《Eyes of the Void》 Friday Night at the Wash n Go Laundromat I step into the laundromat, the lights flickering buzzily overhead. I expected the scene laid out to greet me, but I still have to clench my jaw and swallow hard against nausea. It gets easier after a while, but you never really get used to it. The walls and floor are painted with gore and my steps squelch a bit. I''m just a bit too late. Even my reliable sixth sense can''t speed me through downtown traffic. Eviscerated husks spew lengths of intestine like tangled yarn, the smell of shit and blood heavy in the air. Something twitches over in the corner, making a sound that shock and unimaginable agony have rendered to a dull, repeated, "uh uh uh uh." I cross the room between the rows of silent washers and dryers, ignoring what crushes beneath my shoes, and deliver the mercy stroke. For good measure I shift my grip on the knife and dig into his left eye socket, working the blade around until, with a wet sound, the gelatinous mass pops free of the red ruin. Rising from my squat, I stomp down with deliberate viciousness, splattering viscous ooze. No mistake, this is the Church''s work. For someone raised from birth in that nest of insanity, they might as well have left a neon calling card. I move counter-clockwise around the room, doing the same for each still-warm corpse. I try not to look at their faces, try not to register age, sex, the presence of a wedding band on the crimson-soaked finger. Most people can''t survive the process of the seeds tendriling into their brain. Honestly, they''re the lucky ones. Some survive, and go insane, ripping anything around them into bloody gobbets of meat. A very few make it out with their faculties intact, and it''s them the Church plucks out of the wreckage. It''s them the Church will use as conduits, channeling the outside power of some unholy force of chaos, or nothingness, or evil, or something of all three, I never really managed to put a label on it. I feel another pang of guilt that this is their Plan B. Vesper, they called me, even my name a reference to the call to prayer rather than something that might acknowledge my own identity. Their golden child, surviving infection in the womb, born with a wisp of darkness behind my left eye, able to connect with It as easy as thought. Never mind that using me as the gateway to some eldritch realm would likely destroy my brain if not my body. Never mind that whatever it unleashed upon the world would make Hell look like a Sunday picnic. They brainwashed me to believe I was special, a messiah. These shattered bodies on the ground are the result of my escape. My absence forces them to seed more people, trying to amass the sheer potential I possess. Butchery complete, I bow my head and mouth a silent I''m sorry to the dead. I wipe my knife clean on a white towel hanging from the open mouth of a dryer.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The metallic scent of blood mingles with the artificial freshness of dryer sheets, creating a nauseating cocktail that seems to epitomize my life now ¨C the collision of mundane normalcy with unspeakable horror. I should call this in, let the cleanup crew handle it. But I can''t risk the police arriving before my people do. Can''t risk them finding evidence of something beyond their comprehension. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Without looking, I know it''s Marcus. He''s probably watching the feeds, saw the power fluctuations that always accompany a seeding event. I let it ring. He means well, but I need a moment. Just one moment to process what I''m seeing, to let the weight of it settle on my shoulders before I have to put on my professional face. I move to the back office, checking for survivors or stragglers. The small room is mercifully empty, though splattered with the same evidence of violence. A half-eaten sandwich sits on the desk next to a family photo ¨C mother, father, two kids at Disney World. My stomach lurches. I check the name on the desk calendar: Carlos Martinez, Assistant Manager. I scan the security feeds, but they''re dead. Of course. The Church isn''t sloppy. I should know ¨C I helped develop their protocols. The thought makes me sick all over again. How many times had I sat in on planning sessions, offering suggestions on how to better conceal their atrocities? How many years did I spend believing I was part of something greater, something necessary? The buzz of my phone interrupts my spiral into self-loathing. Marcus again. This time I answer. "I''m here," I say, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Jesus, Vesper. You can''t just go dark like that. Are there any survivors?" I close my eyes, seeing again the carnage in the main room. "No. Too late again. Seven dead." "Shit." I hear typing in the background. "Cleanup team is ten minutes out. You need to clear the scene." "I know the protocol, Marcus." The words come out sharper than I intended. "Sorry. It''s just..." "I know." His voice softens. "But you can''t save everyone. You''re doing more than anyone could expect." Am I though? Every person seeded is a direct result of my escape. Every death, every drop of blood spilled is on my hands. The Church needs a gateway, and if they can''t have their messiah, they''ll tear apart the city trying to create a replacement. "The pattern''s escalating," I say, moving back into the main room. "This is the third attempt this month. They''re getting desperate." "Or closer to something. Intel suggests they''re planning something big. We need you back at HQ to look at some data." I grunt noncommittally, scanning the room one last time. Something catches my eye ¨C a symbol traced in blood on one of the dryer doors. Three intersecting lines forming an eye, with a spiral at its center. My breath catches. That wasn''t part of any protocol I know. "Marcus," I say, cutting off whatever he was saying. "They left a message this time." Silence on the other end. Then, "Don''t touch anything else. Get out now. We''ll grab it with the cleanup." But I''m already moving closer, drawn to the symbol like a moth to flame. The spiral seems to move, to pulse with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat. And beneath the coppery scent of blood, there''s something else. Something that smells like ozone and tastes like static on my tongue. My left eye burns. Faith The symbol on the dryer door brings it all rushing back. Memories I''ve spent years trying to bury surge to the surface, as vivid as yesterday. The acrid smell of incense. The cold stone beneath my bare feet. Mother Superior''s voice, always gentle, always insistent: "You are chosen, Vesper. You are the bridge between worlds." Fifteen Years Ago The Temple of the Eternal Eye rose from the Wyoming wilderness like a mineral growth, all sharp angles and black stone. To the outside world, we were just another isolationist religious community ¨C strange perhaps, but harmless. The kind of place that made local news when someone escaped and told stories too fantastic to be believed. But beneath the visible temple, beneath the dormitories and gardens and schoolrooms, lay the true heart of the Church. I was seventeen, and it was time for my daily communion. "Focus, Vesper." Mother Superior''s fingers pressed against my temples, her touch fever-hot against my skin. "Open yourself to Its presence." I knelt in the center of the meditation chamber, surrounded by concentric circles of carved symbols. Candles flickered at cardinal points, their flames unnaturally still in the stale underground air. The darkness behind my left eye pulsed in time with my heartbeat. "I''m trying." My voice cracked. I''d been kneeling for hours, joints screaming in protest. "It''s not... I can''t reach It today." Mother Superior''s fingers tightened, sending little sparks of pain through my skull. "You can. You must. The Convergence approaches, and you are our bridge. Our messiah." The word sent a shiver down my spine. Messiah. They''d been calling me that since before I could walk, since they discovered the gift I''d been born with. The ability to touch something vast and ancient, something that existed in the spaces between reality. The Thing they worshipped, that they believed would usher in a new age of enlightenment. What they never understood was that It terrified me. "Please," I whispered, though I knew better than to beg. "I''m tired. Can we try again tomorrow?" Her nails dug deeper. "The weakness of your flesh is a barrier you must overcome. Your comfort is insignificant compared to your purpose. Now. Open. Your. Mind." I did as I was taught. Relaxed my mental barriers one by one, like peeling away layers of an onion. The darkness behind my eye expanded, reaching tendrils through my consciousness. And then... Contact. Imagine trying to describe color to someone born blind. Imagine trying to explain what water feels like to someone who''s never been wet. That''s what it was like, touching the Thing that lived between dimensions. It was vast beyond comprehension, ancient beyond time, alien beyond any framework of reference I possessed. It filled me with knowledge I couldn''t process, showing me truths that human minds weren''t meant to contain. Mother Superior''s grip gentled. "Yes, perfect. Let It in. Let It show you the way." Images flooded my mind. A city of impossible geometry, where angles bent in ways that made my brain scream. Creatures that shifted and flowed like living mercury. A sky filled with eyes that all turned to look at me at once. And beneath it all, a hunger vast enough to swallow worlds. I tried to pull back, to shut down the connection, but Mother Superior held me firmly in place. "No, child. You must see. You must understand." The visions continued. I saw what they wanted ¨C not enlightenment, but consumption. Not transcendence, but transformation. They wanted to use me as a door, and through that door would come... would come...Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I screamed. The candles exploded, showering the room with hot wax. Mother Superior was thrown backward, her grip finally releasing. I collapsed onto my hands and knees, retching bile onto the stone floor. "Blasphemy!" Mother Superior''s voice had lost all its gentleness. "You dare reject Its gift?" "Gift?" I looked up at her, my left eye burning like it had been stabbed with an ice pick. "You call that a gift? It wants to destroy everything!" She slapped me, hard enough to split my lip. "You see only what your limited mind can comprehend. The destruction of the old order is necessary for the birth of the new. This is why we''ve prepared you, trained you since birth. You alone can survive the opening. You alone can birth the new reality." Blood dripped from my lip onto the stone. In that moment, something crystallized in my mind. All the doubts, all the questions I''d been afraid to ask ¨C they cohered into a terrible clarity. "You''re insane," I whispered. "All of you. You''re going to kill everyone." Mother Superior''s face hardened into the mask I would come to know well in the following weeks. "Take her to the Sanctuary," she commanded, and two acolytes materialized from the shadows to grab my arms. "Clearly we need to purify her mind of these... doubts." The Sanctuary. My stomach clenched. I''d seen others taken there, seen how they came back ¨C if they came back at all. Empty-eyed and compliant, their wills broken by whatever techniques the Church had perfected over the centuries. They dragged me through torch-lit corridors, down deeper into the earth. The air grew colder, damper. The walls changed from worked stone to natural rock. And ahead, the heavy iron door of the Sanctuary waited. "This is for your own good," Mother Superior said as they shackled me to the wall. "Pain purifies. Suffering illuminates. When you embrace your destiny, this will all make sense." The door clanged shut, leaving me in absolute darkness. Almost absolute ¨C there was a faint phosphorescence from fungus growing in the corners. Enough light to see the implements hanging on the walls, to see the dark stains on the floor. I don''t know how long they kept me there. Time loses meaning in the dark. They came regularly with food and water, enough to keep me alive but never enough to satisfy. They came with pain, with prayers, with Mother Superior''s endless lectures about destiny and duty. They came with drugs that made the darkness behind my eye expand until it threatened to swallow me whole. But they made a mistake. The Thing they worshipped, the power they wanted me to channel ¨C it had left its mark on me in more ways than they knew. Each time they forced contact, each time they made me touch that vast alien consciousness, I learned. Not just about It, but about them. About the Church. About the true history that stretched back to before recorded time. I learned their secrets, their weaknesses. I learned that the darkness in my eye wasn''t just a connection to their god ¨C it was a weapon. And in the depths of the Sanctuary, in between sessions of torture and indoctrination, I taught myself to use it. It took three months to find the right moment. Three months of pretending to break, of letting them think their methods were working. Three months of gathering power like a battery storing charge. And then, during a communion ceremony where they''d brought me up to the main temple, I struck. I remember fragments of that night. The way the darkness exploded out of me like a solar flare. The screams as it touched the other acolytes, driving them mad with visions of what lay between dimensions. The look of betrayal on Mother Superior''s face as I turned her own techniques against her. The next clear memory I have is of running through the snow, stolen clothes soaked through, bare feet bleeding. I ran until I couldn''t run anymore, and then I crawled. A trucker found me on the highway, half-frozen and babbling about eyes in the darkness. He thought I was just another cult refugee, took me to the nearest hospital. That''s where Marcus found me. He''d been tracking the Church for years, it turned out. Gathering evidence, building a resistance. He offered me a choice ¨C disappear into witness protection, or help him fight back. Help him stop what I knew they would try again. Some choice. The buzz of my phone snaps me back to the present. I''m still standing in the laundromat, staring at the symbol on the dryer door. But something''s different. The spiral at the center seems to have moved, twisted in on itself like a closing iris. My earpiece crackles. "Vesper?" Marcus sounds worried. "Cleanup team is two minutes out. Why aren''t you responding?" "Sorry." My voice sounds distant to my own ears. "Got lost in memories." "Yeah, well, get lost in them somewhere else. You need to clear the scene." He''s right, of course. But as I turn to leave, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. The symbol is definitely changing, the spiral contracting like a pupil adjusting to light. And in the center, in the depths of that impossible geometry, something looks back at me. Mother Superior''s voice echoes in my head: You are the bridge between worlds. I run. Echo Chamber My boots pound against wet pavement, each impact sending jolts up my legs. The night air is thick with fog ¨C actual fog or something else, I''m not sure anymore. Streetlights create halos in the mist, and each one seems to contain an eye, watching, following. The darkness behind my left eye throbs in time with my racing pulse. "Vesper!" Marcus''s voice crackles in my earpiece. "What the hell is happening?" "The symbol," I gasp between breaths. "It''s active. Not just a message ¨C a beacon." "Get somewhere safe. I''m sending¨C" The rest of his words dissolve into static. Something is interfering with the signal, something that makes my fillings ache and tastes like metal on my tongue. I rip the earpiece out just as it starts to emit a high-pitched whine that would have ruptured my eardrum. I know these streets. Three blocks west to the safe house, assuming I can make it. Assuming whatever''s following me doesn''t¨C The fog ahead of me ripples. No, not ripples ¨C folds. Like reality is a piece of paper being creased by invisible hands. I skid to a stop, nearly falling as I change direction. Can''t go west. South then, toward the river. Water sometimes interferes with their ability to¨C Another fold appears, this time accompanied by a sound like silk tearing. The fog within the fold is different, darker, and through it I catch glimpses of... something. Shapes that don''t make sense, geometry that hurts to look at. The Thing from between dimensions is reaching through, using the symbol as an anchor point. "Shit shit shit." I dart down an alley, mind racing. They''ve never tried anything like this before. The Church''s usual methods are brutally direct ¨C seeding people, ritual sacrifice, the occasional mass shooting to cover up their real activities. This is new. This is evolved. The alley opens onto a smaller street lined with abandoned storefronts. The fog is thicker here, nearly opaque. Each step feels like wading through cold syrup. My left eye burns so badly I can barely keep it open, and the darkness within it is spreading, sending tendrils of shadow across my field of vision. A figure appears in the fog ahead. For a moment I think it''s human ¨C woman-shaped, wearing what might be a dress. Then it moves, and I realize the dress is part of its flesh, flowing and rippling like ink in water. Where its face should be, there''s only smooth, reflective skin. "Hello, Vesper." The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere, and it''s one I haven''t heard in fifteen years. Mother Superior. But not really her ¨C the Thing is using her voice, pulling it from my memories like a fisherman pulling up nets. I back away, drawing my knife. Fat lot of good it will do against what''s basically a piece of living void, but the weight of it in my hand is comforting. "Nice trick," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "But we both know you''re not her." The figure tilts its head at an impossible angle. "Are you so sure? The borders between realities grow thin. What is memory? What is flesh? All things flow together in the spaces between spaces." Another figure appears to my right. This one wears Mother Superior''s face like a mask that''s melting, features running like wax. "We miss you, child. Miss your touch, your taste. The door you could have been." "Still can be," says a third figure, materializing behind me. "The Convergence approaches. Reality grows soft, malleable. What was closed can be opened." I''m surrounded now, a circle of not-quite-Mother-Superiors moving with liquid grace through the fog. The darkness behind my eye pulses, reaching out to them like iron to a magnet. Part of me wants to let it, wants to complete the connection. That''s the problem with touching Things from outside ¨C they leave hooks in your psyche, barbs that never quite stop pulling.