Nova POV

Nova woke to the morning sunlight streaming through her cabin’s small window. She groaned softly, swinging her legs over the side of the creaking wooden bed. A persistent yawn escaped her lips as she willed herself upright. Time to face another day on Earth, she thought, still marveling at the blend of normalcy and strangeness that came with living here.

Crossing the compact room, she paused in front of the bathroom door and flicked on the light. The toilet let out a peculiar whooshing sound—a quirk of the old cabin’s plumbing. Nova shook her head, still not entirely used to these Earth conveniences, then turned on the faucet, letting cold water pour over her hands. She washed them with a lightly scented shampoo-like gel—one Claire and Jade had recommended after Noah went into his trial.

A knock echoed from the front door. “Nova, are you up?” Jade’s voice carried through the walls.

Nova hurried, rinsing off the floral-scented soap before calling back, “Give me a sec! I’ll be right out.”

Grabbing a nearby towel, she dried her hair to a damp, manageable state and stepped into the main room. The cabin’s living area was cozy but sparse—wooden walls and furniture giving it a rustic charm. Jade stood near the door, gazing into the distance as though she were lost in a daydream.

“Jade?” Nova approached cautiously, noticing her friend’s tense posture. “You okay?”

Jade didn’t respond right away. Her eyes seemed fixed on some invisible point in the air. Finally, she spoke in a near-whisper. “Nova… what is this? I’m seeing—” Her voice trailed off as though she wasn’t sure how to explain.

Nova’s mind started racing. Only one possibility came to her. “Are you looking at a… blue box? With a sort of windowed text inside?”

Jade blinked, turning her pale face toward Nova. “Yes,” she murmured. “Exactly that. A blue box with words I don’t understand. It just… appeared.”

Nova inhaled sharply. “I think you’re seeing your system interface,” she said carefully. “Don’t panic—it’s basically a magical window. Everyone gets one eventually.”

Jade swallowed, her composure wavering. “I—what do I do with it?”

Nova gently guided her toward a chair, her tone calming. “First, tell me what it’s saying.”

Jade squinted at the flickering text hovering in front of her. “It has… some kind of loading bar, with unreadable words shifting really fast—like computer code.” She paused, brow furrowing. “Magical computer code?”

Nova’s lips curved into a small smile. “That sounds about right. It’s calibrating to you. First-time users often see something like that. It’s scanning your magical capacity, figuring out your stats—things like that.” She tapped Jade’s shoulder reassuringly. “You must’ve absorbed enough ambient magic for it to unlock. So… welcome to the magical world, Jade.”

Below is a revised version of the conversation, polished for clarity, flow, and emotional tone while preserving the core content and dynamic between Jade and Nova:

A shaky exhale escaped Jade’s lips, but a flicker of curiosity lit her eyes. “So… this is normal?” she asked, her gaze drifting to the rapidly cycling symbols on the interface.

Nova nodded, her voice gentle yet reassuring. “Completely normal, in a very abnormal way.”

“How long does it usually take?” Jade asked, glancing at Nova with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

Nova hesitated briefly, choosing her words. “It depends on you, really. The system combs through your entire life—every skill, every experience—up to the exact moment you unlocked it. If you’ve had a busy or varied life, it can take a while.”

Jade’s eyes widened, her posture tensing. “Wait, it’s going to go through my… entire life?” she echoed, a thread of anger edging her tone despite her underlying fear.

Nova raised a hand in a calming gesture. “I know it sounds invasive, but it’s fine. That information is unique to you alone. Nobody else can access it—unless you decide to share it. Even I can’t see your personal data without your explicit permission. The system might track everything, but it also respects your privacy.”

Jade swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to the swirling text. “So… it’s basically reading my whole story, but it won’t let anyone else read it?”

Nova offered a gentle smile, resting a comforting hand on Jade’s shoulder. “Exactly. It’s just gathering info to figure out your potential skills, abilities—everything that might matter in a magical sense. But it’s yours to keep private.”

Jade let out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Okay,” she said quietly, looking once again at the flickering display. “I guess… I’ll wait and see what it shows me.”

“That’s all you need to do,” Nova affirmed, taking a seat beside Jade. “Once it’s finished loading, I’ll walk you through how to use it.”

Jade swallowed, her gaze flicking between Nova and the steadily flickering interface. “You and Noah have access to this system too, right? Is there… much of a difference between yours and his?”

Nova paused, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, there is,” she began, settling into a more instructive posture. “Noah’s system is unique to him, since he’s your world’s guardian. His interface changes or upgrades based on his needs or the environment around him.”

She paused briefly, as if choosing her words carefully. “Noah hasn’t really talked about his interface with me, and I’ve never pressed him on it. Asking a World Tree Guardian about their system can be considered rude. But for the rest of us, yes, we can upgrade our interfaces with tokens. You’ll be starting with the basic version, while mine is at what we call a ‘rare tier.’”

Jade’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “So your interface is… more advanced than whatever I’ll have?”

Nova nodded. “Precisely. Mine offers more options and abilities—stuff you can unlock eventually if you decide to pursue it. But for now, focus on getting used to your basic system. Once you’re comfortable, you’ll figure out how you want to grow with it.”

Jade exhaled slowly, nodding as she glanced back at her system window, watching the slow loading bar inch forward with deliberate precision. The flickering symbols that once overwhelmed her were now fewer, replaced by a faint hum of progress.

She and Nova sat for a while, the stillness of the cabin offering a calm counterpoint to Jade's racing thoughts. The conversations meandered—small talk interspersed with Nova's explanations about the magical world Jade was only beginning to understand.

“So,” Jade began hesitantly, breaking the quiet, “what kind of magic do you think I might, you know… expect?”

Nova tilted her head thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. “That depends on a lot of things,” she replied. “Your personality, your past experiences, even how you see the world. Magic tends to align with who you are, deep down. Have you ever felt drawn to anything—elements, healing, crafting?”

Jade frowned, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of her chair. “I’ve always been good with my hands,” she admitted. “Fixing things, building… but magic? That’s something else entirely.”

Nova leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “It’s not as different as you think. Magic is just another tool—an extension of what you can already do. If fixing and building comes naturally, your magic might reflect that. You could develop enchantments or even protective wards.”

Jade’s lips quirked into a hesitant smile. “Protective wards… like shields?”

“Exactly,” Nova said brightly. “Or you might surprise yourself. Sometimes magic pulls out things you didn’t even know you had in you.”

Jade’s gaze dropped back to her system window, the bar ticking closer to completion. “And what about Noah?” she asked quietly. “Do you think his magic started like this?”

Nova’s expression softened, her gaze flicking toward the window. “Noah’s magic… well, it’s tied to the World Tree. It’s ancient and unique. I don’t think his journey was anything like what you’re experiencing.” She paused, her voice lowering slightly. “But that doesn’t mean yours is any less important. Every system—every user—has a purpose. Yours will become clearer in time.”

Jade nodded slowly, the words settling over her like a warm blanket. She wasn’t entirely reassured, but Nova’s calm confidence had a way of dulling her edges of fear. “I hope so,” she murmured. “Because right now, it all feels… a bit overwhelming.”

Nova chuckled softly. “That’s how it always starts. But trust me—you’ll adapt. And who knows? You might end up surprising all of us.”

The faint hum of the system persisted, accompanied by the occasional flicker of text. Jade leaned back in her chair, letting the conversation sink in. As a thought popped into her head, she turned to Nova.

“What about you, Nova? What type of magic do you use?” Jade asked, curiosity sparking in her voice.

Nova’s lips curved into a small smile. “That’s a great question. I mostly deal with ranged and melee weapons, with a few spells here and there. I’m an elf, you see,” she added, her tone casual. “So I grew up learning most weapons, as well as nature magic—things like healing and life energy.”

Jade blinked, her brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, you’re an elf?” she asked incredulously, her gaze drifting to Nova’s ears. They looked… normal. Human, even.

“Oh, right! I almost forgot—I’m using a spell to disguise myself,” Nova explained, chuckling softly. She reached for a small bag at her side, pulling out a stone etched with intricate blue lines and markings. It shimmered faintly in the dim light, radiating a subtle, magical warmth.

“Wait, hold on,” Jade said, leaning forward as Nova held the stone in her palm. “Are you saying you’re actually an elf?”

“Yep,” Nova said with a playful grin. She whispered a quick incantation, and the stone flared briefly with light. As the glow faded, Jade gasped. Nova’s appearance had subtly shifted—her ears were now pointed and delicate, peeking out from beneath her hair, and her features seemed sharper, more ethereal. Even her eyes appeared brighter, holding an otherworldly gleam.

