Golden light erupts from my hands as another BACR quantum vehicle explodes overhead, reality warping around the burning wreckage. I hadn't wanted this fight. Hadn't wanted any of this. But Kira's drive led me to Monroe, and the moment the Herald emerged from spaces between moments, trailing void and stolen powers, I knew there would be no avoiding it.

  The coordinates had brought me to Monroe Myers' penthouse apartment, sixty stories above downtown Star City, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the bay. Or they would have, if reality wasn't currently forgetting how to be solid wherever the Herald manifested. The once-pristine minimalist décor now twisted into impossible geometries as void energy saturated the space.

  "The beacon that calls to all frequencies," the Herald's layered voice ripples through existence as its multiple forms manifest across the apartment, each fracturing reality differently. Some turn matter to liquid possibility, others render time non-linear. Each one blazes with transformed powers, reality forgetting how to be solid wherever they appear. "Perfect timing. We were hoping he'd lead us to you."

  Through my evolved perception, I can see how the Herald's consciousness has grown since our last encounter, no longer just Mikey, no longer just the Shadow Bearer. Now it exists as pure pattern, wearing void like skin, its stolen abilities harmonizing in ways that shouldn't be possible.

  Behind me, Monroe Myers, the most powerful telepath on Earth, struggles as she presses her hands against her temples. Her designer furniture floats randomly around the room, responding to her mental distress as she tries to process the Herald's fractured consciousness. Blood trickles from her nose, staining her white cashmere sweater.

  "Their thoughts... so many frequencies…" she gasps, her eyes rolling back to reveal pinpricks of void. Whatever she's seeing in the Herald's mind is changing her perceptions already. "They're not just one consciousness, they're a collective. A gestalt of everything they've absorbed."

  "Stay behind me," I say, drawing more power from the raw light of creation itself. Golden energy courses through me as I reshape local reality into defensive barriers. The power feels different now, evolved from my time spent adrift in the shadow realm. Instead of just manipulating reality, I can feel the underlying frequencies, the light that exists before light, the potential before form.

  The Herald laughs in frequencies that make mathematics break down. All of its forms attack simultaneously.

  The air screams.

  Void-tendrils lash through quantum spaces as reality buckles under impossible forces. I counter with pure energy, light exploding outward in waves that vaporize the entire top floor of Monroe's building. The Herald's forms dance through the devastation, absorbing and transforming every frequency they touch. Outside, BACR quantum vehicles hover like technological vultures, their sensors trying to make sense of the cosmic forces being unleashed. They've established a perimeter around the building, evacuating civilians from neighboring structures. At least they've learned that much since their last encounter with powers of this magnitude. BACR agents open fire with quantum nullifiers from adjacent rooftops. Their energy weapons might as well be water pistols. The Herald's influence spreads like fractal patterns, changing matter into frequencies that shouldn't exist. Agents scream as their own powers are transformed into new harmonies.

  "Still thinking in terms of force," the Herald says as its forms converge into a shape that almost resembles Mikey, if Mikey were made of void-fractures and quantum static. "Of separation. Of light versus shadow. Let us show you what we've become."

  Reality shatters.

  A wave of pure void energy rips through Monroe's apartment, transforming everything it touches. The remaining walls twist into geometries that hurt to look at, all right angles becoming acute or obtuse simultaneously. The floor becomes a suggestion rather than a fact. The sky outside forgets how to be sky, turning instead into a kaleidoscope of possibilities, what sky could be if it weren't constrained by physics. I respond with everything I have. Golden light erupts from me in a nova that can be seen from orbit, reality fracturing and reforming under the raw power I channel. The Herald's forms scatter like smoke, momentarily disrupted by the sheer energy I wield.

  "Good," one aspect of the Herald says, its voice resonating at frequencies that taste like ozone. "You're learning to access deeper harmonics. Just like we did."

  "I see it now," Monroe gasps, catching glimpses through the Herald's fractured consciousness. Her eyes have turned completely black, reflecting void where pupils should be. "The Unweaving... they're gathering frequencies to rip apart reality and open the spaces between. Where shadow and light merge into pure energy."