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. "The Church grows desperate," the first figure says. "They seed and seed, seeking another like you. But you were born to this. Born in blood and darkness, touched by us before your first breath. Special. Unique. Ours." My knife hand trembles. "I was never yours. You just made me think I was." They laugh in unison, a sound like breaking glass. "Poor child. Still clinging to illusions of free will. Still thinking you can run from what you are." The fog thickens, solidifies. Tendrils of it wrap around my ankles, cold as deep space. The figures move closer, their forms flowing together like drops of mercury combining. "The symbol awakens old pathways," they say with one voice now. "Opens doors long sealed. Come home, Vesper. Come home and be what you were meant to be." The darkness behind my eye explodes outward, and suddenly I can see. See the threads of reality stretching and warping around us. See the vast shapes moving in the spaces between spaces, pressing against the thin membrane of our dimension like fingers pressing against a balloon. See the truth of what stands before me ¨C not Mother Superior at all, but a probe, a pseudopod extended from something vast and ancient and hungry. And because I can see it, I can fight it. I grip the knife tighter, channeling power through it. The blade darkens, drinking in light like a black hole. "I know what I am," I growl. "I''m the one who got away. The one who proved you''re not infallible. The one who''s going to stop you." The merged figure reaches for me with too-long arms. "Brave words from one who still bears our mark. Shall we show you what truly lies behind that eye of yours?" Pain lances through my skull as the Thing tries to connect fully, tries to open the pathways that the Church spent seventeen years carving into my brain. But they never understood what they created in me. Never understood that their ''gift'' could be turned against them. I let the darkness flow, not out but in. Let it fill me until my skin feels like it might burst. The figure recoils, its smooth face rippling with what might be surprise. "You learned," it says. "How... interesting." "I had good teachers." I slash outward with the knife, tearing through the fog-stuff of its body. The blade leaves trails of absolute darkness in its wake, cuts that don''t heal but rather spread, eating away at the figure''s substance. "They taught me all about pain. About breaking things down to build them back up. About opening doors." The figure shrieks in Mother Superior''s voice, thrashing as pieces of it dissolve into nothingness. The other shapes try to converge, to merge with it and restore its mass, but I''m ready. I spin, blade extended, darkness pouring off it in waves. Everywhere it touches, reality unravels. "But here''s what they didn''t teach me," I pant, slashing and cutting as the things try to surround me again. "Everything has a cost. Every door swings both ways. Every connection goes in two directions." I drive the knife into the ''ground'', which stopped being actual pavement sometime during this fight. Dark energy pulses outward in a circle, and everywhere it touches, the fog tatters and shreds. The figures scream in harmony, their forms beginning to lose cohesion. "So here''s a taste of your own medicine," I snarl. "Here''s what it feels like to be unmade." I push everything I have through the knife, all the fear and pain and rage of seventeen years, all the darkness they put behind my eye. The blade becomes a beacon of anti-light, a tear in reality that pulls instead of pushes. The figures are drawn toward it like debris into a drain, their substance unweaving thread by thread. "This isn''t over," they say with Mother Superior''s voice, but it''s weak now, fading. "The Convergence comes. The doors will open. Reality will..." Whatever else it was going to say is lost as the last of its substance is drawn into the void. The fog dissipates like smoke in a strong wind, leaving me standing in a perfectly normal street on a perfectly normal night. My knees give out and I sit down hard on the wet pavement, trembling with exhaustion. My phone buzzes. Marcus. With shaking fingers, I manage to answer it. "...the hell?" His voice is tight with worry. "We lost all contact. The cleanup team said you ran out like the devil was chasing you. Are you okay?" I look at my knife. The blade is still dark, though the effect is fading. More importantly, it''s changed. The steel is rippled now, like Damascus patterns but wrong somehow, the swirls forming shapes that seem to move when I''m not looking directly at them. "No," I say honestly. "I''m really not. We have a problem, Marcus. A big one." "Where are you? I''ll send a car." I manage to stand, though my legs feel like rubber. "No time. Meet me at HQ. The Church... they''re not just trying to replace me anymore. They''re trying something new. Something worse." "Worse how?" I start walking, forcing one foot in front of the other. The darkness behind my eye has settled into a dull throb, but I can feel it stirring, reaching for something just beyond the edge of perception. "Because they''re not trying to open a door anymore," I say. "They''re trying to break down the walls." Sanctuarys Shadow The resistance''s headquarters occupies three floors of what used to be a tech startup''s office space. To the outside world, we''re a private security consulting firm. The kind that charges exorbitant fees to do penetration testing for banks and Fortune 500 companies. It''s a good cover ¨C explains the odd hours, the specialized equipment, the heavily secured server room. Even explains the occasional gunfire from the basement shooting range. I badge in through two security checkpoints, trying not to let my exhaustion show. The knife at my hip feels heavier than usual, and I can feel the guards'' eyes tracking it. The blade''s new patterns are visible even through the sheath, rippling like oil on water. I''ll need to deal with that, but first things first. Marcus is waiting in the command center, a glass-walled room filled with monitors and holographic displays. He''s not alone. Dr. Sarah Chen, our resident physicist and reality expert, stands at the main console. And leaning against the wall, arms crossed, is James Drake. My heart does its usual uncomfortable flip at the sight of him. Former Church enforcer, now our most valuable double agent. And the most dangerous kind of attractive ¨C the kind that knows exactly how broken you are because he''s just as damaged. "You look like hell," James says by way of greeting. His scarred left hand twitches ¨C an old injury from his own escape from the Church. "Thanks. You''re as charming as ever." I manage to make it to a chair before my legs give out. "Where''s the cleanup team?" "Still processing the laundromat scene," Marcus says, studying me with concern. "Seven dead, just like you reported. But that''s not what has me worried. Want to tell us what happened out there?" I close my eyes, trying to organize my thoughts. The confrontation in the fog feels dreamlike now, but the ache behind my eye and the changed knife at my hip prove it was real. "The symbol wasn''t just a message," I say. "It was... a door. Or part of one. They''re changing tactics." Dr. Chen steps forward, her tablet already in hand. "Can you describe exactly what you saw? Any spatial or temporal distortions?" "The fog," James cuts in. "It wasn''t natural, was it? I remember them using something similar in containment rituals." I shake my head. "This was different. More advanced. They weren''t trying to contain anything ¨C they were trying to thin the barriers between dimensions. Create a space where... where They could manifest partially." "They?" Marcus''s voice is sharp. "You mean you actually saw one of them?" "Not exactly. It used images from my memory, tried to appear as Mother Superior. But it was just a projection, a piece of something much larger reaching through." Dr. Chen is typing rapidly. "Fascinating. A quantum consciousness utilizing local space-time as a temporary vessel. The energy requirements would be enormous." "They''ve never been able to do anything like this before," James says, pushing off from the wall to pace. "Trust me, if they had this capability when I was with them, they would have used it."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. "It''s new," I confirm. "But it''s not just about new capabilities. The Thing I encountered, it talked about the Convergence. Said reality is getting softer, more malleable." Marcus and James exchange a look I can''t quite interpret. Dr. Chen''s typing stops abruptly. "Show them the knife," James says quietly. I hesitate, then draw the blade. The patterns on its surface are more pronounced under the command center''s bright lights, forming and dissolving like clouds in a time-lapse video. Dr. Chen makes a small sound of surprise and steps forward, sensor wand already extending from her tablet. "Don''t," I warn. "It''s not... stable. I used it to fight back, channeled the darkness through it. Changed it somehow." "Like a tuning fork," Dr. Chen murmurs. "Resonating with extra-dimensional frequencies. The metallurgical implications alone..." "Focus," Marcus snaps. "Vesper, you said they''re not trying to replace you anymore. Explain." I run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. "The Church''s whole plan revolved around using me ¨C or someone like me ¨C as a controlled gateway. A bridge they could monitor and regulate. But now... I think they''ve found another way. Instead of opening a door, they''re trying to break down the walls between dimensions entirely." "That''s insane," James says, but his face is pale. "The amount of bleed-through would be catastrophic. Reality would¨C" "Unravel," Dr. Chen finishes. "Like pulling a thread in a sweater. Once it starts..." "It can''t be stopped," I finish. "That''s got to be what the Convergence is. Some kind of... cosmic alignment that makes the barriers naturally thinner. They''re going to use it to tear everything apart." Marcus turns to the main display, pulling up data with sharp gestures. "The pattern of seeding attempts has changed over