Jade stared, her mouth slightly open. “You’re… you’re really an elf,” she said, the words slow and disbelieving.

Nova laughed, the sound light and musical. “I told you,” she said, leaning back casually. “I usually keep this spell up when I’m around humans—it makes things easier. People tend to… overreact when they see someone who’s not like them.”

Jade shook her head, still processing the transformation. “I mean, I thought you were joking. Like… an inside joke or something.”

“Nope,” Nova said cheerfully, tucking the glowing stone back into her bag. “Elves are very real, back in my world”

Jade exhaled, her mind spinning as she took in Nova’s true form. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

Nova smiled warmly, her voice laced with a playful tone. “You’re doing great. Honestly, I thought you’d run for the hills the moment I revealed my ears!” She chuckled, the lighthearted laugh filling the room.

Jade managed a small smile in return. “I’m tougher than I look,” she said, though her voice still held a trace of awe.

Nova was about to stand when a subtle rumble beneath her feet stopped her. She froze mid-motion, her smile fading as her sharp instincts kicked in. Her eyes darted to the floor and then toward the window.

“Did you feel that?” Nova asked, her voice calm but edged with concern.

Jade frowned, glancing at her system window, which now seemed to flicker slightly. “Yeah… was that an earthquake?”

Nova didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze shifted to the towering silhouette of the World Tree outside, its branches reaching into the sky. The tree stood still, seemingly undisturbed, its glowing leaves casting A soft light bathed the surrounding area, the World Tree standing as serene and unyielding as it had since the strange events of the past week. Yet, despite its stillness, something about the faint rumble unsettled Nova.

“It doesn’t seem like the tree’s doing anything,” she murmured, her brow furrowing in thought. She pressed a hand against the wall, her keen senses on high alert, but the vibrations had ceased, leaving only an eerie silence in their wake.

Jade, following Nova’s gaze toward the massive tree, asked cautiously, “Could it be… connected to Noah?”

Nova pressed her lips into a thin line, her mind racing. “It might be,” she admitted, her voice tinged with unease. “The World Tree is directly tied to him as the Guardian. If something were happening to Noah, the tree would usually react in some way—a pulse of light, a shift in its branches, or even changes in its aura.” She trailed off, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. “But… the tree isn’t reacting at all.”

She paused, considering the implications. “Maybe it’s unrelated. Could this region have any history of earthquakes?” Nova’s tone turned analytical, though her gaze remained fixed on the distant branches of the tree.

Jade shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. At least, I haven’t heard of any earthquakes happening around here.”

“It might be nothing,” Nova replied, her tone cautious but reassuring. “But if it happens again, we’ll need to look into it.” She cast another glance toward the World Tree, still uneasy, before turning her attention back to Jade.

Jade, however, seemed distracted, her gaze distant as if lost in thought. Nova tilted her head, concern flickering across her face. “Jade? You okay?”

Jade blinked and then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just—” She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. “My system window is done.”

Nova’s eyes lit up with interest. “It’s finished?” she asked, stepping closer. “All right, let’s take a look. What’s it showing you?”

Jade hesitated, her fingers hovering in front of the glowing blue window. “It’s… a lot. Skills, stats, abilities—it’s overwhelming.” Her voice carried a mix of awe and trepidation. “It’s categorizing things from my life—stuff I didn’t even think would matter. Like it knows everything about me.”

“That’s the system for you,” Nova said with a small laugh, her tone encouraging. “It catalogs everything—every skill you’ve picked up, every strength, even the most minor talents. Think of it as a blueprint of who you are and what you can become. It’s overwhelming at first, but once you understand it, it’s an incredible tool.”

Jade nodded slowly, her eyes scanning the interface as lines of text and stats scrolled past. “It’s saying I have potential for some kind of elemental affinity,” she murmured, half to herself. “Fire… and earth?”

Nova’s smile widened. “Dual affinities? That’s rare. You’ve got a strong foundation to work with, Jade.”

Jade’s brow furrowed as she studied the window more closely. “It’s also giving me options—paths I can choose. Explorer, Battlemage, Alchemist… there are so many. How do I know what’s right for me?”

Nova placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to decide right away. Take your time, get to know the system and yourself. The paths will always be there. Right now, focus on learning the basics and understanding how everything works.”

Jade exhaled slowly, nodding again. “Okay. I can do that.” She glanced at Nova, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “Thanks—for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nova said warmly. “Now, let’s see what else your system has in store for you.”

They spent the next while exploring Jade’s new interface, Nova guiding her through its intricacies, the earlier rumble momentarily set aside but never far from their minds.

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Carol POV

Carol, Echo, and Alex walked along the barely lit streets, the thick veil of night pressing down on them like a heavy curtain. With almost no streetlights working, the sky above dominated the landscape. Yet, instead of the comforting glow of familiar constellations, Carol was met with something utterly alien: off-white pinpricks flickering like black diamonds, their faint gleam only deepening the surrounding darkness.

The sight held a strange beauty, otherworldly and unsettling all at once. She squinted, her mind instinctively searching for the constellations she’d once gazed at on long, quiet nights—hoping to find the Southern Cross or the Big Dipper. But the stars defied her, shifting positions as though they were alive, forming patterns that dissolved as soon as she tried to follow them.

She stopped mid-step, her gaze lingering on the alien sky. “These stars…” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper in the eerie stillness. “They aren’t real, are they?”

Beside her, Echo craned his neck, his small face lit with the faint glow of the sky. “They’re memories,” he murmured, his breath a soft cloud in the chill air. “Fragments of things people once saw—moments they tried to hold onto. They just… float here, in Noah’s world.”

Carol shivered, though the air wasn’t cold. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted, “but it’s… wrong, too. Like the world is forgetting itself.”

Echo tilted his head, his gaze still fixed on the stars. “They’re not just memories of the sky,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Sometimes, they’re warnings.”

Carol blinked, turning toward him. “Warnings?”

Echo nodded, his small hand gripping hers tighter. “Memories can tell you about what’s gone, but sometimes they show you what’s coming. It’s like the stars are watching, waiting for something to happen.” His words sent a shiver down her spine.

Alex, who had been silent until now, shifted uneasily. “I’ve seen them change,” he said, his ghostly form flickering faintly. “Once, I stopped to stare at them too long, and they… moved. I don’t know if it was real or just the city playing tricks on me, but it felt like they were alive—watching me.”

Carol frowned, glancing back at the stars, which now seemed colder, more distant. “What happened when they moved?” she asked cautiously.

Alex hesitated, his translucent features tightening. “I heard something. A sound… like the city groaning. And then—” He stopped short, his eyes darting to Echo. “We should keep moving.”

Echo tugged gently at her hand, his tone low and urgent. “He’s right. We can’t stay here.”

Carol’s heart quickened, but she nodded, pulling her gaze from the unsettling sky. They pressed onward, the broken streets beneath their feet giving way to crumbling pavement and patches of darkened earth. The silence grew heavier, punctuated only by the distant echo of dripping water.

“Where exactly are we going?” Carol asked, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her chest.

“Anywhere that keeps us safe for now, but—” Echo suddenly froze mid-sentence, his head snapping toward a faint sound in the distance. His hand tightened in hers as he whispered, “Something’s coming.”

A sharp patter of footsteps echoed down the broken street, growing louder with every second. Without hesitation, they ducked into the nearest building, their movements quiet and deliberate as they pressed themselves into the shadows. Carol’s pulse quickened as she strained to hear, her ears catching the rhythm of frantic running.

The figure rounded the corner, coming into view in the faint moonlight. It was a young teenager—like Alex in appearance, but solid, human, and whole, more like Echo and herself. His ragged breaths and wild, darting eyes betrayed his panic as he scanned the area for cover.

“Shit, she’s getting closer—gotta hide,” he muttered under his breath, ducking into a nearby building just across from where they were concealed.

Carol barely had time to process his words when a thunderous crash shattered the silence. The sound of metal tearing and glass shattering reverberated through the air, followed by a low, guttural growl. Her stomach clenched as another noise followed—a sharp, deliberate scraping, like claws dragging against stone.

Echo gripped her arm tightly, his small form trembling. “It’s her,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “The Beast.”

Alex’s translucent form flickered faintly as he crouched lower, his wide eyes locked on the shattered doorway of their hiding spot. “She’s hunting again,” he murmured, his voice laced with fear.

Carol’s breath hitched as the scraping noise grew louder, accompanied by a sickening whisper that slithered through the air, chilling her to the bone.

