Kael woke in a cold sweat, sprawled across his bed, heart pounding like a war drum.

  His hands were shaking. Not from fear—though there was plenty of that—but from the aftershock of knowing too much. He blinked at the ceiling, and equations formed behind his eyes like floating chalk on an invisible board. Atomic diagrams. Pressure conversion formulas. Alchemical transmutation cycles he had never studied but now understood as easily as breathing.

  “...What the hell did you do to me?” he whispered.

  "No need for panicke."

  The voice again. Calm, composed. Inside him.

  "Your body is simply adjusting to cognitive expansion. Neural bridges are being formed. You will stabilize soon."

  Kael sat up and pressed his palms to his temples. “You’re in my head. You’re real. You’re not just a dream.”

  "Correct. I am Alarion of the Silent Vale. One of your alternate incarnations. In my timeline, I mastered the art of elemental alchemy and universal science. And now, by the call of convergence, I am bound to you."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Bound…?”

  "You are the convergence point, Kael. A fixed soul at the center of a collapsing multiverse. Our realities are being consumed—slowly, quietly, by something ancient. You were chosen to anchor us. To carry us. And in doing so, perhaps… to save what remains."

  Kael stood, walked to the mirror. His reflection looked the same, mostly—but something behind his eyes shimmered. Deeper. Older.

  "You’ll gain access to my memories, my abilities, in time. But you must prepare."

  “For what?”

  "The next fragment."

  The next day passed in a blur.

  In class, Kael answered questions without thinking. He corrected the chemistry teacher—twice. Even his handwriting had changed, becoming smooth and angular like a scholar’s.

  People noticed. Whispered. He didn’t care.

  What haunted him most was a sudden feeling of duality. Every now and then, it was like he wasn’t alone in his own skin. Like he was watching himself from behind glass—detached, clinical. Alarion wasn’t controlling him, not directly… but he was there.

  And the thought of more fragments—more selves—was terrifying.

  That night, Kael didn’t sleep.

  He stood on the roof again, staring at the stars.

  “I’m not ready for this,” he said quietly.

  "No one ever is."

  Alarion’s voice was calm, but this time… it sounded strained. Distant.

  Then, the air snapped—like the crack of a thunderclap underwater.

  From the far side of the rooftop, a shadow slammed into the ground, sending dust and broken tiles flying. Kael shielded his eyes, heart hammering. When he looked again, there was a figure kneeling in the dust.

  Broad-shouldered. Muscular. Armor scorched and cracked.

  A sword was stabbed into the ground beside him—long, cruel, and humming with power.

  Then the figure looked up.

  Kael saw his own face.

  Scarred. Hardened. Eyes like molten gold.

  The warrior stood.

  "Took you long enough," he growled. "Name’s Veyr. I’m what you could’ve been if you'd fought instead of hiding. If you want to survive what’s coming… you’re gonna need me."

  He pointed to Kael’s chest.

  "Ready or not—this shard is yours now."

  Before Kael could speak, the warrior’s body shattered into radiant dust.

  And the second soul fragment entered him.

  Kael screamed.