30 A distant place
There was slaughter.
People died, died, died, died.
Killing, killing, killing, killing to the end.
The universe perished.
All matter shattered, leaving only ether filling the void.
This is the sub-space.
A place akin to the remnants of a world.
He was shown the process of its creation.
Betrayal.
People betrayed God.
People betrayed the Dragon.
People betrayed people.
People, people, people.
The culmination of betrayal, betrayal, betrayal—this is the end.
"What is this, now?"
Harold felt a headache from the history that had raced through him in an instant.
Only fragmented images remained.
It was as if they had been driven into his mind all at once.
Had Harold possessed knowledge of the Terminans, he might have formed a different impression.
But to him, unaware of it, it was merely the impression of being shown history from some unknown place.
"……Well, where is this?"
Harold remains within the ruined Antares Prime.
Yet the location has changed dramatically from just seconds ago.
The sense of up and down has vanished entirely. All sensors are outputting erratic values.
If he were to trust the instruments, Harold would be under twenty gravities of force while spinning at three hundred and sixty degrees per second.
Naturally, even a cybernetically enhanced body could not survive such conditions.
Even the clock itself flickers—time advancing and retreating.
Only his thoughts remain stable, which feels deeply unnatural.
It cannot be normal physical space.
The conclusion drawn from this is—
"An alternate dimension."
Harold's expression darkens, realizing he has stepped into a realm that had existed only in theory.
It would not be pleasant, even if reached by chance.
Moreover, if the means of return are unknown, even more so.
If the clash of two spatial resonance weapons opened this path through the subspace, perhaps performing the same action could enable an escape.
The issue is that Lance has lost everything—and another unit is still required.
What to do about it...
The unit is still operational for now.
The ether response sensors, at least, still seem marginally functional.
It continued pointing in the same direction without pause.
No other guidance remains.
Advance the unit toward that direction.
Moving forward while thinking that—several decades had passed according to Harold’s perception.
Feels incredibly aged, somehow.
Originally, just how old am I right now.
No— if that is the case, then what exactly is the self?
Why am I here, again—.
Surprised. Still maintaining self-awareness. Harold.
Harold’s ears catch a voice he recognizes, just as he nearly loses himself.
The figure standing in the incomprehensible space, appearing utterly at ease—
“Frederica…?”
Frederica Byron, his sister. The face so unlike his own it could only be mistaken for parent and child.
Though the same age, she appears no older than a teenager.
The uncanny stillness of her youth—some unnatural cessation of aging—had always made her slightly distasteful to Harold.
“Why are you here?”
“I am merely a messenger. Still… yes. So it is you after all.”
She nods slightly, as if confirming something long suspected.
A presence who knows something utterly beyond Harold’s comprehension. He frowns faintly.
“What are you talking about?”
“That you are nothing but a jester, Harold.”
As she speaks, Frederica clicks one finger.
The figure vanished from the view of Antares Prime’s camera.
“Where…?”
“The First Time Jump Experiment… you did encounter the End’s Familiar, didn’t you, at that moment.”
The voice came from behind—spoken directly, not through the speaker.
Harold turned, startled. Frederica stood inside Antares Prime’s cockpit, as if she belonged there.
“You—how did you…?”
“I’ve had more experience with conduct in this place, that’s all.”
She spoke, then pressed a slender finger to Harold’s forehead as he turned.
That was all it took. Harold froze.
Not because he was restrained.
Because doubt had taken root in his mind—doubt about his own actions, his own past.
The entity that had driven Harold thus far—the one he encountered during the Time Jump Experiment. The one Frederica had called the End’s Familiar, most likely.
……Why was I so fixated on that entity…?
I had tried every means possible to see it again. Even considered capturing it, if fortune favored.
But—now, I cannot comprehend why I clung so tightly to that presence.
It is true it was an unusual subject of study. Yet not one worth inciting civil unrest over.
“That’s why I called you a fool, Harold. The core of your actions—planted by another. You don’t even realize it. What else would you call such a thing but a fool?”
“Planted… by another? Nonsense. Such technology—”
“It exists. A half-technique, usable only by the End’s Familiar. The installer, how convenient it is.”
Frederica spoke, her tone weary, explaining to Harold.
But Harold grasped only half of what she said.
The foundation of knowledge was too far apart.
"Six hundred years and one hundred and fifty years ago—those spirals have wasted much of the texture of this surface cosmos."
A single sigh.
"So this Laitera Project. It's consumed quite a bit of texture, hasn't it?"
"Texture... surface cosmos? What are you talking about?"
"You're the one being used—almost erased. The universe you were nearly destroyed by. We were nearly joined with the sub-space as well."
Frederica vanished from before Harold’s eyes.
He turned frantically toward Antares’ head, finding her now perched on Antares’ shoulder.
"If you fall here once, you won’t return to the surface cosmos. Not unless you have an anchor on the other side. So this is goodbye, Harold."
"Hey—wait."
He didn’t understand what she meant, but he grasped clearly enough that he was being abandoned here. His hand shot out instinctively.
If Frederica is telling the truth, there is no way to escape.
“Don’t wait.”
Harold flinches at the icy gaze, instinctively closing his mouth.
“You made that girl—Sharon—suffer. That alone is more than enough reason to abandon you.”
Had he done nothing to Sharon, he might have considered some means of rescue… but she abandoned her brother without even attempting to help.
“Here, only souls not protected will dissolve into the sub-space.”
Frederica speaks calmly. Harold surmises she remains so because she is the one providing that protection.
He thinks, almost instinctively, that if he could learn her method—how much time remains, though.
“Though your body may survive, your soul will die first. Then you become part of the ether that composes this space. No rebirth. Not ever.”
That even the next life would be trapped within this space.
A final warning—once fallen, eternal prison.
"Perhaps, if fortune favors, one might be drawn up to the surface cosmos someday."
"Drawn up... Surely not. The ether produced by the Reactor..."
Harold's eyes widen in shock. The Ether Reactor clearly violates the conservation of energy.
The latest findings in ether theory concluded that the soul, presumed to be the fuel, possessed energy of extreme density—yet—
this subspace existed.
A space filled with ether, infinite in extent.
If Frederica's words were true, one inference could be drawn.
Watching Harold's attention consumed by the research material before him, Frederica lets out a sigh.
"Goodbye. If not for conspiracies, if I had lived as a researcher..."
The words form on her lips, then she stops, reconsidering.
"Perhaps I could have died properly, as a human, within the surface cosmos—had I not been entranced by the end."
A fleeting glance of pity, then Frederica vanishes.
Harold remains alone, questioning himself.
"Used? By whom? By me?"
The words left behind require no verification. The reason for such concern no longer makes sense.
That fact alone confirmed Frederica's words more than anything.
And there is no return from this space.
Meaning, he will remain here—empty, unchanging—until death.
And that time will not be long.
Whether Frederica's words were true will be known in an instant.
"Ha..."
A laugh escapes him.
A blend of resignation and self-derision.
I see, Harold thought. Apparently, even I am afraid of endings—just like everyone else.
"Hahaha... hahaha!"
In the vast, empty space with no one present, Harold's laughter echoed—wild, uncontrolled.