the last three months. Less focused on finding potential candidates, more about creating... nodes." The map fills with red dots, forming an intricate geometric pattern across the city. "It''s a web," James says, stepping closer to the display. "Each seeding site is a weak point in reality. And if they can link them together during this Convergence..." "How long?" Marcus asks. I close my eyes, reaching out with my cursed gift. The darkness behind my eye pulses, showing me possibilities, probabilities. "Soon. Weeks at most. I can feel it coming, like pressure before a storm." "Then we need to move fast." Marcus turns to Dr. Chen. "How quickly can you analyze that knife? We need to understand what happened to it." "A few hours for preliminary results. But without proper containment protocols¨C" "Do what you can." He looks at James. "Get back to the Church. Find out everything you can about this Convergence. But be careful ¨C if they''re evolving their methods, they might be getting suspicious of inside sources." James nods, then catches my eye. Something passes between us, unspoken but electric. Then he''s gone, leaving only the ghost of his presence and the familiar ache of what can never be. "And me?" I ask, though I already know the answer. "Rest," Marcus says firmly. "You look dead on your feet. Whatever happened out there took a lot out of you." "I can''t just¨C" "That''s an order, Vesper. Four hours minimum. We need you sharp." I want to argue, but he''s right. My whole body feels like it''s been put through a meat grinder, and the darkness behind my eye is restless, hungry. I need to process what happened, need to understand how I did what I did with the knife. "Fine," I say, standing carefully. "But wake me if anything changes. And Marcus?" He looks up from the display. "Yeah?" "The Thing in the fog... it said I was born to this. That they touched me before I was born. I always thought the Church did something to me as a baby, but what if... what if they just found what was already there?" His expression softens slightly. "Get some rest, Vesper. We''ll figure it out." I make it to my quarters ¨C a sparse room three floors down ¨C before the shaking starts. Adrenaline crash, maybe, or aftereffects of channeling so much power through the knife. I curl up on the bed, not bothering to undress, and close my eyes. Behind my left eyelid, in the darkness that''s been my constant companion since birth, something moves. Something watches. And for the first time in fifteen years, I wonder if running from the Church wasn''t just running from the truth of what I really am. Dreams of the Deep Sleep comes like drowning, pulling me under in waves. The darkness behind my eye expands, spreads like ink through water until it fills everything. In this space between consciousness and oblivion, the barriers I maintain start to slip. I dream of my mother. Not Mother Superior ¨C my real mother, the one who carried me in her womb when the Church first touched her with their power. I see her as she was in the few photographs I managed to steal from the Church''s archives: young, pretty, with eyes that held a hint of the same darkness I carry. They told me she died giving birth to me, that the power was too much for her mortal form to bear. In my dream, she stands in an endless field of black flowers, their petals moving though there is no wind. Her belly is swollen with pregnancy ¨C with me ¨C and her skin is translucent, dark veins visible beneath like rivers of ink. "My beautiful girl," she says, but her voice echoes strangely, as if coming from very far away. "My bridge-builder. My door-opener." "You''re not real," I tell her, but in dreams, certainty is a fragile thing. She smiles, and her teeth are made of starlight. "More real than you know. They chose me carefully, you see. Bloodlines matter. Power calls to power across generations." The black flowers at her feet begin to twist, their stems wrapping around her legs like loving serpents. Where they touch, her flesh becomes even more transparent, showing the darkness flowing through her veins. "What does that mean?" I try to move toward her, but the space between us stretches impossibly. "What aren''t you telling me?" "They didn''t infect you, Vesper. They woke what was already there. What has always been there, sleeping in our blood since before humans walked upright, before they built cities, before they learned to fear the dark." The flowers reach her waist now, and through her translucent skin I can see something moving inside her womb. Not a baby ¨C at least, not entirely. Shapes that shift and flow, tentacles that press against the boundary of her flesh like prisoners testing the bars of a cell. "No," I say, but my voice comes out weak, uncertain. "The Church did this. They made me what I am." Her laugh sounds like breaking glass. "The Church." She spits the word like a curse. "Blind children playing with forces they barely understand. They found me because of what I was, what my ancestors were. They thought they could control it, shape it, direct it. Such arrogance."Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The flowers reach her chest, and where they touch, her flesh dissolves like sugar in rain. Inside, she is filled with stars and darkness, with shapes that hurt to look at. "Then what am I?" I ask, and my voice sounds young, frightened. "You are what you''ve always been." Her face begins to lose coherence, features flowing like wax. "A door that walks. A key that thinks. A piece of Them that learned to dream it was human." The flowers consume her completely, and the field of black blooms begins to pulse with a familiar rhythm ¨C the same rhythm as the darkness behind my eye. Each beat sends out ripples of unreality, making the dreamscape shift and warp. The scene changes. I''m in the Church''s underground temple, but it''s different. Older. The walls are rough-hewn stone instead of concrete, and the symbols carved into them are cruder, more primal. By the guttering light of torches, I see figures in robes moving through complex rituals. Their chants are in no human language, and listening to them makes my teeth ache. "You see?" My mother''s voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. "Before the Church, there were other churches. Other cults. Other groups who knew about the spaces between spaces, the Things that wait to be invited in. We were always there, always watching, always keeping the bloodline pure." The scene shifts again, faster now. I see glimpses of other temples, other rituals. Stone circles under stars that don''t belong in Earth''s sky. Pyramids that point to impossible angles. Caves where the walls are painted with symbols that squirm and change when viewed directly. And through it all, I see my mother''s bloodline ¨C my bloodline ¨C watching, participating, preparing. "For what?" I ask the darkness. "Preparing for what?" "For the Convergence," she whispers. "For the moment when all walls become thin, when all doors can be opened. For the return of those who walked these spaces before time began, before reality crystallized into its current form. For the unmaking and remaking of all things." I''m falling now, tumbling through memories that aren''t mine. I see my ancestors dancing around fires that burn with black flames. I see them coupling with shapes made of shadow and starlight, producing children with darkness behind their eyes. I see them guiding humanity''s steps, nudging us toward... Toward... I wake with a scream locked behind my teeth, sheets soaked with sweat. The darkness behind my eye pulses frantically, reaching for something just beyond perception. On the nightstand, my phone shows I''ve been asleep for barely an hour. There''s something wet on my cheek. I touch it, expecting tears, but my fingers come away black. I scramble to the bathroom, flip on the harsh fluorescent lights. In the mirror, I see thin trails of what looks like ink leaking from my left eye, tracking down my face like mascara in rain. But it''s not ink. As I watch, the substance moves on its own, forming tiny patterns before dissolving into my skin. The same patterns I saw in those ancient temples, the same symbols carved into the Church''s walls. My phone buzzes, making me jump. It''s a text from James: Need to meet. Found something about your mother. The Church didn''t choose her randomly. Call me. I stare at the message until the screen goes dark, then look back at my reflection. In the harsh bathroom lighting, the darkness behind my left eye seems deeper than usual, more active. As I watch, something shifts in its depths, like a pupil dilating. Something looks back. Reflections in Dark Water I spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom, methodically cleaning every trace of the black substance from my face. The skin absorbs most of it, leaving behind a faint iridescent sheen that fades after a few minutes. My reflection looks haunted, dark circles under my eyes making the left one appear even more shadowed than usual. Nothing I can do about that. The dream lingers like smoke, impossible to grasp but refusing to dissipate entirely. I try to focus on individual images ¨C the field of black flowers, the ancient temples, my mother''s dissolving form ¨C but they slip away, leaving only impressions. Fear. Recognition. A bone-deep certainty that I''ve glimpsed something true. I text James back: Where? His response comes quickly: The pier. One hour. Come alone. The pier. Our usual meeting spot when he needs to share something off the books. Maximum visibility in all directions, multiple escape routes, and enough ambient noise from the harbor to make surveillance difficult. Part of me wants to tell Marcus, to have backup nearby just in