Erynd woke to silence that was wrong.
Not peaceful. Not empty.
Selective.
Sound existed only where it was necessary.
He lay on cold stone beneath a fractured sky, every breath scraping like glass through his lungs. The scar in his chest throbbed with a slow, arrhythmic pulse—no longer pain, but desynchronization.
He sat up too quickly and vomited black-red blood.
Lyra was there instantly, gripping his shoulders.
"Don't," she said. "Your cognition almost tore itself apart."
Erynd wiped his mouth, fingers trembling. "Did it… leave?"
"Yes." Her voice was tight. "After deciding not to decide."
He laughed weakly. "That's worse."
She didn't disagree.
[WARNING: SCAR INSTABILITY CRITICAL]
Penalty Escalation Detected]
The message blinked without elaboration.
That alone terrified him.
"What did I lose?" Erynd asked quietly.
Lyra hesitated.
"That's the problem," she said. "You don't know yet."
The world began to react within hours.
Not catastrophically.
Systematically.
Priests across continents found their miracles delayed. Oathbound warriors felt resistance where none had existed. Fate Wardens paused mid-pursuit, recalculating endlessly until some simply dissolved.
Gods argued.
And for the first time, they argued without certainty.
Erynd felt it like static in his thoughts. Every model he ran now returned multiple valid outcomes instead of one optimized solution.
Choice had become expensive.
[Authority — Fear: Evolving]
New Trait Unlocked: Unshared Dread
Erynd frowned. "That sounds bad."
Lyra swallowed. "It sounds contagious."
They traveled east, toward the dead cities—places erased so thoroughly that even Axiom's corrections had little context to operate on.
The further they went, the worse Erynd felt.
Not weaker.
Blurrier.
His intelligence no longer collapsed problems into clarity. Instead, it presented him with branching paths—and refused to rank them.
For a man who lived by optimization, it was torture.
That night, they found a settlement burning.
Not raided.
Abandoned mid-action.
People stood frozen in doorways, hands raised, expressions caught between prayer and panic.
Erynd stepped closer.
"They're waiting for permission," he said.
"From who?" Lyra asked.
Erynd didn't answer.
He felt it then—a presence, distant but tightening.
Not Axiom.
A consequence.
[NEW DESIGNATION DETECTED]
Provisional Constant: EXCEPTION HANDLER]
Lyra stared at the air. "I don't like that name."
Neither did Erynd.
The sky darkened—not with clouds, but with priority. Something else was being promoted.
A figure emerged from the frozen crowd.
Human-shaped.
Bound in a lattice of shining clauses and conditional light.
A god—newly elevated.
It looked confused.
And terrified.
"I… I was chosen," it stammered. "They needed someone to—"
"To handle exceptions," Erynd finished softly.
The god's eyes snapped to him.
"You did this," it accused. "You broke the balance!"
Erynd shook his head slowly. "No. I revealed it."
The new god raised trembling hands, divine power flaring unevenly.
"Please," it begged—not in mercy, but in logic. "Let me correct you. I don't want to be erased."
Erynd saw the truth instantly.
Axiom had increased tolerance.
But tolerance required management.
And gods were being repurposed.
Lyra whispered, "If it fails…"
"It won't be allowed to," Erynd said. "Failure would imply uncertainty."
The god attacked.
Not out of hatred.
Out of desperation.
Erynd tried to calculate.
His mind stuttered.
Too many valid outcomes.
Too many acceptable losses.
He reacted late.
The divine strike hit him square in the chest.
The scar shattered.
Not exploded.
Fragmented.
[CRITICAL EVENT: SCAR FRACTURE]
Erynd screamed as pieces of his authority tore free—fear, null logic, unfinished oath—scattering into the world like shards of broken law.
The god recoiled, horrified. "What did I do?"
Lyra dragged Erynd back as the settlement finally collapsed into chaos—people screaming as frozen time resumed violently.
Erynd lay shaking, vision dimming.
This was the cost.
Not death.
Diffusion.
His power—his concept—was no longer whole.
And somewhere, far beyond gods and mortals, Axiom updated again.
Anomalies: Multiplying.
Control: Decreasing.
For the first time since existence learned to remain consistent—
The constant began to lose grip.