“I can smell you,” the voice murmured, an echo that seemed to ripple through the shattered windows and broken walls. It was twisted and distorted, carrying a venomous glee that sent shivers down her spine. “Oh, I’m so, so close. I can taste your delightful fear.”

Carol pressed herself further into the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest. Her gaze darted to Echo and Alex, their faces pale and tense. Then the voice came again, a low, guttural purr dripping with malice.

“Mmm… my little fragment. You won’t get away from me.”

Carol’s blood ran cold. Fragment? Her mind raced. Could that boy be—?

A sickening crack cut through her thoughts, the sound of concrete and metal snapping under pressure. The young teenager’s scream rang out, sharp and desperate, echoing down the desolate street. Carol whipped her head toward the sound, just in time to see part of the building collapse in a cloud of dust and debris.

“No,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. Her chest felt tight, something raw and instinctual clawing at her insides.

She barely noticed Echo’s hand gripping hers or Alex’s frightened murmuring beside her. Her focus was on the scene unfolding ahead—the Beast’s shadowy figure, monstrous and distorted, lunging toward the boy. Its movements were grotesque, limbs jerking and twisting as though the creature itself was a broken puppet.

Carol’s stomach turned as realization struck her. That boy… he’s a fragment of Noah.

Her heart thudded painfully as she stood frozen, torn between terror and the overwhelming urge to act. “No, no, no,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.”

The building groaned again, another section crumbling under the Beast’s relentless pursuit. Dust and debris filled the air as the boy’s scream echoed once more, his voice laced with panic and pain.

Carol’s hand clenched into a fist as something inside her cracked—fear giving way to a fiery resolve. This wasn’t just any fragment. This was a piece of her son, and she wasn’t going to let it be taken.

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Fragment POV

His chest burned with every frantic breath, the cracked pavement scraping under his shoes as he sprinted through the ruined streets. The voice followed him, slithering through the darkness like a predator coiling around its prey.

“I can smell you,” it hissed, the words weaving into his thoughts, dripping with twisted satisfaction. “Oh, I’m so, so close. I can taste your delightful fear.”

His heart pounded like a drum, his legs trembling with exhaustion. He darted between broken walls and crumbling structures, his mind racing for an escape. But no matter how far he ran, her voice seemed closer, louder, suffocating him with its presence.

“Mmm… my little fragment. You won’t get away from me.”

Fragment. The word sliced through him like a blade, jagged and unfamiliar. He didn’t understand it fully, but it felt… wrong. Incomplete. Like it was the only explanation for why he wasn’t whole—why his memories were fractured, and why the world around him felt like a broken reflection of something else.

His foot caught on a loose stone, and he stumbled, barely catching himself. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as his mind screamed at him to keep moving. He turned a corner, only to find himself in the shadow of a towering building. The dark windows stared back at him like hollow eyes, and the jagged edges of the structure jutted into the night like broken teeth.

A sickening crack echoed behind him, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t need to look back to know she was closing in. The air itself seemed to pulse with her malice, her presence pressing down on him like a vice.

“I found you,” the voice purred, a note of triumph laced with venom.

The boy skidded to a halt, his path blocked by debris. His hands scraped against the ground as he scrambled to turn, his wide eyes darting around for an escape. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of her footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and far too close.

Then she appeared, her shadow twisting grotesquely as it spilled across the cracked pavement. The light caught the jagged edges of her shattered mask, black ichor dripping from its cracks like tears. Her movements were erratic, her limbs jerking unnaturally as if she were a marionette controlled by invisible strings.

The boy’s throat tightened, panic clawing at his insides. His legs refused to move, the weight of her presence rooting him in place. The Beast tilted her head, her broken mask creaking as she sniffed the air.

“There you are,” she crooned, her voice a mockery of sweetness. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

A scream tore from his throat as the Beast lunged, her clawed hand swiping toward him. Dust and debris erupted as part of the building collapsed under her weight, blocking out the starlight above. The boy stumbled backward, his arms flailing as he fell to the ground. Pain lanced through his body, but he barely registered it—his focus was on her, the twisted figure closing in with her jagged grin and hollow, hungry eyes.

Move, his mind screamed, but his body wouldn’t obey. All he could do was watch as she loomed over him, the shadows wrapping around her like a living thing. Her jagged grin widened, and her hollow eyes glinted with malicious delight.

But then, from nowhere, someone else appeared—a figure stepping into the path between him and the Beast. All he could see was her back, her long hair curling slightly at the ends as it swayed with her movements. A faint, golden glow surrounded her, pushing back the oppressive darkness. The warmth of it seeped into his frozen limbs, momentarily loosening the grip of his terror.

“You will not hurt him,” she said, her voice low and trembling with raw, unyielding anger. It wasn’t a shout, but the sheer force behind her words made the air hum with tension.

The Beast snarled, her head jerking unnaturally to the side as she studied this new obstacle. “Oh? And who might you be?” she hissed, her voice dripping with mockery. “A protector? A hero?” Her broken mask creaked as she tilted her head, the black ichor flowing more freely now, pooling at her feet. “How quaint.”

The glow around the woman intensified, a gentle warmth that seemed impossibly out of place in the corrupted streets. “I’m his mother,” she said, her tone sharp as a blade.

The boy’s breath caught, a strange sense of safety beginning to pierce through his fear. There was something undeniably familiar about the woman—her voice, her presence—but his fractured mind couldn’t piece it together. All he knew was that she stood firm, unwavering in the face of the Beast’s looming shadow.

The Beast chuckled darkly, her voice reverberating with unnatural glee. “A mother, you say? How touching. Let’s see how long your bravery lasts.”

With a shriek that echoed like grinding metal, the Beast lunged, her twisted form a blur of shadows and claws. But the woman didn’t flinch. The glow around her erupted in a brilliant burst of light, the warmth pushing outward in a protective wave. The boy shielded his eyes, the brightness momentarily blinding him.

When he looked again, the woman stood firm, the golden glow rippling around her like a shield. The Beast hissed, her clawed hand recoiling from the barrier as if burned. “You… dare?” she growled, her voice laced with fury and disbelief.

“I dare,” the woman replied, her voice steady. “And if you try again, you’ll regret it.”

For the first time, the boy felt something other than fear—a flicker of hope, fragile but growing. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t going to let the Beast have him.

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Carol’s POV

Carol moved before she even realized what she was doing. Her body surged forward, driven by a force that felt deeper than instinct. The moment she saw the boy’s terrified face, something ignited inside her—a fiery, maternal resolve she couldn’t ignore.

The Beast loomed over him, its grotesque form a writhing mass of shadows and jagged movements. It was hunting him, savoring his fear like a predator toying with its prey. Carol’s chest tightened at the sight of the boy’s wide, frightened eyes, his body frozen in terror.

Not today, she thought fiercely. Not my son. Not any part of him.

She stepped into the Beast’s path, her feet finding purchase on the crumbling pavement. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop. The boy’s safety was all that mattered. As she planted herself firmly between him and the nightmare creature, her voice rang out, trembling with fury.

“You will not hurt him.”

Her words echoed through the desolate street, laced with an anger that she hadn’t felt in years—not since she’d fought to protect Noah as a child. This time, it wasn’t just her son’s safety she fought for; it was a piece of him, fragmented and vulnerable, just like the boy behind her.

The Beast halted, her twisted mask tilting unnaturally as her shadowy form straightened. “Oh?” she hissed, her voice dripping with mockery. “And what are you, exactly? His savior? His guardian?” The black ichor pooling at her feet hissed and bubbled, her hollow eyes narrowing as she studied Carol.

Carol didn’t waver. Her hands clenched at her sides, and though fear clawed at the edges of her mind, she shoved it down. “I’m his mother,” she said, her voice steady and sharp.

The Beast chuckled, a sound like grinding glass. “A mother,” she sneered, taking a step closer. “How quaint. Let’s see how much fight you really have.”

With a sudden screech, the Beast lunged.

Carol braced herself, her arms rising instinctively to shield herself and the boy. But as the Beast’s claws descended, they met something unexpected—a surge of warmth and light burst outward from Carol. The golden glow wrapped around her, expanding into a protective barrier that pushed the Beast back with an almost explosive force.

The Beast shrieked, stumbling away, her jagged limbs flailing as though burned. “What is this?” she hissed, her voice reverberating with fury. The ichor dripping from her mask splattered onto the ground, sizzling where it landed.

Carol blinked, startled by the sudden radiance surrounding her. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now it emanated from her like a shield, bright and steady, forcing the darkness to retreat. Her hands trembled slightly, but her resolve burned brighter.