case. But James wouldn''t ask me to come alone unless it was important. I take a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away the last physical traces of my dream. My hands shake slightly as I get dressed ¨C black cargo pants, combat boots, a dark grey hoodie that can hide weapons but won''t draw attention. The changed knife goes into its sheath at my hip, concealed but accessible. The halls are quiet as I make my way out of the building. Night shift is minimal ¨C just essential security personnel and the occasional analyst. No sign of Marcus or Dr. Chen. Small mercies. Outside, the city is caught in that peculiar liminal space between midnight and dawn. Traffic is sparse, mostly delivery trucks and early-shift workers. The air has a bite to it, carrying the first hints of autumn. I pull my hood up and start walking. It''s a forty-minute walk to the pier, but I need the time to clear my head. Each step helps ground me in the physical world, in the concrete reality of asphalt under my feet and the distant sound of waves against the shoreline. The darkness behind my eye settles into its usual dull throb, almost comfortable in its familiarity. I take a circuitous route, doubling back twice to ensure I''m not being followed. Old habits die hard, and lately, they feel more necessary than paranoid. The Church is evolving, becoming unpredictable. And after what I saw in my dreams... The pier is deserted when I arrive, save for a few seagulls picking through yesterday''s discarded food containers. James stands at the far end, looking out over the water. Even from behind, I recognize the tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself ready for trouble. Some things the Church drills into you never quite go away. He doesn''t turn as I approach, but I know he''s tracking my movement. We were trained by the same people, after all. "You look terrible," he says when I reach him, still gazing out at the harbor. "You really know how to make a girl feel special." I lean against the railing beside him, maintaining a careful distance. Close enough to talk quietly, far enough that neither of us feels trapped. "What was so important it couldn''t wait?" Now he does look at me, and I see the same haunted expression I saw in my mirror earlier. "I found something in the Church''s archives. Something they tried very hard to bury." "About my mother?" He nods, then reaches into his jacket. I tense automatically, but he just pulls out a manila envelope, worn and water-stained. "After you escaped, they purged most of the records about you and your family. But they missed this. It was filed under a different project name."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I take the envelope. It''s thin, containing only a few sheets of paper. "What project?" "''Lineage,''" he says. "It goes back a lot further than we thought, Vesper. The Church didn''t start with your mother. They were watching your family for generations." My dream flashes through my mind ¨C ancient temples, secret rituals, a bloodline carefully maintained. My hands don''t shake as I open the envelope, but it''s a near thing. The first page is a genealogical chart, extending back nearly three hundred years. Names and dates, some familiar, most not. But what catches my eye are the annotations. Symbols I recognize from the Church''s rituals, marking certain individuals. And beside some names, a small drawing of an eye with a spiral pupil. "They all had it," I whisper. "The darkness." James moves closer, his shoulder almost touching mine. "Not all of them. But enough. One or two per generation, always in the female line. The Church called them ''resonant bloodlines'' ¨C families with a natural affinity for... for Them." I shuffle through the other papers. Birth records, death certificates, medical reports. All meticulously documenting the manifestation of my family''s curse. Or gift. Or whatever it is. "My mother," I say, finding her file. "What really happened to her?" James is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is gentler than I''ve ever heard it. "She didn''t die in childbirth. Not exactly. She..." He stops, searching for words. "The records say she achieved ''perfect communion'' during her pregnancy. That she managed to maintain contact with Them for over seven months while carrying you." The implications hit me like a physical blow. "She was touching Them the whole time I was... while I was..." "Developing. Growing. Being shaped by forces that reality was never meant to contain." His hand moves toward mine on the railing, stops just short of touching. "The Church didn''t infect you, Vesper. They didn''t have to. Your mother did it for them. Willingly." The papers crumple in my grip. "No. She wouldn''t..." "She was a true believer. Third generation Church member, raised in the faith like you were supposed to be. The records say she volunteered for the pregnancy, knew the risks. Knew what prolonged contact would do to her child." I think of my dream, of seeing her body filled with darkness and stars. "What happened to her?" "The communion burned her out. By the time you were born, there wasn''t much left of her original personality. She lived for another three years in the Church''s care facility, but she never..." He hesitates. "She wasn''t really human anymore. The contact changed her too much." A gust of wind off the harbor threatens to tear the papers from my hands. I stuff them back into the envelope, trying to process what I''m hearing. The darkness behind my eye pulses, and for a moment I swear I can feel my mother''s presence ¨C not the hollow thing she became, but the woman she was, reaching across decades to touch her daughter''s mind. "There''s more," James says quietly. "The Church, they''re not just trying to replace you anymore. They''re trying to replicate what your mother did. The seeding attempts, the new methods ¨C they''re looking for other resonant bloodlines. Other women who might be able to carry a child touched by Them." The implications turn my stomach. "How many?" "I don''t know. But they''re getting desperate. The Convergence is coming, and they need a viable vessel. Someone like you." "Or my child," I whisper, the pieces clicking into place. "A child born already touched, already connected..." James''s hand finally closes over mine on the railing. His palm is warm against my cold fingers. "I won''t let that happen." I look at him, really look at him. The scars on his face from his escape. The way his left hand trembles slightly from nerve damage. The weight of guilt and determination in his eyes. "Why are you helping me? Really?" "Because I''ve seen what they do to children in the name of their faith. Because every time I close my eyes, I see the faces of the ones I helped them break." His grip tightens. "Because you got out, and that means others can too." Something passes between us in that moment, something that has nothing to do with the Church or cosmic horrors or ancient bloodlines. Just two broken people who''ve seen too much, who carry too many scars, reaching for something human in a world that keeps trying to make them into something else. I pull my hand away first. Have to. "I should get back," I say, tucking the envelope into my hoodie. "Marcus will notice I''m gone soon." James nods, already stepping back, professional distance returning to his posture. "Be careful. They''re watching more closely than usual. Something about the Convergence has them spooked." "You too. And James?" I meet his eyes. "Thank you. For finding this. For... everything." He gives me a half-smile that makes my heart do uncomfortable things. "Get some real sleep, Vesper. You look like hell." I leave him standing at the pier, looking out over the dark water. The walk back seems longer somehow, heavier with the weight of what I''ve learned. The envelope feels like it''s burning a hole in my pocket, filled with answers I''m not sure I wanted. My mother''s voice echoes in my memory: A door that walks. A key that thinks. A piece of Them that learned to dream it was human. I walk faster. Strange Geometries Dawn finds me in Dr. Chen''s lab, watching her frown at readings I can''t begin to understand. The knife sits in a clear containment chamber, surrounded by equipment that looks more suited to a particle accelerator than a weapons analysis. The patterns on its surface continue their endless dance, like oil on water but wrong somehow, moving in ways that make my eyes hurt if I watch too long. "This is impossible," Dr. Chen mutters, not for the first time. She''s been up all night, her usual pristine appearance showing signs of wear. Her lab coat is rumpled, and her short black hair is mussed from running her fingers through it in frustration. "The molecular structure keeps... shifting. Like it can''t decide what state of matter it wants to be in." I sit on a stool nearby, nursing my third coffee of the morning. The envelope from James is hidden safely in my quarters, but its contents weigh on my mind. "Can you be more specific about ''impossible''?" She pulls up a holographic display, showing what looks like a microscopic view of the blade''s surface. "Look at this. The metal''s atomic structure is reconfiguring itself constantly, but not in any pattern I recognize. It''s like... imagine if you took a clock and made all the numbers prime, then had the hands move according to the Fibonacci sequence, but in reverse, and also the clock face is a Klein bottle." "You lost me at prime numbers." She makes a frustrated sound. "The point is, it''s not just changing ¨C it''s changing according to rules that shouldn''t exist in our universe. Rules that violate everything we know about physics." "Their rules," I say quietly. "The ones that