Creation Of All Things

Veylor stood in silence as Aurora's aura expanded again, pressing against the room like a storm waiting to break. Lines of silver light wrapped around her arms, bending the air itself. Her hair lifted slightly, and her eyes gleamed with something older than fear—like instinct trying to remember who she used to be.

Joshua stayed behind her, his breath shallow. He had no powers—none that matched this. But somehow, it didn't matter. Not with her in front of him like that.

Veylor didn't move.

Instead, he slowly sat down.

Not collapsed. Not slumped.

He simply lowered himself onto the cold metal floor, crossing his legs like someone resting by a fireplace. The shadows around his body coiled and uncoiled slowly, like smoke pretending to breathe.

"…Reliving this is tiring," Veylor murmured.

Aurora didn't lower her guard. "Then leave."

He looked up at her, face unreadable. "And go where? There's nowhere else left. This is the last echo of peace. The final hallway before the flood."

Joshua spoke up behind her. "You said… reintegrate. What does that mean?"

Veylor looked at him—genuinely this time.

"You were born in a world that never remembered pain. Not real pain. Not cosmic collapse. No gods. No wars. Just… systems. Civilizations. A loop of peace."

He paused, then glanced around the room like he could see through it—through walls, through history, through time itself.

"But that wasn't always the case. You were made. You were pieces carved from a greater whole. You, Aurora, Alice, Aria, Alfred… each of you is a failed memory. A splinter."

Aurora's tone was low. "That's a lie."

"No," Veylor said. "It's a kindness."

He rested one arm on his knee, fingers drumming slowly.

"This universe is the seed. Yours. This world you call real. But something once bled into it—fragments from another truth. A reality that couldn't die, so it splintered. And those splinters took form here."

Joshua stepped beside Aurora now. "You mean we're… not real?"

Veylor tilted his head slightly. "You are. But you're borrowed. Like breath in a body that didn't earn it."

Aurora's voice cut the air. "Why tell us all this?"

"Because Adam is awake now," Veylor said. "And he's moving. The storm he once buried is rising again. And I…" His voice drifted, quieter. "I was supposed to stop that."

Joshua frowned. "But you didn't."

"No," Veylor said softly. "Because I made a mistake. I waited too long."

Aurora narrowed her eyes. "Then why come here now?"

Veylor looked up again, this time meeting her gaze fully.

"Because your world is next."

The words were simple.

And heavy.

Joshua's mouth went dry. "Next?"

"This pocket of peace you live in—this last branch on a dying tree—it won't last," Veylor said. "The others are already cracking. Adam's hunt is drawing attention. He's chasing what you can't even see. And when he reaches it—when he drags it out into the light—everything will fold."

Aurora's arms twitched slightly, but she held her ground. "Then tell us what it is. Tell us what he's chasing."

"I don't know," Veylor said.

Joshua blinked. "What?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "I was born to undo Adam. That was my only law. My only purpose. But this… this thing… it isn't him. It's worse."

Veylor closed his eyes for a moment. "It came before us. Before him. Before the first timeline was written. It doesn't want control. It doesn't want power. It wants… stillness."

He opened his eyes again.

"And stillness doesn't need you. Or me. Or anything."

Aurora took a step forward. "So what now? You want us to help you?"

"No," Veylor said. "I want you to remember."

She frowned. "Remember what?"

Veylor rose slowly to his feet.

The shadows around him peeled off in thin strips and curled into the air. A soft hum began to rise—not mechanical, not magical—like something woven into the room was vibrating with memory.

Then—

The walls faded.

Not literally.

But suddenly the room wasn't the only thing here.

There was something else. A shimmer in the corner. A flicker of cold air. A shape behind a veil.

And then Joshua saw it—

A battlefield.

Endless.

Ash skies.

Broken stars.

Seven figures stood in a ring, torn robes and armor gleaming with god-light. Adam stood among them—eyes black, hand raised toward something immense.

A beast made of wires. Of rules. Of broken code and writhing law.

And it laughed.

Until Adam tore it in half.

The image flickered.

Now Aurora stood beside Adam—older, eyes burning blue-white. Her hands split time open like paper, holding it apart while Alfred and Aria dragged something through it—a god's corpse.

It flickered again.

Alexandria, crowned in black, spoke a word that killed a dimension.

Flicker.

Joshua, wrapped in a storm of red threads, his body torn by the strain of holding hundreds of timelines inside him.

Flicker.

The sky turned gold.

Then silence.

Then—just them again.

Just the lab.

Just now.

Joshua dropped to a knee, gripping the floor. "What… what was that?"

"Your truth," Veylor said. "Your fragments."

Aurora was pale. "Those weren't visions. That was real."

"Yes."

"You showed us other worlds?"

"No," Veylor said. "I showed you what was. The war your souls were forged in. The pain you were never meant to forget."

Joshua looked up, eyes wide. "But we don't remember it."

"Because it was taken," Veylor said. "Because someone believed that if you were reborn without it… maybe the end wouldn't find you."

Aurora shook her head. "You're saying we're weapons."

"No," Veylor said softly. "You're the scars left behind."

He walked closer, slowly, shadows quieting.

"I came here to collect the last of the fragments. To return you to what you were. Not out of hate. Out of fear. Because I've seen the other side. And I know what it does when it wins."

Joshua stood, unsteady. "And if we say no?"