“You… dare?” the Beast snarled, her voice reverberating with rage. The ichor dripping from her mask splattered onto the ground, sizzling where it landed.

Carol didn’t flinch. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her resolve burned brighter than her fear. “I dare,” she said firmly, meeting the Beast’s hollow gaze. “And if you come near him again, you’ll regret it.”

The Beast snarled, a guttural sound that echoed with both rage and frustration. Her grotesque form flickered again, her jagged limbs twitching as though torn between advancing and retreating. For the first time, hesitation flickered across her hollow, glowing eyes.

Carol stood firm, her breath steadying as she adjusted her stance. The warmth radiating from the golden light around her bolstered her courage, though she still didn’t fully understand it. All she knew was that it held the Beast at bay—and that was enough for now.

“You won’t get away,” the Beast hissed, her voice slithering through the air like venom. “I will claim my little dear fragment.” She dragged the words out, her tone a grotesque mockery of sweetness. “And the hunt… oh, the hunt will be so delightful. Hahaha!”

Then, with a grotesque twist of her body, the Beast dropped to all fours, her movements jerking and unnatural. She began to retreat, her claws scraping against the ground as she skittered backward with unsettling speed. Her shattered mask tilted one last time toward Carol, the glowing pits of her eyes narrowing as if to burn the image into memory.

“I’ll be back,” she growled, her voice fading into the distance as her shadowy form dissolved into the surrounding darkness. Her eerie laugh echoed faintly, chilling the air as her glowing eyes blinked out one by one.

Silence fell over the street, heavy and suffocating. The golden light around Carol dimmed slightly, the oppressive tension lifting as the Beast’s presence fully disappeared. But her warning lingered, etched into the air like an unspoken promise.

Carol’s knees buckled slightly as the tension finally left her body. She turned to the boy behind her, who was still trembling, his wide eyes locked on the spot where the Beast had vanished. His breathing came in shallow, frantic gasps, and his arms were wrapped tightly around himself as if trying to hold the pieces of himself together.

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“It’s okay,” she said softly, lowering herself to his level. Her voice was calm but firm, the same tone she’d use to soothe Noah when he was younger. “She’s gone… for now.”

The boy didn’t respond, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. Carol hesitated before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense and fragile he was, like a tightly wound spring on the verge of snapping.

“Can you hear me?” she asked, her tone laced with gentle urgency. “What’s your name?”

He blinked, his focus finally shifting to her. “I… I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice raw and hollow. “I don’t remember…”

Her chest tightened at his words. A fragment. A piece of Noah. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay composed. “That’s okay,” she assured him.

Echo and Alex approached cautiously, their footsteps light against the cracked pavement. Echo’s face was pale, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. “Mother,” he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. “You… you glowed.”

“What?” Carol frowned, looking at him in confusion.

“You didn’t notice?” Alex interjected, his ghostly form flickering faintly as he stared at her with wide eyes. “There was this… light. Warm, golden. It was coming from you. It—it scared her away.”

Carol’s brows knit together as she looked down at her hands, but all she saw was the faint tremor of adrenaline still coursing through her. “I don’t…” she began, but stopped herself. Whatever had happened, it had worked. “It doesn’t matter right now. We need to get him somewhere safe.”

The boy looked up at her with a flicker of hope, his voice barely above a whisper. “Safe… Is there really such a place?”

“We’ll find one,” Carol said firmly, helping him to his feet. She glanced at Echo and Alex, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We have to move before she comes back.”

As they began walking, Carol couldn’t shake the Beast’s last words from her mind. The hunt will be so delightful… What did she mean by that? And what had triggered the strange light?

“You look familiar. Where do I know you from?” the fragment asked as he glanced around as if checking his surroundings for the beast.

Carol stepped in line with him, smiling at him. he seemed to be a young teenager maybe 11-13 maybe just hit puberty. The signs of his voice cracking were evidenced.

“you recognise me?” Carol's heart futtered slightly, she felt joy “Well you should, for I am your real mother” Carol’s heart sank as she saw the wave of fear ripple across the boy’s face. His expression shifted from confusion to panic, his steps faltering as if he were preparing to run.

“What do you mean, you’re my mother?” he asked, his voice shaky, his eyes darting toward her like a frightened animal’s. “Are you… like that Beast?”

“No, no, no,” Carol said quickly, holding her hands up in a gesture of reassurance. She softened her tone, making it as calm and steady as she could manage. “I’m not like her. I promise. I’m your real mother.”

The boy’s gaze narrowed, distrust flickering in his wide eyes. “How can I know that? She—she called herself my mother, too. Said I was hers.”

Carol felt a sharp pang in her chest at his words. The thought of the Beast twisting his understanding of who he was—and who she was—lit a fire of both sorrow and anger within her. But she forced herself to stay composed.

“I know it’s confusing,” she said softly, taking a cautious step closer to him. “But I am your mother. I know you don’t remember me right now, and I know she’s done things to make you doubt… but you’re my son. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously to Echo and Alex. Echo stepped forward, his small frame radiating a calm confidence. “She’s telling the truth,” Echo said gently. “She’s not like the Beast. I’m a fragment like you, and I can feel it—she’s connected to you.”

The boy looked at Echo, his mistrust softening just slightly. “You’re like me?” he asked, his voice cracking with the strain of everything happening at once.

“Yes,” Echo replied simply. “And I’ve been with her long enough to know she’s here for you. To protect you. She’s not like the Beast.”

Carol took a deep breath, sensing the boy’s tension begin to waver. “You don’t have to trust me right now,” she said softly, her eyes locked on his. “But I need you to give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I’m not here to hurt you—that I’m here to help.”

The boy stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded hesitantly, though his body remained taut with unease. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… I’m watching you.”

“That’s all I ask,” Carol said with a faint, relieved smile. She glanced at Echo and Alex, who gave her small nods of encouragement. Together, they continued walking, the fragmented family navigating the shadows of the city.

In the back of her mind, Carol couldn’t shake the thought of what the Beast had done to warp his sense of trust and identity.

They continued walking, the faint echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the cracked pavement and crumbling walls. Carol let her attention drift to the quiet conversation between Echo and the new fragment. The two of them spoke in low voices, their words a mix of cautious curiosity and shared experiences. Every so often, she caught a phrase or two—questions about the Beast, murmurs of what it felt like to be a fragment. It was comforting in its own way, hearing them connect, but the silence hanging around Alex was impossible to ignore.

Carol glanced down at him as he walked beside her, his ghostly form flickering faintly in the dim light. His gaze was fixed ahead, his expression drawn and distant.

“Are you okay, Alex?” she asked gently, her voice soft but filled with concern.

Alex hesitated, his translucent figure shifting slightly as though the question caught him off guard. “I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

Carol slowed her pace slightly, ensuring they were walking side by side. “You don’t sound fine,” she pressed. “You’ve been quiet since we encountered the beast”

Alex’s form flickered, his hands twitching at his sides. “I guess I’ve just… been thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “About her. The Beast. And everything she said.”

Carol’s heart tightened. “What about it?” she prompted gently.

Alex glanced at her, his eyes haunted. “She called me a fragment,” he murmured. “I know I’m not like you or Echo, but… it feels like every time someone says that, I lose a little more of who I am. What if I’m not even me anymore? What if I’m just… pieces of someone else?”

Carol stopped walking, placing a steadying hand on his flickering shoulder. “Alex, listen to me,” she said firmly, her tone carrying a warmth that softened her words. “You’re not just a fragment. You’re you—your thoughts, your feelings, everything that makes you who you are. Even if you’re part of something bigger, that doesn’t take away from the person you are now.”

Alex’s gaze searched hers, uncertainty still clouding his expression. “But what if I disappear? What if I’m just here until Noah takes me back, and then I’m gone forever?”

Carol’s heart ached at his words, but she refused to let him spiral into despair. “You’re not going to disappear,” she said firmly. “You’re here now, with us. And whatever happens, I’ll make sure you’re not forgotten. You’re part of this—part of us—and that matters.”

Alex nodded slowly, though the flicker of doubt remained in his translucent form. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Carol replied with a small smile. “You're welcome, but I keep reminding you as many times as it takes”

They resumed walking, the air between them lighter, if only slightly. Echo and the other fragment had fallen silent, both turning their attention back to the path ahead.

----------------------------------------

The Pit

The group moved cautiously through the darker part of the city, their footsteps muffled by the eerie silence that surrounded them. The air seemed heavier here, the oppressive darkness broken only by the occasional flicker of pale light from the alien stars above. As they walked, Carol’s gaze swept the area, noting the strange blobs of ink that dotted the ground and walls, pulsing faintly as though alive.