govern the spaces between spaces." "Exactly." She switches to another display, this one showing energy readings. "Whatever you did with the knife, you didn''t just change its physical structure. You somehow imbued it with... properties from their dimension. It''s like a splinter of their reality embedded in ours." The darkness behind my eye pulses in response to her words. I try to ignore it. "Is it dangerous?" "Define dangerous." She pulls up more readings. "It''s stable, in the sense that it''s not going to explode or start eating reality or anything dramatic like that. But it''s definitely not normal matter anymore. And these energy signatures..." She trails off, staring at the display. "What about them?" "They''re similar to the readings we get from you. Not identical, but there''s definitely a resonance pattern. Like the knife is tuned to the same frequency as whatever gives you your abilities." I think about how it felt to channel power through the blade, how natural it seemed. "Could you replicate it? Make more weapons like it?" "God, no." She shudders. "Even if I understood the principles involved, which I don''t, trying to artificially create something like this would be incredibly dangerous. This happened organically, through your connection to Them. Trying to force it would be like... like trying to create a black hole in your basement."This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. "The Church manages it," I point out. "Their seeding process, the way they create conduits ¨C it''s all artificial manipulation of Their power." "And look at the success rate." She turns to face me fully. "One in what, a thousand survives? One in ten thousand keeps their sanity? You''re different because it''s natural for you. Part of your fundamental nature." A piece of Them that learned to dream it was human. I push the thought away. "So what can you tell me about what it can do?" "Based on these readings?" She gestures at the displays. "It''s a lot more than just a sharp piece of metal now. The blade exists partially in their dimension, which means it can affect things that exist there too. In theory, you could use it to cut connections between realities, sever links between dimensions." "Like closing doors they''ve opened?" "Potentially." She chews her lip. "But Vesper... using it that way would mean channeling more of their power through it. And through you. I''m not sure what that would do to either of you." I stand and approach the containment chamber, studying the knife. The patterns seem to move faster as I get closer, like they''re responding to my presence. "The Church is planning something big. If this knife can help stop them..." "It might also kill you." Her voice is gentle but firm. "Or worse. The readings suggest using it creates a feedback loop ¨C the more power you channel through it, the more it changes, and the more it changes, the more power it can channel. There''s no way to know where that ends." "Better me than everyone else," I mutter. "That''s not funny." She starts shutting down displays with sharp gestures. "Look, I need to run more tests. But whatever you''re thinking of doing with this thing, be careful. The laws of physics aren''t suggestions ¨C they''re the rules that keep reality functioning. Break them too much, and..." "And?" She meets my eyes. "And maybe that''s exactly what they want. A weapon that breaks reality itself." Before I can respond, the lab door opens. Marcus strides in, looking like he hasn''t slept either. "Dr. Chen, what do you have for me?" She launches into a technical explanation that I only half follow, full of terms like "quantum superposition" and "dimensional phase variance." I tune it out, focusing instead on the knife. From this angle, some of the patterns almost look like writing ¨C not the Church''s symbols, but something older, more primal. "Vesper?" Marcus''s voice snaps me back to attention. "Did you hear me?" "Sorry, what?" "I asked if you''ve experienced any unusual effects since using the knife. Headaches, visions, anything out of the ordinary?" I think about the black substance leaking from my eye, about the dreams of my mother and ancient temples. About the hunger growing in the darkness behind my eye. "No," I lie. "Nothing unusual." He studies me for a moment, and I keep my face carefully neutral. Finally, he nods. "Alright. Dr. Chen, keep running tests. I want to know everything this thing can do, and more importantly, everything it might do that we don''t want it to. Vesper, walk with me." I follow him out of the lab, feeling Dr. Chen''s concerned gaze on my back. In the hallway, Marcus stops and turns to face me. "You went out last night." It''s not a question. "I needed air." "You met with James." I keep my expression neutral. "Is that a problem?" He sighs, running a hand over his face. "I trust him. Mostly. But these are dangerous times, and he''s still connected to the Church. Just... be careful." "I''m always careful." "No, you''re not." His voice softens slightly. "Whatever''s coming, whatever this Convergence is ¨C we need you alive to stop it. Remember that." I think about the genealogical chart in James''s envelope, about generations of women with darkness behind their eyes. About my mother, burned out by prolonged contact with Them. About the knife, changed by my power in ways that defy physics. "I''ll try," I say. It''s the best I can offer. First Light Marcus''s words echo in my head as I return to my quarters. Whatever''s coming, we need you alive to stop it. But what if stopping it means becoming something else? Something more like what the Church always intended me to be? The thought triggers a memory I''ve spent years trying to forget. The first time I realized the darkness behind my eye could affect more than just my mind. The day I learned that the barrier between Their reality and ours was thinner than anyone suspected. Ten Years Ago The desert night was cold enough to see my breath, but I kept running. Three days since my escape from the Church, and I still hadn''t stopped moving. My stolen clothes were filthy, my feet bloody inside boots that didn''t quite fit. But I couldn''t stop. Couldn''t risk them finding me. The trucker who''d picked me up had been kind enough, but his questions made me nervous. Where was I from? Where was I going? Did I need him to call someone? I''d bailed at a truck stop outside Las Vegas, swiping a backpack someone had left unattended by the restrooms. Inside I''d found clothes, some cash, and a knife ¨C not much, but more than I''d had before. Now I was somewhere in the Mojave, following dirt roads and animal tracks, trying to put as much distance between myself and civilization as possible. The darkness behind my eye throbbed constantly, reaching for the connections the Church had spent years teaching me to make. I pushed it back, fought to keep my mind sealed against Their touch. The abandoned mining town appeared out of nowhere, a collection of weathered buildings silvered by moonlight. I''d seen signs warning about ghost towns in the area but hadn''t paid much attention to direction or distance. Now, exhausted and half-delirious from lack of sleep, it seemed as good a place as any to rest. The old general store''s front door hung off its hinges. Inside, dust lay thick on empty shelves and broken display cases. My flashlight beam caught movement ¨C rats probably, or maybe snakes. I didn''t care. A door behind the counter led to what must have been the owner''s living quarters. The bed was rotted, but there was a relatively clean corner where I could curl up with my stolen backpack as a pillow. Sleep came quickly, dragging me under like a riptide. And with sleep came the dreams. I stood in an endless corridor made of shifting darkness. Walls that weren''t walls rippled with patterns that hurt to look at. The air felt thick, resistant, like moving through cold honey. And everywhere, in every direction, eyes watched from impossible angles. Welcome, little sister, said voices that weren''t voices. Welcome, door-opener. Welcome, bridge-builder. "No," I tried to say, but the words came out as shapes that twisted in the not-air. "I''m not yours. I got away." Laughter like breaking glass, like screaming stars. Got away? Poor child. You cannot get away from what you are. What WE are. The corridor began to fold in on itself, reality crumpling like paper. The eyes drew closer, and I could feel them not just watching but tasting, sampling the flavor of my fear, my desperation. The Church thinks they made you, the voices continued. They think their rituals and ceremonies gave you the gift. Such pride. Such ignorance. They merely woke what was already there. What has always been there, sleeping in your blood. "You''re lying." But even as I said it, I knew they weren''t. The darkness behind my eye pulsed in time with the rhythm of the folding corridor, and it felt right in a way nothing in my life ever had. Let us show you, they whispered. Let us show you what you really are. The darkness expanded, not just behind my eye but everywhere, flowing through my veins like ice water. I could feel myself changing, becoming something that existed in more dimensions than human flesh was meant to contain. The pain was exquisite, transformative.