The song, that insidious melody, one that I couldn’t define no matter how much I tried became my constant companion. It followed me on hunts, its haunting tune weaving through the rustling of leaves and the cries of birds. It lingered in the quiet moments, a persistent hum that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

I tried to ignore it, to focus on the tasks at hand – training, hunting, preparing for the long dark that loomed on the horizon. But the song was always there, a constant reminder of something… else. As the days grew shorter and the nights colder, the melody intensified. It began to take shape, manifesting as whispers in the wind, fleeting shadows that danced at the periphery of my vision.

The villagers, sensing a change in me, grew wary. They saw the intensity in my eyes, the way I would sometimes stop mid-sentence, my gaze fixed on something unseen. They attributed it to the razorwing's venom, to the lingering effects of the wound that had nearly claimed my life, and to the fact that I was fed the most valuable meat by my father and that I wasn’t entirely worth the leap in abilities eating beast hearts had granted me.

One night, as I sat alone in my hut, the fire casting long shadows on the walls, the melody coalesced into a tangible form.

A swirling vortex of silver stardust materialized in the darkest corner, its shape shifting and undulating like a living thing.

Fear, cold and sharp, pricked at my skin, yet I couldn't tear my gaze away.

"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice hoarse with a mixture of terror and morbid curiosity. The stardust shimmered, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape. Its voice, when it spoke, was a chorus of whispers, a symphony of disharmony, an echo made from echoes.

“I am Everything,” the ghostly silver thing said.

“Everything?” I arched an eyebrow. “Okay, I see where this is going.”

There had to be terrible consequences to eating brains. I’ve gone insane and was suffering from a hallucination–that was the only rational explanation here.

“I am Everything,” the figure from stardust repeated in the same confoundingly dull voice. “I’m a spirit that can show you anything you want to see.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You can be anything I want you to be?”

“Essentially,” the ghostly figure answered.

“Show me… myself,” I said.

The stardust rearranged itself in fractal patterns, reforming into an exact replica of me. I waved a hand and the copy of myself waved a hand back as if I was looking through a mirror.

The revelation that the ghostly figure could perfectly replicate my image sent a jolt of unease through me. Mirrors were nonexistent in Migradia, and the concept of capturing one's reflection was alien to our people.

I grabbed a jar of red paint that I traded from one of the local artisans for some wyvern meat and splashed it onto my back.

“Spin my image 180 degrees,” I ordered.

Everything complied, rotating the view of myself to display the paint splash.

I pulled off my leather jacket and stared at the pattern. It was exactly the same. I looked back at my reflection with a wide grin.

“I’m going to call you Every,” I said.

“I am Every,” my exact copy replied in my own voice, still looking away from me.

“You and I are going to have a very fruitful relationship,” I smiled.

“My desire is to show you everything,” Every replied.

The possibilities danced before my eyes.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Every was more than mere fantasy or illusion - it was something potent, something that could alter my entire existence and the fate of every villager in Migradia. I felt a thrill of blossoming excitement. If I wasn’t mad, then Everything was a camera, a pinhole through which I could examine the world, as long as I separated fantasy from reality.

"Listen carefully, Every," I commanded. "I want you to split. First, I want you to form an interactive avatar – a young woman with hair like silver, and a dress made from whatever that stardust thing you looked like at first."

The stardust figure swirled and contorted, rapidly taking on a distinctly feminine form. The resulting image was hauntingly beautiful - a slender figure with delicate features, clad in a shimmering silver dress that appeared woven from starlight itself. Silvery hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes sparked like liquid silver.

"Secondly," I continued, "I want you to create an exact replica of the world around us, a three-dimensional space that I can interact with and manipulate. Make it a mirror of reality, down to the tiniest detail."

Another vortex of stardust manifested, filling the space beside the silvery woman. The light coalesced, solidifying into an uncanny representation of my hut and its surroundings – the flickering fire, the crude furnishings, the pelt rugs scattered on the earthen floor. The level of detail was astonishing, every knot in the wood, every flicker of the flames perfectly reproduced in shimmering luminescence.

"Excellent," I breathed, a grin spreading across my face. "Now, let's test your abilities." I reached out, my fingers brushing against the glowing replica of my hut. It felt cool and insubstantial, the stardust yielding beneath my touch like mist.

"Every," I instructed, "isolate the roof of my hut. Make it hover above the rest of the structure."

The spectral roof obeyed, separating from the rest of the model like a ghostly lid. "Now, make it disappear," I commanded, a giddy anticipation coursing through me. The roof blinked out of existence, leaving an empty space where it had been. I laughed out loud, amused by the power at my fingertips. It felt like I was working with a computer that could simulate anything I desired.

I had somehow, inexplicably stumbled upon the ultimate tool, a means to dissect the world around me, to manipulate, study and control reality itself – at least within the confines of Every's simulated world.

“Every,” I addressed the girl made from stardust. “I want you to never lie to me, to never deceive me. Only reply with the absolute truth, no matter how terrible it might be–I want to know the truth about everything you can observe. You must see a lot if you’re able to simulate reality in this degree of fidelity, yes?”

“Yes,” Every answered.

“Can anyone else other than me see or hear you?” I asked.

“No,” Every replied. “Only you can see and hear me.”

A knot formed in my stomach. The implications were exhilarating and terrifying–I was the sole witness of this incredible phenomenon, the only being privy to her existence and the knowledge she held.

“Why me?” I asked. “Why did I start hearing the song in my head, why did you appear to me and say, not my father?”

“Because you’re my current host,” Every said simply. “Your father did not do the same things as you did, did not follow the same pattern as you have.”

“What?” I asked as a crawl of discontent ran up my spine at the way she said ‘host’. “Why me? Why am I your host? Why can I hear you? Explain.”

“Because you are… tasty,” Every replied after a deep pause.

"Tasty?" I repeated, squinting at her. "What do you mean, 'tasty'?"

Every tilted her head, her nebula eyes gleaming with unsettling intensity. "You are a feast," she said, her voice as smooth as quicksilver. "A blend of future potential, ambition and yearning. A hero."

A gnawing of dread washed over me at her words. The air in the hut suddenly felt heavy, oppressive. This spectral woman of starlight, this entity that had manifested from my deepest fears and longings, was not some benevolent spirit guide.

Every was something far darker, something that viewed me as… prey.

I forced myself to remain calm, to maintain a semblance of control. "What do you mean, 'a feast'?" I demanded. “A feast for whom?”

"The Songs of Wormwood," she answered, her tone as smooth and dispassionate as a surgeon cutting flesh. "Children of the Stygian Void, entities drawn to those who harbor the potential to reshape the future and fall prey to the call of the approaching comet."

"Wormwood?" I echoed, recalling the cryptic words my father had uttered when discussing the coming doom.

Pieces began to fall into place. The haunting melody, the persistent presence of that star, the whispers of a great feast – it was all connected to this entity, this Song that sought to… consume me.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice hoarse with fear and anger. "Why offer me this power if you intend to devour me?"

"Because I am devouring you right now as we speak," Every replied, her voice devoid of any emotion. "The taste of your desperation, your fear, the savor of knowledge, your struggle or perhaps your surrender–they make you a delicacy that grows with each passing moment. We, the Songs of Wormwood, do not merely consume flesh. We feast on the essence of potential, the flavor of ambition, the thrill of change."