  The Herald's forms ripple with something like pleasure. "Such perfect understanding. Your mind touches all frequencies, all powers. With your ability, we can find the exact signatures we need. No more relying on chance."

  Through my enhanced perception, I see what it means, Monroe's telepathy doesn't just read thoughts, it reads quantum signatures. She can identify specific powers, specific frequencies in the cosmic symphony. With her ability, the Herald could locate precisely the abilities it needs, instead of collecting powers at random.

  "You want to unmake reality itself," I realize, my power blazing brighter as understanding dawns. The golden energy around my hands intensifies, responding to my emotional state.

  "We want to remember what comes before," the Herald corrects, void arranged in patterns that suggest a teacher addressing a slow student. "So we can control what comes after."

  Its attack comes from everywhere at once. Void-tendrils strike through spaces between spaces, exploiting quantum gaps I can't perceive fast enough. Transformed powers warp existence itself, telekinesis that affects probability rather than matter, pyrokinesis that burns time instead of substance, gravity manipulation that pulls down conceptual frameworks instead of physical objects. My defensive sphere shatters like glass. I counter with raw force, golden energy tearing holes in reality as I unleash my full strength. The remaining structure of Monroe's apartment ceases existing as light and darkness collide. The Herald weaves between my attacks, its multiple forms wielding dozens of stolen abilities in perfect harmony.

  "Your light shows us such interesting possibilities," it says, void arranged in the shape of what used to be Mikey's smile. "But even light is just another frequency to remember differently."

  That's when the void-tendrils find their mark.

  Monroe screams as shadows touch her mind. Her consciousness begins to unravel, psychic energy bleeding into quantum spaces. I can feel her telepathy being transformed, evolving into something that can reach across not just minds, but realities. My response levels half of the building. I can hear the screams of people, families, workers in the floors below as golden energy explodes outward. I pour everything I have into one desperate attack, trying to sever the connection between Monroe and the Herald.

  Too late.

  The Herald's consciousness expands across quantum states, absorbing and transforming Monroe's telepathy into something that shouldn't exist. Her power reaches across all frequencies as reality rewrites itself around her. The last thing she broadcasts before the transformation completes is a set of coordinates, Raylyn's location, buried so deep even the Herald can't immediately access it, delivered directly to my brain. Along with something else, a fragmented memory, a vision of what the Herald truly wants: not destruction, but transformation. The complete unmaking of reality's distinctions. I see flashes of what the Herald has experienced since its emergence, the collection of specific powers, each one a note in a cosmic harmony it's composing. I see the spaces between spaces, the vast architecture being built in the shadow realm. I see the Unweaving approaching, reality itself preparing to shed its limitations.

  And most disturbing, I see a seven-year-old version of myself, standing in a hospital corridor as my father flatlines. My consciousness fracturing across realities as trauma splits me into quantum aspects. The template that the Herald has been following.

  "You," I gasp, understanding clicking into place. "You're following my fracture pattern. Using it to..."

  "To help reality remember what it used to be before limitation," the Herald completes. "Before separation forced existence to forget its unified nature."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Monroe's body convulses as her consciousness transforms. Her flesh becomes translucent, showing not organs but quantum patterns beneath her skin. Her eyes fully dissolve into portals of void-energy.

  "Beautiful," the Herald says, its forms remerging into a shape that blazes with stolen powers. "Now we can find every frequency we need. Every power required for the Emergence. Would you like to see what we've become?"

  Reality convulses.

  The Herald manifests its full strength, wielding powers stolen and transformed from dozens of sources. I meet it with pure golden light, existence fracturing around us as cosmic forces collide. The entire building groans as physics tries to reassert itself and fails.

  "You don't understand what you're doing," I shout over the sound of reality screaming. "You're not just changing things, you're erasing distinction itself. Without separation, without limitation, consciousness can't exist!"

