The wind in the Interstice didn't move air.
It moved memory.
Thin ribbons of silver drifted past Aether, each ribbon a whisper—half a voice, half a forgotten moment—brushing against his skin like cold silk.
He pushed himself upright.
The forest around him glowed faintly, as if lit from inside its own bones. Trees of translucent silver rose in spirals, their branches bending like glass frozen mid-song. The ground shimmered with floating particles that drifted upward instead of falling.
Aether exhaled slowly.
"I'm… not in my world anymore."
No answer came.
Not even the wind dared respond.
The Interstice was a realm between timelines—wilder than Void, older than Fate, untouched by physical law. Aether sensed it instinctively, as though the Fragment inside him recognized its birthplace.
Or its grave.
---
• A Trail Written in the Sky
Then he saw it.
Above the silver canopy, the sky wasn't a sky at all.
It was a tapestry of broken stars—fractured constellations floating in spirals, each star flickering like a failing heartbeat.
Lines of golden script crawled between them like veins:
[THE CONSTELLATION PATH — SEALED]
[ERROR: ANCHOR LOST]
[RECALIBRATING…]
Aether swallowed.
"This place is… malfunctioning."
No. Not malfunctioning.
Collapsing.
He felt it the way one feels weight before rain.
Something ancient had been wounded—deeply—and the Interstice had begun to bleed.
Then, faintly, beneath the shifting constellations, he saw it:
A trail of stars forming a narrow luminous road, suspended in midair.
The Broken Constellation Path.
Aether stood.
He hesitated only a moment.
Then stepped onto the path.
The world responded instantly.
---
• Echoes of the First Timeline
Golden ripples spiraled outward from his foot.
Suddenly, the stars brightened, then collapsed inward—revealing faint images projected into the sky.
Not illusions.
Not memories.
Echoes of the First Timeline.
Aether froze as he saw:
—himself, but younger, wearing ceremonial robes
—standing atop a white citadel that didn't exist in his current world
—speaking to beings cloaked in script and radiance
—seven thrones behind him, each carved with a cosmic sigil
He staggered.
"This… this can't be me."
The vision shifted.
Now he saw the moment the citadel shattered.
The sky broke like mirrored glass.
Something massive—something divine—fractured, its pieces falling like dying suns.
And in the midst of that calamity—
Aether watched himself tear a glowing piece of that being from the collapse, clutching it to his chest.
A Fragment.
The Fragment.
The vision froze on that moment, that crime, that impossibility.
Aether whispered, voice trembling:
"What did I do…?"
The universe answered with another ripple.
---
• The Voice in the Stars
A whisper drifted through the broken constellations—
a voice made of starlight and regret.
"You severed yourself from the Script."
Aether spun.
The constellations shifted, gathering into the shape of a woman—tall, radiant, her form composed entirely of glittering star-dust. Her eyes were burning galaxies, deep with knowledge and sorrow.
Aether took a step back. "Who are you?"
She did not descend from the sky.
She unfolded from it.
"I am Astraia, Keeper of the Third Hypostasis—Memory."
Aether's pulse jolted. "A Hypostasis…?! You're still alive?"
"Alive?"
Her voice trembled like a star collapsing.
"A fragment of me persists. Little more."
She lifted a hand.
The broken constellations behind her reassembled briefly, forming seven sigils.
Narrative.
Fate.
Time.
Memory.
Origin.
Void.
Revelation.
Only one glowed with violent, corrupted light:
Narrative.
The Hypostasis that had shattered.
Astraia looked down at him.
"Aether Caelum Noctis… do you know what you stole?"
Aether's throat tightened.
"I don't— I can't remember."
"Then I will show you."
She extended her hand.
The stars twisted—
And the Interstice itself bent around him.
---
• The First Sin
Aether fell to his knees as a torrent of visions struck him:
—The Hypostasis of Narrative towering over the cosmos
—Aether standing before it, defiant, furious, desperate
—The seven Hypostases arguing in a tongue older than time
—Aether shouting: "Then I will rewrite my own fate!"
—A blade of pure script in his hand
—The Hypostasis reaching out
—Aether slicing into its essence
—Stealing a piece of its core
—The hourglass sigil bursting into existence
—The universe screaming
His scream tore from his throat as the memory ended.
Astraia's voice fell like rain.
"You destroyed the First Hypostasis."
Aether stared at his trembling hands.
"I… killed it…?"
"No."
Her voice softened.
"You broke it. And in its breaking, you created something far worse."
She floated closer.
"That Fragment inside you…
it is not a gift.
It is a wound."
Aether's breath shook.
A wound…?
A piece of a god?
A stolen shard of narrative itself?
But Astraia wasn't finished.
Her star-lit eyes dimmed.
"And every reset you lived through created an Echo.
Sixteen timelines.
Sixteen wounds.
Sixteen Shadows."
Aether's heart froze.
"Sixteen… Shadows?"
Astraia nodded slowly.
"The one you met is only the strongest.
The others… have begun to merge."
The sky rumbled.
A chill tore through the Interstice.
Astraia looked upward in sudden alarm.
"No…
No, not yet—
He shouldn't be able to enter this realm—!"
Aether stepped back. "Who?"
The forest darkened.
The stars turned black.
The sky pulsed like a dying heart.
A voice howled across the Interstice:
"AETHER."
The Shadow.
It had found him.
Astraia's stars flickered violently.
"Run, Aether!"
Her voice echoed like thunder.
"Follow the Path—reach the Astral Vault—before the Echo devours this realm!"
The sky split open.
Ink-black claws tore through the constellations.
The Shadow's voice rumbled:
"Found you."
The Broken Constellation Path shattered beneath Aether's feet.
And he fell—
into an abyss of collapsing starlight.