They had encountered the fog several times now, each encounter leading them deeper into the city. Carol found it unsettling, not just for its suffocating presence but for the strange way it seemed to guide their path, always nudging them toward darker, more twisted sections of the city.

“This isn’t right,” Carol murmured, her voice low but edged with unease. She glanced at Echo, who was studying their surroundings with a furrowed brow. “Echo, Brisbane’s a big city, but it’s not this massive. And…” She hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she gestured to a nearby street corner. “I swear I’ve seen parts of this city before—but they weren’t like this.”

Echo paused, his small hand tightening around hers. His gaze followed hers to the blobs of ink writhing on the ground, moving like thick, sentient water. “It’s the memory,” he said quietly. “It’s shifting—changing. The rules are bending.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked from her other side, his ghostly form flickering slightly as he eyed the ink warily.

Echo took a slow breath, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of dread. “It’s not supposed to do this,” he said. “The city should stay consistent. If it’s repeating or growing… something’s wrong.”

Carol crouched beside a patch of the ink, staring at its viscous surface. It rippled and churned like a living thing, reflecting the distorted image of the stars above. She reached out hesitantly but stopped short, her instincts warning her against touching it.

“It’s like it’s alive,” she said, glancing back at the others. “And it’s spreading. Echo, does this have something to do with the Beast—or something worse?”

Echo frowned, his expression tightening. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Or it could be the city reacting to us. The more fragments we find, the more unstable the memory becomes.”

Alex stepped closer, his translucent form casting faint reflections on the ink. “If this is part of Noah’s memory, then why does it feel so… wrong?” he asked softly.

“Because,” Echo said, his voice barely audible, “this might not be Noah’s memory anymore.”

Carol’s heart skipped a beat at the weight of his words. She straightened, her gaze sweeping the ink-streaked streets and twisted architecture around them. The thought of something hijacking her son’s mind—his very memories—sent a cold wave of fear through her.

“We need to keep moving,” Carol repeated, gripping Echo’s hand tighter as they pushed forward, the sense of unease growing with each step. The ink spread like a living tide, creeping closer, undulating with a sinister purpose. The city’s oppressive silence was broken only by their hurried footsteps and the faint, wet sound of the ink sloshing against the cracked pavement.

As they rounded a corner, the horizon ahead opened up, and the group came to an abrupt halt. What they saw froze them in place, shock and fear gripping them like a vice. Even awe flickered briefly in their expressions, but it was the kind of awe reserved for nightmares given form.

Where Brisbane’s city hall was supposed to stand, there was now a massive, gaping pit—a chasm that stretched at least 100 meters wide. The edges of the pit pulsed with life, but not the kind they recognized or welcomed. Twitching limbs jutted out at irregular intervals, grotesque shapes of arms, legs, and backs shifting and writhing like trapped creatures trying to claw their way free. Heads and distorted faces—some locked in eternal screams, others eerily blank—were submerged in the inky sludge that lined the pit’s walls.

Thick, blackened ink oozed over the edges, slowly pooling onto nearby buildings and streets. The sludge slithered like it had a mind of its own, tendrils stretching out and curling before falling back into the depths. The air smelled foul, a mix of rot and decay that made Carol’s stomach churn.

But what held their gaze most was the glowing object at the center of the pit. Suspended above the undulating ink, a pulsing blueish-white light shimmered faintly. It was like a heartbeat—a beacon in the darkness that seemed both inviting and deeply wrong. The glow cast eerie reflections across the pit’s slick walls, highlighting every sickening detail of the writhing mass below.

“What… what is that?” Carol whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at the faint, pulsing light. Her grip on Echo’s hand tightened, grounding herself against the overwhelming dread radiating from the pit.

“I don’t know,” Echo admitted, his voice barely audible. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowed as though trying to decipher the shimmering glow. “But it’s… calling. It feels like it wants us to notice it.”

Alex took a step back, his ghostly form flickering erratically. His wide eyes darted over the pit’s writhing edges, the limbs and faces locked in grotesque motion. “This isn’t right,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Whatever’s in there—it’s alive. The whole thing is alive.”

Carol’s chest tightened, her eyes flicking between the pulsing light, the ink creeping closer, and the grotesque movements below. “Alive or not, it’s clearly important,” she said, her voice firm though her stomach churned. “But… what if it’s not safe? What if it’s some kind of trap?”

Echo glanced up at her, uncertainty flickering across his face. “It could be,” he admitted, his voice small. “I don’t think it’s a fragment… at least, not like Alex or me. It feels different, like it’s… part of this place.”

Carol swallowed hard, her mind racing as the oppressive silence of the pit seemed to close in around them. “Whether it’s a trap or not, it’s drawing us here for a reason,” she said. “And that means we need to figure out what it is.”

Alex hesitated, glancing between her and the pit, his expression grim. “But how?” he asked, his voice trembling. “That thing—whatever it is—it’s in the middle of… that.” He gestured to the churning ink, its tendrils writhing and reaching outward as though testing the air, seeking something to grasp.

Carol forced herself to take a steadying breath. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her fear almost suffocating. But she squared her shoulders, her eyes meeting Echo’s with unwavering determination. “Whatever it is, we can’t leave it here,” she said firmly. “We’ve come too far to turn away now.”

But even as she spoke, doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve. What was it? she wondered, her gaze drifting back to the glowing shape pulsing faintly in the center of the pit. It seemed to call to them, its light rippling in rhythmic patterns, hypnotic and otherworldly.

“Maybe we should leave it for now,” Alex suggested, his voice breaking the heavy silence. His gaze darted around the pit, unease etched into his ghostly features. “Focus on surviving. We can figure it out later.”

Echo nodded, his expression reluctant but thoughtful. “I agree. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with. Getting out of here should come first.”

Reluctantly, Carol nodded. “Fine. We’ll come back later,” she said, though the pit’s magnetic pull lingered in her mind, whispering its silent demand for attention.

The group turned, heading toward what remained of Albert Street, aiming for the faint outline of what once might have been Queen Street Mall. The road ahead stretched into shadows, the crumbling remains of the city illuminated only by faint, flickering light from distant streetlamps.

But as they moved, a thick, eerie fog began to rise, curling around their ankles and quickly swelling to obscure their view. The strange mist moved like it was alive, tendrils weaving between the ruins and spreading with unnatural speed. Carol froze, her stomach sinking as the fog thickened.

“Backtrack!” she called urgently, spinning on her heel. The others followed without hesitation, retracing their steps toward the pit.

They tried another direction, moving toward Turbot Street, only to find the same dense fog creeping in to block their path. Each turn led them back to the pit, as if the city itself was funneling them toward its center.

The group halted near the edge of the massive chasm, their breaths shallow as the oppressive silence of the corrupted city pressed in around them.

“I don’t understand,” Alex muttered, his flickering form pacing back and forth. His eyes darted between the pit and the surrounding streets, frustration laced in his trembling voice. “We’re stuck here. But why?”

Echo’s brow furrowed, his young face tight with concentration. “The fog… it’s not random,” he murmured. “It’s like it’s forcing us to stay here. Like it doesn’t want us to leave.”

Carol’s chest tightened as she scanned the swirling ink below, its movements strangely synchronized with the fog’s relentless advance. It’s not just alive—it’s aware, she thought, her skin prickling with unease.

Her gaze shifted back to the glowing object at the pit’s center, its faint light pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat. Whatever it was, the city—or whatever controlled this nightmare—seemed intent on keeping them tethered to this horrifying abyss.

“I think we’re meant to get that thing in the middle of the pit,” Carol said, her voice low but resolute. She kept her eyes on the strange glow, her unease battling against the growing certainty in her gut. “I think this city—or this memory—wants us to get it.”

Echo stepped closer, his small frame tense as he peered over the edge of the pit. “That’s not comforting,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why would it want us to do that? What if it’s a trap?”

“clearly it’s going be a trap.” Alex’s translucent form flickered faintly as he turned toward her, a mix of fear and doubt on his face. “If it’s drawing us in,” he said hesitantly, “then it’s because it—whatever it is—has control here. We’d be playing right into its hands.”

Carol frowned, her mind racing. She couldn’t ignore the sense of purpose she felt emanating from the pit. The ink writhed as though alive, the fog swirling around them like sentinels ensuring they didn’t escape. The thought of walking into this trap sent chills down her spine, but what other choice did they have? Every path they’d tried led them back here, as if the city itself had decided this was their fate.