  "How would you know?" the Herald asks, its void-form rippling with what might be amusement. "You, who have never experienced true unity? Who has only ever known the broken, shattered state of what reality has become?"

  "Because I've been in the shadow realm," I counter, channeling more power through my evolved abilities. "I've seen what exists in the spaces between spaces. There's no consciousness there, just void. Just hunger."

  "That's where you're wrong," the Herald says, its attack intensifying. "The void isn't emptiness, it's potential. Unlimited, unbounded potential. What you perceived as hunger was simply existence remembering what it used to be."

  But the Herald has grown too strong. It moves through my attacks like water, transforming every frequency it touches. The remaining structure of the building collapses into quantum uncertainty as our battle reshapes local space-time. I can feel my body struggling to maintain coherence as the Herald's void-energy tries to transform me as well.

  Through my golden barriers, I watch Monroe's transformed consciousness merge fully with the Herald's gestalt. Her face, or what used to be her face, arranges itself into an expression of perfect serenity as her identity dissolves into the collective.

  "You see?" the Herald says, its voice now carrying echoes of Monroe's harmonics. "No pain. No fear. Just belonging. Just remembering."

  "That's not remembering," I argue, desperately trying to maintain my defensive position. "That's erasure. You're not restoring anything, you're consuming it."

  "Such limited perception," the Herald sighs, its void-tendrils probing my golden shields. "Still thinking in humanized concepts. Still believing in boundaries and borders. But you of all people should understand, Jaron. After all, you were the first. The first child born in the shadow spaces, a dark seed that bloomed with your father's death."

  Images flood my mind, not memories but revelations. My mother, pregnant, caught in some anomaly decades before the Event. The shadows touching her womb, marking me before birth. The void had chosen me long before I knew it existed.

  "No," I whisper, but even as I deny it, I know it's true. The shadows had always been there, just at the edge of my vision. Even before my father's death.

  "Your trauma wasn't random," the Herald continues, void-tendrils gently caressing the edge of my golden barriers. "It was catalyst. The shadows waited decades for the right vessel, the right moment. When your father's heart monitor flatlined, when grief fractured your consciousness, you tore open pathways that had been sealed for generations."

  "I didn't know," I say, my voice hollow as understanding crashes through me. "I just wanted him back."

  "And in your desperation, you became the first to fracture dimensions in decades," the Herald explains. "When you finally emerged from the void, when you merged your fragmented selves, you didn't come alone. The shadows came with you, spreading outward from your unified consciousness. What humans call the Parallax Event was simply the shadows flowing through the doors you opened."

  My power wavers as the full truth hits me. The Herald isn't just following my fracture pattern, it's the result of it. My birth in the shadows, my childhood trauma, my shattered consciousness, created the template that allowed the shadows to understand how reality could be broken apart and reassembled.

  "I didn't mean to," I whisper, memories of that hospital corridor flooding back, but now with new context. The shadows hadn't just been there; they'd been waiting, guiding, preparing. "I was just a kid. I just wanted my dad to live."

  "And in trying to save him, you showed us how reality could save itself," the Herald replies, almost gently. "Your fracture created the pattern for all Parallaxers. Every power that manifested after the Event follows your original split, ego, doubt, hope, love, hate. Different aspects, different abilities, but all echoing your initial breaking. All flowing from the shadows you carried back from between spaces."

  My golden energy flickers as the truth settles over me. I wasn't just the first Parallaxer, I was the blueprint. The Event itself was just reality trying to follow the pattern I'd established years before.

  Deep down, I'd always known something was different about me. The shadows had always been there at the edge of my perception, even before my father's death. The strange dreams, the way reality seemed to bend slightly around me as a child, the voices I sometimes heard in empty rooms. Part of me had always suspected my connection to what happened went deeper than just being the first, but hearing it confirmed connects all the dots that have been scattered throughout my life.

  "You sensed it, didn't you?" the Herald asks, reading my expression. "Even before I told you. The shadows have always whispered to you, Jaron. You've always known you were different from the other Parallaxers."

  I don't answer, but I don't need to. We both know it's true.