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. I woke up screaming. The room around me was... wrong. The walls rippled like the corridor in my dream, reality folding in ways that shouldn''t be possible. The darkness behind my eye blazed like a cold star, and I could see ¨C not just with human vision, but with senses I had no names for. The wooden floor beneath me had transformed into something that looked like wood but moved like liquid mercury. The ceiling dripped shadows that acted like smoke but felt like thoughts. And everything, everything was connected by threads of power that I could suddenly perceive, suddenly touch. "No," I whispered. "No no no no..." I scrambled to my feet, but the movement sent ripples through reality itself. Where my hands touched the wall, the material transformed, becoming something that existed partially in our dimension and partially in Theirs. The stolen knife fell from my pocket, and when it hit the floor, the metal sang with harmonics that shouldn''t exist in our universe. Yes, the voices whispered in my mind. See what you can do? See what you really are? The knife began to change, its structure trying to reconfigure itself in response to my power. I snatched it up, and the metal felt alive in my grip, hungry for transformation. The darkness behind my eye reached for it, wanting to reshape it into something that could cut through more than just physical matter. "Stop it!" I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to force the power back. "I don''t want this!" Want has nothing to do with it. The Convergence comes. Reality grows soft, malleable. And you, little sister, are a key that has finally learned how to turn. The room continued to transform around me, reality buckling under the pressure of my panic. I could feel the barrier between dimensions stretching, thinning. If I didn''t get control soon, I would tear a hole right through it. Something moved in the corner of my vision ¨C one of the rats I''d seen earlier. It froze when my gaze fell on it, tiny heart pounding. As I watched, reality began to warp around it, the space between spaces reaching through me to touch it. The rat''s form twisted, stretched, became something that existed in more dimensions than nature intended. Its screams as it transformed cut through my fugue state like a blade. "No!" I focused all my will, all my desperation, into pushing the power back. "You can''t have this. You can''t have me!" I thought of the Church, of all their careful plans and preparations. Thought of how they would use this power if they knew I had it. Thought of that rat, warped into something impossible by mere proximity to what I could do. Slowly, painfully, I forced the darkness to recede. Forced reality to remember its proper shape. The room shuddered, then settled back into normal geometry. The rat was dead, its body mercifully returned to natural form. The knife in my hand was just a knife again, though the metal felt different somehow, changed in subtle ways I couldn''t quite define. I spent the rest of the night teaching myself control. Teaching myself to hold the darkness back, to keep it from reaching through me to reshape the physical world. By dawn, I had it contained to just my left eye again, though the effort left me shaking and nauseated. The room still showed signs of what had happened. The walls retained a subtle ripple pattern, like heat waves over hot pavement. The wooden floor had a metallic sheen in certain lights. And the knife... the knife was definitely different, though the changes were subtle enough that only I would notice. I left as soon as there was enough light to travel by. Behind me, the ghost town held one more secret, one more reminder of things that existed beyond human understanding. I wondered if anyone would ever find that room, ever notice the strange patterns in the wood or the way shadows moved oddly in the corners. I spent the next month learning to control it, to keep the power locked away except in the direst emergencies. But sometimes, late at night, I could still hear their voices whispering in my mind: The Convergence comes. Reality grows soft, malleable. And you, little sister, are a key that has finally learned how to turn. The memory fades, leaving me back in my quarters at HQ. The knife Dr. Chen is studying isn''t the same one from that night in the desert ¨C that one is hidden away in a secure location, too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands. But the way it changed, the way reality warped around it... it''s happening again. I look at my reflection in the small mirror above my desk. The darkness behind my left eye seems to pulse with remembered power. In the ten years since that night, I''ve learned to control it, to use it in small, careful ways. But now, with the Convergence approaching and the barriers between dimensions growing thinner... My phone buzzes. A text from Dr. Chen: Found something in the knife''s molecular structure. You need to see this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. Whatever''s coming, I need to be ready. Need to be strong enough to use this power without letting it use me. The darkness pulses, hungry and aware. I head back to the lab. Quantum Entanglements Dr. Chen''s lab seems different when I return. The lights are dimmer, and there''s a heaviness to the air that has nothing to do with atmospheric pressure. She''s bent over a holographic display, her face lit by its blue glow, and doesn''t look up when I enter. "Close the door," she says quietly. "And make sure it''s sealed." Something in her voice sends a chill down my spine. I do as she asks, checking that the security protocols are engaged. "What did you find?" Instead of answering, she adjusts something on her display. The image zooms in to what looks like a microscopic view of the knife''s surface. The patterns I''ve been seeing are there, but at this level of magnification, they''re clearly more than just surface distortions. "What am I looking at?" "That''s what I''ve been trying to figure out for the last hour." She runs a hand through her already disheveled hair. "At first I thought it was just molecular distortion, the metal''s structure being warped by exposure to... whatever it was exposed to. But look here." She zooms in further. The patterns resolve into what look like tiny symbols, each one shifting and changing as we watch. "They''re not random," I say, leaning closer. "They''re... writing?" "Not exactly." She switches to another view. "They''re more like... programs. Or DNA sequences. Each one contains information, but it''s not just stored ¨C it''s active. The symbols are changing the physical structure of the metal around them, rewriting reality on a quantum level." The darkness behind my eye pulses, and for a moment I can almost read the symbols. Almost understand what they''re trying to say. I force myself to look away. "How is that possible?" "It shouldn''t be. That''s what''s been bothering me." She pulls up another display, this one showing energy readings. "Matter doesn''t work this way. You can''t just... reprogram physical reality. But these symbols, they''re not operating according to our physics. They''re operating according to Theirs." A memory surfaces ¨C the voices in that desert ghost town: Reality grows soft, malleable. "What kind of information are they encoding?" Dr. Chen''s hands hover over her controls. "That''s what I wanted to show you. Watch this." She inputs a command, and the view changes again. Now we''re looking at what seems to be a time-lapse of the symbols'' changes. As we watch, patterns emerge ¨C not in the symbols themselves, but in the way they move, the way they interact. "Oh god," I whisper. "You see it too?" Her voice is barely audible. "They''re not just changing randomly. They''re... growing. Learning. The knife isn''t just transformed ¨C it''s becoming something else. Something alive." I think about how the knife felt in my hand, how it seemed to respond to my power. "Like a virus?" "More like..." She pauses, searching for words. "You know how some physicists think consciousness might be quantum phenomenon? That our awareness might arise from quantum processes in our brains? This is like that, but backwards. These symbols are creating quantum structures that mimic consciousness, but not human consciousness. Something else. Something that thinks in geometries instead of thoughts."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The containment chamber suddenly feels inadequate. "Is it dangerous?" "I don''t know. The patterns are growing more complex, but slowly. At the current rate, it would take months before they reached anything we might recognize as actual consciousness. But..." She hesitates. "But?" "But they''re accelerating. Every time you use the knife, every time you channel power through it, the symbols multiply and evolve faster. And there''s something else." She brings up a new display, this one showing what looks like a network diagram. "They''re not just growing more complex ¨C they''re trying to connect to something. See these patterns here? They''re like... like quantum antenna, reaching for a signal we can''t detect." The darkness behind my eye throbs. "They''re trying to reach Them." "Yes. No. Maybe." She makes a frustrated gesture. "It''s more like they''re trying to become Them. Or become like Them. The symbols are rewriting the knife''s physical structure to be more like... whatever They are." I think about the rat in the ghost town, its form twisted into impossible geometries. "Can you stop it?" "I''m not sure we should." She turns to face me fully. "Vesper, this is unprecedented. We''re watching physical matter spontaneously evolve into something that exists partially in another dimension. If we can understand how it works..." "It''s too dangerous." The words come out sharper than I intended. "If the Church finds out about this, they''ll try to replicate it. Try to create more things like it." "They already are." She pulls up another display, this one showing news reports. "Remember those weird manufacturing accidents last month? The factory where all the machines started producing impossible objects? The construction site where the