The forest smelled of pine and damp earth, shadows stretching long beneath the late afternoon sun. Nora stood on the edge of a clearing, twelve years old, fists clenched, heart hammering—not from running, but from anticipation. Solas the kitten, sleek and agile, moved around her in quiet, purposeful circles, ears flicking toward every subtle movement.
The threads hummed beneath her skin, faint at first, then growing stronger, pulsing in tandem with her heartbeat. She had learned to feel them, to sense their presence, but never like this. Never when they were attacking.
The first shadow appeared as a ripple in the corner of her vision, twisting, unnaturally fluid, coiling around the edge of the clearing. Then another. And another—dozens of them, each writhing like smoke, faceless yet aware, sentient. The Unmakers had discovered her growing control, and they had come as a coordinated force.
“Nora,” Solas the kitten’s voice resonated deep within her skull, “do not flinch. Remember all of you. Do not fear the threads, or they will bind you in their terms.”
Her pulse raced. She inhaled sharply, feeling the lattice of her consciousness unfold: the toddler who had hugged Solas the kitten, learning instinctively to anchor herself; the child in 1957, screaming silently in the padded chair but resisting erasure; the dementia-afflicted future self, trembling in fear yet maneuvering through caves with instinctive cunning; the cosmic-warrior version, swinging swords against the Unmakers in impossible battlefields; the coma-bound self, tethered to the pulse of the Solace machine, stabilizing the fracture.
All of them were present now, fragmented and full, yet feeding her awareness.
She lifted her hand, trembling slightly, and the threads responded. They arced outward like luminous ribbons, connecting every shadow, every object, every fragment of herself. A ripple of light spread through the clearing. The shadows recoiled, twisting as the threads sought them out, probing for weaknesses in their cohesion.
A sudden lunge—a shadow darted straight toward her, faster than her eyes could track. She barely had time to focus, to let instinct take over. A ribbon of light shot from her fingertips, wrapping around the shadow, holding it, bending it, forcing it to shrink and twist. The threads hummed in approval. Solas the kitten hissed sharply, diving at the shadow, claws extended. The motion synchronized across realities—the feline’s presence amplifying the threads, anchoring Nora against the Unmakers’ assault.
Another shadow struck, this one larger, pulsating with dark intent. Nora’s vision blurred as multiple realities bled into one. She saw the hospital monitors of 2018 flicker in time with the shadow’s movement, felt the padded chair in 1957 vibrate under unseen force, and glimpsed her future self scrambling in the caves as the shadow mirrored the pursuit.
Her mind screamed—too much! Too many threads! But she forced focus, letting the lattice of her selves guide her. Hands clenched, fingers spread, she reached into the threads with conscious intent for the first time, shaping, bending, weaving. The shadows hit the lattice and were met with resistance: a push, a pull, a reflection of light they could not comprehend.
“Yes. All of you. Together. You are the nexus. They cannot unravel what is whole.” Solas the kitten’s presence surged, stronger now.
The clearing became a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, threads bending the air itself. The Unmakers hissed, recoiled, struck again, and again, each assault stronger, more coordinated—but the lattice held. Nora’s grip on Solas the kitten tightened. She could feel the feline’s pulse, the heartbeat of her tether across time and realities, anchoring the storm.
Finally, a moment of clarity. She exhaled, letting the lattice flow freely. The shadows recoiled, twisting and thinning, unable to pierce the coherence of her multi-reality nexus. The threads glimmered around her, alive, responsive, unbroken.
Nora’s chest heaved. She looked down at Solas the kitten, now calm, purring softly, and whispered, “We did it.”
But the Unmakers were not gone. They had learned. They had adapted. Somewhere, in the fractures of time and space, they waited, probing, hungry.
And Nora, for the first time, understood what it meant to be more than one self, more than one lifetime—and that the fight had only just begun.