  "Your power grows impressively," the Herald notes as reality trembles around us. What remains of the building groans, trying to remember how to be solid. "But you still cling to reality. To the illusion of distinction. Soon you'll understand what we're really doing."

  The void-tendrils withdraw as the Herald's form begins to shift, preparing to depart. Monroe's transformed consciousness moves with it, integrated perfectly into the gestalt.

  "Why not take me too?" I challenge, golden energy still crackling around my hands. "If unity is so perfect, why leave me separated?"

  The Herald pauses, its void-form rippling with what might be amusement, or perhaps uncertainty. "Because you still have a role to play, little fracture. The original template needs to witness the fulfillment of what it started."

  "Or because you know I might be the only one who can stop you," I counter, feeling my power respond to the declaration. The golden energy intensifies, becoming almost blinding.

  "Stop us?" Now the Herald definitely sounds amused. "You can no more stop the Emergence than a wave can stop the tide. You are part of this, Jaron. The first part. And when reality remembers its unified nature, you will be welcomed home, the prodigal aspect, returned to wholeness."

  Then it's gone, taking Monroe's transformed consciousness with it. The void-tendrils withdraw through spaces between spaces, leaving only quantum echoes behind. Reality snaps back like a rubber band, the building restructuring itself as the Herald's influence fades. The walls remember their right angles, the floor solidifies, the elegant furniture returns to its proper state. Within seconds, Monroe's penthouse looks exactly as it did before our battle, pristine and untouched. As if nothing happened. As if Monroe hadn't just been erased from existence.

  But the empty space where she should be screams louder than any quantum distortion.

  "Monroe!" I shout uselessly, golden energy flaring with my grief. I slam my fist into the nearest wall, creating the only imperfection in the otherwise perfect apartment. "I fucking failed..."

  My failure crushes me like a physical weight. Another person lost to the Herald's hunger. Another consciousness absorbed into its growing collective. Another friend I couldn't save.

  Through the now-intact windows, I see BACR vehicles circling, their sensors registering the quantum disturbance but finding no physical evidence of our cosmic battle. They'll come looking soon, asking questions no one can answer. I sink to my knees, golden energy dimming with my despair. But even as grief threatens to consume me, I realize I have what I came for, coordinates to Raylyn, buried in the information Kira gave me, protected by Monroe's final act of defiance against the Herald's absorption. Her last gift. Her final resistance.

  And something else. My powers have evolved again, forced to grow stronger by the Herald's overwhelming force. I can feel new abilities awakening, responding to the threat we face, each one born from the crucible of confrontation and loss. The knowledge that I started all this, that my childhood trauma created the template for the Parallax Event, for the shadows to understand how reality could be unmade, settles like lead in my stomach. But with that realization comes strength. If my fracture pattern began this, perhaps it also contains the key to stopping it.

  The coordinates burn in my mind as I gather my power, preparing to tear open reality itself. I have to find Raylyn. Have to understand what my original fracturing really started.

  Before the Herald gathers all the frequencies it needs.

  Before the Emergence unmakes everything.

  As I prepare to jump through spaces between spaces, I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in a shard of glass, not as I am now, but as I was then. A seven-year-old boy in an oversized baseball cap, tears streaming down his face as his father's heart monitor flatlines. The moment that started everything.

  "I'll fix this," I promise that reflection, that fragment of my broken past. "Whatever it takes."

  Golden light erupts around me as I tear open reality, following the coordinates Monroe sacrificed herself to deliver. As I step through the rift, I feel the resonance of my fractured consciousness harmonizing across possibilities, ego, doubt, hope, love, hate, all aspects of myself answering the call.

  The Herald thinks unity means erasing distinction. But maybe, just maybe, true harmony requires difference. Requires separation. Requires the very limitations it's trying to erase.

  I step through the rift, leaving the devastation behind. Somewhere out there, Raylyn Weaver is gathering resistance. And I'm bringing her both warning and revelation.

  The pattern that started the unraveling might also be the key to reweaving it.