“Maybe it is a trap,” she said finally, her voice firm. “But if this memory is holding us hostage, it’s because we have something it wants—or it has something we need. Either way, standing here isn’t going to solve anything.”

Echo looked up at her, his young face etched with worry. “And what happens if we don’t survive whatever’s down there?” he asked quietly.

“That’s why I’m going down there myself,” Carol said, her voice steady despite the knot of fear twisting in her chest. She turned to Alex, whose ghostly form flickered with hesitation. He looked reluctant but resigned, his expression mirroring the unease rippling through all of them.

“Mother, you can’t,” Echo said quickly, his tone urgent, as though gearing up for a heated retort. But he faltered midway, his small hands clenching at his sides. “If something happens to you…”

Carol crouched slightly, leveling her gaze with his. “Echo, dear, you both need to help Noah. Alex can’t go, and I’m the only one who might be able to reach it.” She softened her voice, though her tone still carried the firmness of a mother’s resolve. “I need you to trust me.”

Echo’s eyes glistened with worry, and he opened his mouth to protest again, but she stopped him with a look. The unmistakable mum look. The one that said this isn’t up for debate.

“But what if you get hurt?” Echo whispered, his voice trembling.

Carol placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If I do, I’ll find my way back to you,” she said, forcing a small smile. “I promise. But this is something I have to do. I won’t let that… thing keep us trapped here any longer.”

Alex shifted uneasily beside them, glancing between Carol and the pit. “If you’re going down there… be careful,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “The ink—it’s not just alive. It’s… waiting.”

Carol nodded, her heart thudding in her chest as she turned her gaze back to the abyss. The glowing object at its center pulsed faintly, almost beckoning her. She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders as she steeled herself for what lay ahead.

“Stay here,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Look after each other, and keep watch. If anything happens—anything at all—run.”

Echo hesitated for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod, his small hand slipping out of hers. Alex remained silent but inclined his head slightly, his flickering form still tense.

Carol stepped closer to the edge, her heart pounding as she looked down into the pit. The ink churned and twisted below, its movements eerily synchronized with the pulsing light. She exhaled slowly, her fear bubbling beneath her resolve.

For Noah, she thought. For all of us. And with that, she began her descent.

----------------------------------------

The Pits Howl For They Too Seek The Damaged And The Lost.

Carol stepped into the pit, the ink-like, fleshy water clinging to her with an unsettling warmth as she descended. Each step sank her deeper, and by the time she was waist-deep, the viscous liquid tugged at her legs as if trying to hold her back. The glow at the center of the pit pulsed steadily, casting faint ripples of light across the inky surface. She still had many steps to go before reaching the source.

From a distance, she could now make out two small marble orbs, circling one another like celestial bodies caught in their own gravity. One was a pale, ghostly white, its hue reminiscent of Alex’s translucent form. The other shimmered with a soft blue, streaked with flickers of green that seemed to pulse like veins within its surface.

As she moved closer, whispers began to rise, faint at first, then growing louder, surrounding her like an unseen chorus.

"Run."

"Don’t let them touch you."

"She enjoys the hunt, for she is too hollow inside."

"The king awaits his fall, though his time is far off."

The whispers were a cacophony of voices, layered and fragmented, some urgent, others taunting. They circled her, threading through her mind, and just as suddenly as they had begun, they stopped. Silence fell like a shroud—until a new voice, familiar and chilling, spoke softly, right behind her.

“Do you want to know what happened here? The future that could have been in your world.”

Carol barely had time to turn toward the sound before something yanked her backward. She screamed as she was pulled under the ink, the cold, suffocating darkness closing over her. Her ears rang with the silence, her limbs flailing against the thick, clinging liquid.

Then, everything went still.

She awoke with a gasp, air flooding her lungs as her vision adjusted to the sudden brightness around her. She blinked rapidly, her heart pounding in her chest. Sunlight streamed through the canopy of lush trees above her, dappling the ground with golden patches. A gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. She was in the City Botanic Gardens, its familiar paths stretching out before her as though untouched by time or corruption.

The sky was a clear, unbroken expanse of blue. It felt so real, so vivid, that for a moment, she doubted everything she had just experienced.

“Where am I?” Carol whispered again, her voice quivering as she spun in place, taking in the unsettlingly perfect version of the gardens. It wasn’t the corrupted pit, yet it felt wrong, a layer of tension humming beneath the serenity.

A voice, smooth but laced with a cold edge, echoed through the air. “Welcome to my world before the fall.”

Carol turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat. Standing a few paces away was a figure that made her heart stutter. It was her—a mirror image—but twisted, corrupted. Her double’s skin was sickly pale, riddled with blackened veins that pulsed faintly, as though carrying some diseased energy. Her eyes flickered unnervingly, shifting between an inky black and Carol’s familiar greenish-blue. Patches of her body twisted grotesquely, bending at angles that made Carol’s stomach churn.

Despite her warped appearance, the other Carol wore an unnervingly serene smile on her tone-up lips, as if revelling in the unease she caused.

“Who are you?” Carol demanded, her voice rising with a mixture of fear and defiance. “And why am I in the gardens?”

Her double tilted her head, her smile never wavering as her gaze swept the tranquil scenery. “I wanted to show you what could happen to your world,” she replied, her tone almost wistful. “This was once my world. My Earth. But with a different you,” she added, her words dripping with eerie emphasis.

Carol’s stomach tightened as she kept her twisted counterpart in view, her muscles coiled with tension. “A different me?” she repeated cautiously, her mind racing. “What do you mean?”

The other Carol let out a soft, almost melodic laugh. “Oh, we were the same once. So much alike. A mother. A fighter. But I made a choice—one small, insignificant choice, or so it seemed at the time.” Her voice darkened, a shadow passing over her expression. “And everything changed. The world changed.”

Her gaze locked with Carol’s, sharp and piercing. “I am you,” she continued, “from a future that never should have been. But if you aren’t careful, if you make the wrong choice… this garden, this sky, your Earth… will all fall just as mine did.”

Carol’s breath hitched, the weight of her double’s words settling over her like a suffocating shroud. “You’re lying,” she whispered, though doubt seeped into her tone. “This can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s real,” her double replied softly, taking a step closer. Her voice held a chilling calm, as though relishing the unease she caused. “And I’ll show you exactly how real it is.”

Carol’s fingers curled into fists, her voice trembling as she forced herself to stand her ground. “How?” she asked, her words sharp but laced with dread. “How did a single choice turn this world into this nightmare?”

Her double’s unsettling smile lingered as she gestured to the vibrant gardens around them, the beauty of the scene clashing with the grim weight of her words. “It wasn’t just the choice itself,” she began, her tone tinged with a gentleness that only made her twisted form more jarring. “It was the ripple it caused, the consequences that spiralled out of control.” She swept a hand toward the picturesque surroundings. “This? This is what the world looked like before. Beautiful, isn’t it? Full of life, hope, potential.”

Carol’s breath caught as the double stepped closer, the light revealing the blackened veins etched across her sickly pale skin. “But I made a decision out of fear,” her double continued, her voice growing softer, almost sad. “A choice that changed everything I held dear.” Her hand moved in a slow, deliberate arc, and the gardens began to dissolve like a painting washed away by rain.

The scene around them warped, shifting into something far darker. Carol’s stomach churned as she recognized it immediately—the worst night of her life. The house stood before her, engulfed in flames, smoke billowing into the starless sky. She watched in horror as the flames consumed the home, memories she had tried to bury clawing their way to the surface.

Her double’s voice broke through the crackle of the fire. “The decision I made out of fear,” she said bitterly, “was to run into the house to save our children. My fear drove me, and in the end, it destroyed everything.” Her voice turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “I saw both of them—Noah and Claire—die painfully, screaming for help.”

Carol’s eyes widened in horror as the scene unfolded before her. She saw herself—another version of herself—desperately trying to reach her children, the flames engulfing her body as Noah and Claire screamed in agony. Another figure stumbled out of the flames: a man, twisted and monstrous, sobbing and screaming in a sound that was both human and inhuman. It was her husband—or what was left of him. The anguish in his cries was unbearable, echoing into the night as the fire consumed everything.

Tears stung Carol’s eyes as the scene shifted again, the roaring flames giving way to the sombre stillness of a graveyard. Three open graves yawned before her, the caskets being lowered slowly into the ground. She recognized the names etched into the headstones: Claire, Noah, and her husband. The weight of grief pressed down on her chest, threatening to suffocate her.

“I watched them burn,” her double hissed, her voice dripping with venom and self-loathing. “And I left them to die. That night hollowed me out, and made me bitter. Made me… this.” She gestured to her twisted, grotesque form, her blackened veins pulsing faintly as if alive.

