a glowing spiral that pulsed like a heartbeat. But the warmth turned cold fast. The spiral shuddered—and out of it emerged a familiar shape.

A Warden.

But broken.

Its face was cracked, its red eye flickering like a dying signal. Its voice came out fragmented:

"ERROR—INCOMPLETE—ENTITY. YOU—SHOULD—NOT—BE—HERE."

Keller raised his hands slowly. "Yeah, well, story of my life."

The Warden lunged.

Keller dove aside, rolling across the shifting floor. He reached for his arm—instinctively activating the same link Hana had used to reach him before. Energy flared through his veins, the silver light burning brighter. He could feel the Seam's structure, like threads stretching outward in every direction.

"Hana," he whispered. "If you can hear me… follow this."

He sent the pulse.

Back in Seoul

The console exploded with light. Hana stumbled back as the signal stabilized. A pattern of veins—silver and alive—spread across the screen.

Lin grabbed the edge of the table, his eyes wide. "He's transmitting directly from inside. That shouldn't be possible—he's bending the Seam to send a beacon."

"Then that means he's alive," Hana said fiercely. "And he wants us to find him."

She began tracing the map. The threads weren't random—they were following the city's hidden architecture, connecting points like a spiderweb of corrupted energy. One endpoint pulsed stronger than the rest, buried deep beneath the old data tunnels beneath Gangnam.

"There," Hana said. "That's where he is."

Lin hesitated. "That's suicide, Hana. The tunnels are collapsing, and if the Seam still echoes down there—"

"Then I'll go alone."

He stared at her. "You'd die."

"Then I'll die trying."

She grabbed her coat, her weapon, and the handheld link node. Every instinct screamed that the closer she got, the more the world itself would bend. But she didn't care. Keller had gone into hell once for her. Now it was her turn.

Inside the Seam

Keller's fight with the broken Warden was chaos. Every movement tore rifts through the environment—buildings forming, collapsing, reforming again. Each blow it struck left fractures in space that healed instantly.

He dodged another strike, sliding beneath the creature's arm, grabbing a shard of raw code and driving it into the Warden's chest. It screamed—not in pain, but in distortion. The sound ripped through his skull.

Then came a new sound—a faint echo.

Hana's voice, clearer now.

"Hold on, Keller. I'm coming."

He froze. "You're in the network?"

The Warden lunged again, forcing him to duck. Keller reached out with one hand, focusing every ounce of energy toward that voice. The Seam's light wrapped around his arm, and suddenly he saw it—threads of connection stretching between worlds, and one of them glowed brightest of all. Hana's thread.

He grabbed it.

Back in the tunnels

Hana sprinted through the underground corridors, the air thick with static. The closer she got to the pulse, the more reality flickered. Walls shimmered between metal and light. The sound of footsteps echoed from nowhere.

The console beeped violently, the readings going wild. Lin's voice came through the comms, distorted. "Hana, the network's destabilizing! You're breaching a live echo—if you step into it, you'll—"

She didn't listen.

Ahead, the tunnel opened into a massive chamber. The air shimmered like water. In the center, suspended midair, was the thread—thin, silver, pulsing. She approached slowly, breath caught in her throat.

"Keller…" she whispered.

The thread pulsed once, hard. Light flared outward, swallowing everything.

For an instant, she was falling—not through space, but through memory. Every moment they had ever shared played out around her like scattered reflections—laughing in the rain, arguing in the lab, the first time she saw his hands shaking after the experiment. Then, beneath it all, the memory of his voice the day the Seam took him the first time.

"If you can hear me, don't look back."

She reached forward anyway.

Inside the Seam

Light burst across Keller's vision. He turned—and saw her.

Hana, standing on the fractured plane, her hair moving in the unreal wind, eyes bright with disbelief.

"Of course," he murmured. "You never listen."

She smiled, tears breaking through. "And you never quit."

The ground began to quake. The Seam, sensing both of them together, reacted violently—its energy collapsing inward. The Warden, half-reformed, screamed again as it was dragged into the distortion.

Keller reached for Hana's hand. "We need to close it, together."

She nodded. "How?"

"You remember what you said—that I wasn't human anymore?" He smiled faintly. "That might actually help."

He closed his eyes, channeling the Seam's energy into himself. The world around them turned to glass and fire. The noise was unbearable. But Hana grabbed his hand tighter, anchoring him with her heartbeat.

The Seam screamed—and then broke.

Light collapsed.

When the dust settled, the chamber beneath Seoul was still.

The tunnel's walls were cracked but real. The air was silent again.

Hana opened her eyes slowly, her head resting against Keller's shoulder. He was breathing—shallow but steady. His skin no longer glowed. The silver in his eyes had faded to gray.

She laughed weakly. "You look terrible."

He smiled faintly. "You should see the other guy."

The air above them rippled once, faint and harmless. The Seam's ghost faded for good.

Outside, somewhere above the streets, Seoul exhaled—lights flickering back to life as if the city itself had finally woken from a nightmare.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.