Veylor's voice was calm.

"Then you'll still remember. And remembering is enough."

Aurora's lips parted. "You'll leave?"

Veylor paused.

Then nodded.

"I'll wait."

He looked at them both.

"But not long."

And with that, he stepped backward.

A fold opened behind him—not space, not light. Just absence.

He vanished.

Gone.

Silence settled.

Joshua leaned on the console. "What the hell just happened?"

Aurora didn't answer.

She walked to the center of the room.

Looked at the empty air where Veylor had stood.

And slowly sat.

"…We're not who we thought we were."

Joshua joined her. "No. We're more."

Celestial Plane

Aurora sat on her throne.

One leg crossed over the other, elbow resting against the armrest, fingers curled lightly against her lips.

She wasn't relaxed.

Not even close.

She hadn't said a word since she returned. Not to the celestials, not to her attendants, not to Joshua who was somewhere deep in thought, probably still processing what Veylor revealed.

Her eyes were open.

But not focused.

They weren't even looking at anything in this plane.

They were still back there—in that moment where reality peeled back and truth spilled out.

The moment she saw herself, saw him—Adam—standing at the edge of a broken universe like he had always been waiting for war to call him home.

She didn't move when the space at the far side of the hall folded inward.

Didn't blink when the golden ripple shimmered once, then twice, and then parted clean down the center like water meeting a blade.

Aria stepped through.

No words.

Just movement.

Heavy. Tense.

Her hair was windblown—still trailing the scent of raw magic and the scorch of burnt air. Her boots clicked once against the floor before she stopped completely.

Aurora didn't look up. "You came."

"I had to."

Aria's voice was quiet. Worn.

Too quiet.

Aurora finally glanced toward her.

"Did you find him?"

Aria didn't speak for a second. Then gave a slow nod.

"I did."

Aurora straightened, just slightly. The sharpness in her tone barely hidden now. "And?"

Aria stepped forward. The space behind her closed like a curtain collapsing in silence.

"…He's alive."

Aurora exhaled softly.

But Aria kept speaking.

"And he's angry."

The weight of those words sank like stone.

Aurora tilted her head. "At us?"

"No," Aria said. "Not even close."

She came closer, step by step, until she stood at the foot of the throne. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides—not out of fear, but because she was holding back the tremble in her fingers.

"He's seen something. He didn't say it all, but I can feel it—it's bigger than any of us thought. Bigger than the gods. Bigger than the systems. Bigger than the multiverse."

Aurora narrowed her eyes.

"What did he say exactly?"

Aria took a deep breath.

Then repeated, word for word.

"Something is replacing us."

Aurora's throat tightened, but she didn't show it.

"He said it wasn't war. It wasn't chaos. It wasn't even balance. He said it was deliberate. Like something built this outcome. Set it. Let it bloom."

Her voice dropped lower.

"He said it's not just the end. It's the replacement."

Aurora didn't speak. Just stared at her.

Aria kept going.

"He found the source of the signal. Tracked it all the way to the Endlands. Said it was a lab. A test site. Someone's playground for bending timelines into shapes they were never meant to take."

"Nullbreed was their prototype," Aurora muttered, already piecing it together.

"He said the same."

Aurora stood now. Slowly. Her presence flared for a heartbeat—pure pressure leaking into the atmosphere. The divine energies around her flinched like prey.

She stepped down from the throne. Walked right up to Aria. And stopped.

Their eyes locked.

"Did he say anything else?"

Aria hesitated.

Then nodded once. "He said to tell you something."

Aurora waited.

Aria looked her dead in the eye.

"He said to tell you… he's awake."

The words hit like a sword across the air.

Not loud.

But final.

Aurora stepped back half a pace. Her eyes lowered, just a little. Something flickered in them. Something deep. Familiar.

A smile tugged the corner of her lips—but it wasn't joy.

It was memory.

"Awake," she repeated.

Aria nodded. "He means business."

There was silence between them for a long moment.

Then Aurora turned away.

Walked across the hall, her footsteps slow. Careful. Like she was counting something only she could feel.

"He's not coming back here yet, is he?"

"No."

"Good," she said.

Aria frowned. "Why?"

"Because if he showed up now, the celestial seats would break before they could even ask their first question."

"Then what do we do?"

Aurora stopped walking.

She looked back over her shoulder, her expression sharper now.

"Gather the others."

Aria's eyes widened slightly. "You want to bring everyone in?"

Aurora nodded. "Alfred. Alexandria. Alice. Joshua's already been briefed. If this is what I think it is… then we don't have much time."

Aria hesitated. "You think Veylor will come back?"

"He's not the problem," Aurora said. "He was only the shadow."

Aria tilted her head slightly. "Then what is the problem?"

Aurora looked up.

Not at the ceiling.

But beyond it.

Into something only she could see.

"Something older. Something colder. Something that wants the end. But not to win. Not to rule. Just to quiet everything."

A pause.

Then her voice lowered.

"To freeze creation itself."

Aria said nothing. Just watched her.

Then—softly—asked, "Do you think we can stop it?"

Aurora looked at her for a long moment.

Then smiled.

It wasn't warm.

It was the kind of smile you see on someone who remembers war too well.

"I don't know."

She walked past Aria now, heading back toward her throne.

"But I know this…"

She turned, just as she sat down again.

"…Adam doesn't plan on losing."