Carol could hardly breathe as she looked at the graves, the horrifying vision sinking into her like a blade. “Why are you showing me this?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What do you want from me?”

Carol’s heart pounded, her breath catching as her double’s words sliced through the air like a knife. The closeness of her twisted counterpart was suffocating, her pale, marred face inches away, the blackened veins pulsing faintly beneath her skin.

“I know this didn’t happen to you in your world,” the double murmured, her voice a blend of bitterness and accusation. “But it could have. The difference between us is one choice—one moment where fear ruled.”

Carol’s throat tightened, her thoughts racing as the weight of her double’s words pressed down on her. She wanted to look away, to push back against this horrifying version of herself, but she couldn’t. The twisted reflection of her own pain and fear held her captive.

“Fear can drive you to make choices that will destroy everything you love,” her double continued, her tone dark and unrelenting. “And once you’ve made those choices, there’s no going back. No undoing the damage. No escaping the consequences.” She paused, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “So tell me, Carol. What will you do when it’s your turn to choose?”

Carol forced herself to meet her double’s gaze, the flicker of greenish-blue in the black depths striking an all-too-familiar chord. Her voice, though trembling, carried a quiet strength as she replied. “I won’t let fear control me.”

Her double’s smile twisted into something almost mocking. “Won’t you?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Fear is powerful, Carol. It whispers in your ear, makes you doubt, makes you hesitate when it matters most. And when the moment comes, it will grip you so tightly that you’ll do anything—anything—to escape it. Even if it costs you everything.”

Carol clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the tide of despair threatening to overwhelm her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice rising. “Fear doesn’t have to win. It doesn’t define who I am.”

Her double’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. “We’ll see,” she said softly, stepping back into the shadows. “The time will come when you’ll face a choice, just as I did. Let’s hope your courage holds.”

“wait I don’t understand how this choice turned your world into this nightmare, I don’t understand how,” Carol asked.

“simply, with Noah dead in my world the world tree when it landed it’s couldn’t and wouldn’t bound with anyone of worth, so as it grew in time it’s chance and became a former version of what it could have been.”

Carol's chest tightened as the weight of her double’s words sank in, each syllable like a stone dropping into the pit of her stomach. “Noah… dead?” she echoed, barely able to form the words. “And the World Tree… corrupted?”

Her double’s mocking smile returned, her black-veined features twisting with grim amusement. “Yes,” she said, her voice sharp with bitterness. “Noah never lived long enough to bond with the World Tree in my world. Without him, the tree had no guardian—no anchor. It grew wild, unchecked, and in time, it changed.” She tilted her head, her gaze darkening. “It became something twisted. A shadow of what it was meant to be. And with its corruption, everything fell apart.”

Carol’s mind raced, piecing together the horrific implications. The World Tree—meant to be a source of life and balance—had instead become the root of chaos and decay. “How long did it take?” she asked, her voice trembling. “How long before it destroyed everything?”

Her double laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. “Not long,” she said, her tone light but laced with venom. “Once the corruption took hold, it spread like wildfire. The end came quickly… hours, days, weeks. It didn’t matter. The world crumbled before anyone even realized what was happening.”

The surreal brightness of the Botanic Gardens seemed to dim as her double’s words hung heavy in the air. Carol struggled to keep her composure, her thoughts spinning with the magnitude of what could have been—and what still might be.

Then her double’s expression shifted, her mocking amusement giving way to something more distant, almost contemplative. “There was a group,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. “A group of people who tried to escape it. They were heading toward some kind of secure facility somewhere in Australia… hoping they could outlast the chaos. I wonder what happened to them.” Her voice trailed off, and she chuckled softly, the sound more unsettling than anything she’d said before.

“Who were they?” Carol pressed, a strange urgency filling her. “Did they survive?”

Her double’s gaze snapped back to her, sharp and unyielding. “Does it matter?” she asked coldly. “In the end, survival is just another delay. No one outruns the inevitable, Carol. Not in my world.”

Carol’s fists tightened at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice firm despite the fear gnawing at her. “Survival is the first step. It’s what gives us the chance to fight back, to rebuild. Giving up—letting fear take over—that’s what seals our fate.”

Her double stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she began to smile again, but it wasn’t mocking this time—it was almost sad. “We’ll see,” she said softly, her form beginning to fade. “I wonder if your resolve will hold when the time comes. Or if you’ll make the same choice I did.”

The world around Carol began to blur, the vibrant gardens melting away into darkness. Her double’s voice lingered, a faint echo in the void. “When you’re standing at the edge of everything you love… what will you choose?”

The whispers grew into a cacophony, voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of fear, warning, and pleading. Carol clenched her fists, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she fought to steady herself. The ink clung to her legs, thick and suffocating, pulling at her with every step.

But the glowing orbs were close now—so close she could feel the faint warmth they emitted, a gentle pulse cutting through the oppressive cold of the pit. She reached out instinctively, her hand trembling as she extended her fingers toward the twin lights.

Each orb was mesmerizing in its own way. The pale, ghostly white one exuded an ethereal stillness, its surface swirling with faint tendrils of mist. It reminded her of Alex—fragile yet steadfast, a fragment of something precious and lost. Beside it, the light blue orb with flicks of green shimmered faintly, almost alive, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The sight of it tugged at something deep within her—a sense of hope, of familiarity, as if it carried a piece of Noah within its glow.

Her heart pounded as she stepped closer, her feet sinking further into the ink with each motion. The whispers seemed to reach a crescendo, their disjointed words scraping at her sanity.

"Take it… before it’s too late!"

"Run… RUN!"

"You’ll never leave this place…"

The last whisper was her own voice, twisted and echoing in the darkness, chilling her to the core. Carol ignored it, forcing herself to focus on the orbs. With a deep, steadying breath, she reached out and cupped her hands around them.

The moment her skin brushed the glowing surfaces, the pit roared to life. The ink surged around her like a living wave, tendrils lashing out and recoiling as though in agony. A sharp, searing pain shot through her arms, but she didn’t let go. The orbs were warm—comforting—pulsing with a rhythm that felt achingly familiar, like a distant echo of Noah’s heartbeat.

She clutched them tighter, her body trembling as the pit seemed to resist her, the ink rising higher as if to swallow her whole. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with effort. “I’m not letting go.”

The orbs’ light began to intensify, their glow cutting through the ink like blades of sunlight piercing a storm. The whispers grew frantic, incoherent, and then—suddenly—silent.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with an earth-shaking roar, the ink recoiled violently, retreating from her in a tidal wave that slammed into the pit’s walls. Carol staggered but held firm, the glowing orbs nestled safely in her hands. The oppressive weight of the pit lifted slightly, the air feeling less suffocating.

She looked down at the orbs, their light dimming to a gentle glow. “What are you?” she murmured, her voice hoarse. But the orbs offered no answer, only the quiet pulse of their light.

Behind her, the ink began to stir again, slow and deliberate, as if gathering its strength for another strike. Carol turned, her jaw tightening. “I’ve got what I came for,” she said under her breath. “Now I just need to get out of here.”

With renewed determination, she began to climb back toward the surface, clutching the orbs tightly.

The ink churned violently as if responding to Carol's panic, its dark tendrils reaching toward her as she climbed. The whispers rose to a fever pitch, their disjointed warnings blending into a cacophony of fear.

"Run, run, RUN!"

"She’s coming!"

"The Pit howls for the damaged and the lost!"

Carol gritted her teeth, clutching the glowing orbs tightly against her chest. “I’m not leaving them,” she growled, her voice trembling with determination. “Not again.”

Then, as if to mock her resolve, the chilling voice of the fake mother echoed through the pit, smooth and sickeningly sweet. “Oh, my little fragments,” she purred, her words dripping with malice. “Two of you, so close together. This is going to be delightful.”

Carol’s gaze shot upward, her heart sinking as she spotted the fake mother’s grotesque form prowling toward the boys. Her twisted limbs jerked unnaturally, and her shattered mask glowed faintly, its cracks oozing dark ink. Echo stood in front of Alex and the other fragment, holding something Carol couldn’t make out in his trembling hands. Alex and the boy flanked him, gripping rocks as if they could fend off the monster with sheer will.

“No!” Carol’s voice tore from her throat, raw and desperate. She pushed herself harder, clawing at the slick walls of the pit, her hands burning with effort. The orbs pulsed in her grasp, their glow dimming and brightening as if responding to her anguish.

The whispers grew louder, their voices frantic.

"It’s too late—run!"

"Save them!"

"She awakens them—hurry!"

Carol’s breath hitched as a chilling realization gripped her. The ink wasn’t just alive—it was aware, and the fake mother wasn’t the only threat lurking in this cursed city. Something deeper, older, was stirring within the pit, its presence pressing against her senses like a suffocating weight.

“I need more time!” she screamed, her voice breaking with rage and fear. Her feet slipped against the slick surface, but she forced herself upward, her nails scraping against the unyielding ink. “I need to save them!”

The fake mother’s laughter echoed through the darkness, cold and cruel. “Oh, dear,” she crooned, her gaze snapping toward the boys. “You’re all so… fragile. But don’t worry—I’ll be gentle. Well, mostly.”

Echo’s voice cut through the oppressive air, trembling but defiant. “Stay back!” he shouted, his small frame trembling as he raised the object in his hands. The faint light it emitted flickered like a fragile ember, barely enough to push back the surrounding darkness. But it was something—hope in its smallest form.

The beast snarled, its grotesque form jerking unnaturally as it advanced. “Oh, little one,” it purred, its voice dripping with malice. “Do you really think that will save you?”

Carol clawed her way up the slick walls of the pit, her chest burning with exertion. The ink churned violently beneath her, its tendrils lashing out in frustration. “Hold on,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m coming. Just hold on!”

Her heart seized as she saw the beast swipe at the boys, its twisted limbs moving with horrifying speed. Echo’s light flared briefly as he tried to shield the others, but the force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground. His small cry of pain tore through the air, and Carol’s breath caught in her throat.

Alex staggered, his ghostly form flickering as he tried to shield the younger fragment. “Stay back!” he shouted, throwing a rock with all the force he could muster. It struck the beast’s mask, cracking one of its fragile edges, but it only seemed to enrage the creature.

The younger fragment was crying, clutching his arm where the beast’s claws had raked across it. Blood dripped onto the ground, dark and stark against the pale glow of Echo’s light.

“No!” Carol screamed, her voice raw with fear and rage. The boys’ pain fueled her desperation, but the pit seemed to weigh heavier with every step she took. The ink clung to her legs like chains, dragging her down as if mocking her efforts.

Then, everything paused.

The whispers that had surrounded her since she entered the pit suddenly ceased, replaced by a suffocating silence. Carol froze mid-climb, her breath hitching as a cold, familiar presence settled over her. She felt icy hands on her shoulders, rooting her in place, and then a voice—her own voice—slithered into her ear like a cold wind.

“A choice of fear,” it whispered, low and coaxing. “A choice to make. Which will you make, Carol?”

The pit seemed to deepen around her, its darkness pressing in as her grip faltered. Her arms shook with the effort to hold on, and for a moment, she felt as though she were sinking back into the ink.

“You’re holding yourself back,” the voice continued, its tone chilling yet maddeningly familiar. “Break free from your shakiness and rise.”

The weight on her shoulders grew heavier, and Carol clenched her jaw, her nails biting into the walls of the pit. She saw the boys above her—Echo struggling to rise, Alex flickering dangerously, and the young fragment sobbing in fear. The beast loomed over them, its jagged claws poised for another strike.

Her heart pounded as something inside her cracked open, raw and powerful. She couldn’t let this happen—not again. “I’m not losing them,” she growled, her voice trembling but resolute. “Not this time.”

Deep within her mind, a door creaked open. Light burst through her chest, radiating outward in warm, rhythmic pulses that matched her heartbeat. Her body tingled with a newfound energy, raw and unrelenting. Somewhere far away, her sleeping form glowed faintly, her pulse syncing with this awakening.

“Welcome, Carol Stirling, to the System Interface,” a melodic voice intoned within her mind. “Skill unlocked: Mother’s Love. Activating…”

Blinding light erupted around her, and two radiant wings of pure energy burst from her back. Their golden glow illuminated the pit, cutting through the oppressive darkness like the dawn. The ink recoiled, hissing and writhing as though burned by her presence.

Above her, the beast snarled, its attention snapping to her as the light grew brighter. Its shattered mask twisted, the glowing pits of its eyes narrowing in rage. “What is this?” it hissed, its voice trembling with fury. “What have you done?”

The boys stared in awe, their pain momentarily forgotten as Carol rose from the pit, her wings beating powerfully, lifting her above the inky abyss. Her golden eyes locked onto the beast, her voice steady and unyielding.

“You will not touch them,” Carol said, her tone laced with both love and fury. The light from her wings flared brighter, casting long, sharp shadows across the ink-streaked pit. “Not while I’m here.”

The pit roared in defiance, a guttural sound that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth itself. The ink surged upward in violent waves, its tendrils clawing desperately at the air, reaching for her. But the golden light burned through it, each strike scattering the inky darkness like shadows fleeing the morning sun.

“She’s awakened…”

“The mother of light…”

“She will break the cycle…”

The whispers rose again, this time not in fear, but in reverence. Their words carried a weight that made Carol’s heart clench, though she didn’t falter. Her wings beat steadily, their glow unwavering as the pit writhed beneath her.

And then, the fake mother. Her shattered mask twisted in fury, glowing cracks oozing ink as she stumbled backward. She hissed, her body convulsing as if the light seared her very existence. “What is this?” she snarled, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and fear. “What have you done?!”

Carol hovered above her, her golden eyes fixed on the monstrous figure below. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The light spoke for her—radiating strength, defiance, and an unyielding love that pushed back against the darkness.

The fake mother recoiled further, shielding her face as the light intensified. “No!” she screeched, her voice a fractured echo. “This isn’t possible! You’re nothing! Just a broken woman clinging to—”

“Enough!” Carol’s voice rang out, clear and commanding, cutting through the pit’s oppressive noise. The light around her flared again, and the fake mother shrieked as her form began to flicker, fragments of her shadowy body peeling away like smoke caught in a wind.

Below, the ink hissed and churned, recoiling violently from Carol’s glow. Tendrils that had once lashed and writhed in hunger now withered, their strength burned away by the radiant light. The boys—Echo, Alex, and the younger fragment—stared up at her with wide eyes, their faces bathed in the golden radiance. In their expressions, Carol saw something she hadn’t seen since entering this nightmare: hope.

The pit’s roaring faded into a low, pained groan, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Carol looked down at the pit, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar pang of pity. It wasn’t just malice she sensed—it was anguish. This place had consumed and trapped countless lives, feeding on their fear and despair until it became this monstrous thing. But now, it was dying.

She extended her hand toward the pit, her fingers trembling as the light from her wings intensified. The ink began to dissolve, the sickly blackness burning away into streams of pale, ghostly orbs that drifted upward like fireflies. The voices that had whispered so hauntingly before now spoke in softer, clearer tones—grateful, relieved.

"Free…" "Thank you…" "We’re… finally free."

Carol descended slightly, her wings beating softly as she landed near the boys, her form still glowing with ethereal brilliance. She turned to them, her voice gentle yet resolute. “You’re safe now,” she said, her gaze meeting each of theirs in turn. “Stay behind me.”

But the respite was short-lived. Behind her, the fake mother hissed in fury, her shattered mask twisting grotesquely as her form flickered and warped. Her remaining strength gathered into one last, desperate strike. “You think you’ve won?” she spat, her voice dripping with venom and rage. “You’ve destroyed my pit, but you’ve only delayed the inevitable. The damaged and the lost will always howl for the end!”

Carol turned slowly, her wings spreading wide as their light flared brighter than ever. Her golden eyes locked onto the fake mother, unyielding and filled with a quiet but implacable fury. “Not today,” she said firmly, her voice steady and unwavering. “Not while I’m here.”

The light surged, a wave of pure energy engulfing the pit and the fake mother in its brilliance. The grotesque figure shrieked, her voice a piercing wail of anger and fear as the light tore through her, unraveling her corrupted form into nothingness. The pit groaned one final time before falling silent, its ink evaporating into the air, leaving behind only the soft glow of the freed orbs drifting skyward.

When the light dimmed, the pit was gone—its inky tendrils and suffocating presence erased entirely. The oppressive whispers had vanished, replaced by a calm stillness that felt almost sacred. Carol’s wings folded slowly as she exhaled, her labored breaths the only sound in the quiet.

She turned back to the boys, her shoulders sagging as the weight of what had just happened settled over her. “It’s over,” she said softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion. But as she looked at the freed orbs floating gently into the sky, a small, hopeful smile touched her lips. “For them, at least, it’s over.”

The boys nodded silently, their awe-struck expressions gradually softening into relief.

End Of Book One