concrete wouldn''t stay in normal shapes? They''re trying to create materials that can exist in both realities. They''re just doing it... messily." I stare at the reports, seeing them with new eyes. "How many?" "At least seven incidents in the last three months. All looking like industrial accidents or material failures. But the pattern..." She brings up a map, showing the locations. "They''re creating a network. Each site is like a node, a place where reality has been... softened." "Like the symbol in the laundromat," I whisper. "They''re preparing the ground for something bigger." "The Convergence." She nods. "Whatever it is, they''re getting ready for it. And this knife... it might be our best chance to understand what they''re doing. How they''re doing it." I look at the containment chamber, at the knife floating inside. The patterns on its surface seem more active now, more purposeful. "What do you need?" "Time. And..." She hesitates. "I need you to use it again. Under controlled conditions. We need to understand how your power interacts with these symbols, how it accelerates their evolution." "That''s not a good idea." "None of this is a good idea. But if we don''t understand what''s happening..." She gestures at her displays. "They''re changing the fundamental structure of reality, Vesper. Not just bending the rules ¨C rewriting them. If we don''t find a way to counter it..." She doesn''t need to finish the thought. I remember how it felt in that ghost town, reality buckling under the pressure of power I barely understood. Imagine that happening everywhere, all at once. "Okay," I say. "But we do this carefully. And we need containment protocols. If something goes wrong..." "Already working on it." She starts typing rapidly. "I''ve got some ideas about quantum isolation fields, ways to limit the spread of any... changes. But we''ll need Marcus''s approval. And resources." "I''ll talk to him." I turn to go, then pause. "Dr. Chen? If this goes wrong... if the knife becomes something we can''t control..." "I know." She doesn''t look up from her work. "I''ve got contingencies for that too. But Vesper?" Now she does look at me, and her expression is deadly serious. "Be careful with it in the meantime. Every time you use it, you''re not just channeling power through it. You''re feeding it. Teaching it. And we have no idea what it''s going to learn to be." I think about my mother, about how prolonged contact with Them changed her into something that wasn''t human anymore. About how the darkness behind my eye grows stronger every time I use it. "Keep working," I say. "I''ll talk to Marcus." I leave her to her research, trying not to think about the patterns I saw in her displays. Trying not to think about how familiar they looked, how similar they were to the shapes I sometimes see moving in the darkness behind my eye. The knife isn''t the only thing evolving, changing, becoming something new. I just hope I can hold onto my humanity long enough to stop whatever the Church is planning. The darkness throbs, vicious, and for a moment I swear I can hear distant laughter, like breaking glass, like screaming stars. Quiet Storms The resistance''s rooftop garden exists because Marcus believes in unlikely havens. "Everyone needs a place to breathe," he told me once. "Somewhere that doesn''t remind them of what we''re fighting." It''s well past midnight, but I can''t sleep. The revelations about the knife, the growing sense of something massive approaching ¨C it all swirls in my head like storm clouds gathering. Up here, among the carefully tended plants and soft lighting, I can almost pretend I''m normal. Almost. The door opens behind me. I don''t need to turn to know it''s James ¨C his footsteps have a distinctive pattern, something the Church drilled into all its enforcers. Quiet, measured, always ready to switch from stealth to action. "Thought I might find you here," he says, coming to lean against the railing beside me. The city spreads out below us, a maze of lights and shadows. "You always did prefer high places." "Harder to get cornered." I give him a sidelong glance. "Shouldn''t you be back at the Church? Maintaining your cover?" "They think I''m tracking a lead on some resistance activity in the warehouse district." His scarred hand drums a quiet rhythm on the railing. "I''ve got time." We stand in comfortable silence for a while, watching the city''s pulse of traffic and late-night activity. A siren wails in the distance, then fades. The darkness behind my eye is quieter up here, as if the height and open air somehow dampen its hunger. "Something''s changing," I finally say. "Not just the Church''s plans, but... everything. Reality itself feels different. Thinner somehow." James nods. "They''re getting bolder with the seeding attempts. Less careful about witnesses. Three days ago they did one in broad daylight ¨C shopping mall food court. Sixteen dead before anyone knew what was happening." My hands tighten on the railing. "That''s not their usual pattern." "No. They''re rushing things." He turns to face me. "The Convergence they keep talking about? It''s not just coming ¨C it''s accelerating. The Church elders are in a constant state of emergency meetings. Something''s got them scared." "Scared enough to make mistakes?" "Maybe." He hesitates. "Or maybe they''re past caring about secrecy. If they really believe reality is about to... change fundamentally, then maybe hiding doesn''t matter anymore." A cool breeze carries the scent of the herb garden Marcus insisted on planting. Rosemary, thyme, little islands of normality in our sea of cosmic horror. I find myself telling James about the knife, about Dr. Chen''s discoveries. He listens without interrupting, his expression growing more troubled. "Living metal," he says when I finish. "They''ve been trying to create something like that for years. Had a whole division dedicated to it ¨C Project Metamorphosis. But they could never get it stable."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. "This isn''t exactly stable either. It''s... evolving. Becoming something else." "Like you did?" His voice is gentle, but the question hits like a physical blow. "Sorry. That was..." "No, you''re right." I stare out at the city, not really seeing it. "Every time I use my power, every time I touch that other reality, I change a little bit too. Sometimes I wonder if there''s an endpoint ¨C some final form I''m evolving toward." His hand moves toward mine on the railing, stops just short of touching. "You''re still you, Vesper. Still human." "Am I?" I turn to him. "You''ve seen what I can do. What I''m becoming. The things in my dreams..." "Are just dreams." "They''re not, though. They''re memories ¨C not mine, but my mother''s, my ancestors''. A whole bloodline of women touched by Them, changing little by little, generation after generation. Leading to what? To me? To whatever I''m turning into?" He''s quiet for a long moment. "When I was with the Church," he finally says, "I saw what real monsters look like. People who''d gladly sacrifice children to their gods, who''d break minds and bodies without a second thought. The fact that you''re worried about losing your humanity? That''s the most human thing I can imagine." Something in his voice makes me look at him more closely. "Is that why you left? The sacrifices?" "Partly." His scarred hand flexes unconsciously. "There was a girl, younger than you were. They thought she might have the gift, might be another potential gateway. What they did to her..." He trails off, lost in memory. "What happened to her?" "What do you think?" His voice is bitter. "She broke. They all break, eventually. Except you." Now he does touch my hand, his fingers warm against my skin. "You got out. You stayed human. And every time you stop one of their seeding attempts, every person you save ¨C that''s not just resistance, Vesper. That''s you choosing humanity over power. Over destiny. Over everything they said you were meant to be." I look down at our hands, so close to intertwining but not quite there. Like us ¨C always almost something more, held apart by duty and danger and the weight of what we''re fighting. "And if choosing humanity means failing? If we can''t stop what''s coming?" "Then we fail as humans, not as monsters." He starts to say more, but his phone buzzes. The moment breaks as he checks it, his expression shifting to professional concern. "There''s movement. Church vehicles heading toward the industrial district." My own phone vibrates a moment later ¨C Marcus, calling us all in. "Another seeding attempt?" "Looks like. But the pattern''s different ¨C more vehicles than usual, and they''re not trying to be subtle." He straightens, professional distance returning to his posture. "I should get in position, try to feed you intel from the inside." "James..." I catch his arm as he turns to go. "Thank you. For... understanding." Something flashes across his face ¨C longing, maybe, or regret. Then he gives me that half-smile that always makes my heart do uncomfortable things. "Just stay human, Vesper. Whatever else happens, whatever you become ¨C hold onto that." He leaves me on the rooftop, the herb garden''s peaceful atmosphere shattered by the approaching storm. Below, I can see movement in the HQ parking lot ¨C teams gearing up, vehicles being prepped. The darkness behind my eye pulses with familiar hunger. My phone buzzes again ¨C Dr. Chen this time. Knife''s energy signature is spiking. Something''s happening. I take one last look at the city, at all the normal people living their normal lives, unaware of what''s coming. Unaware of the battle being fought in their streets, in their reality itself. Then I head down to gear up. Time to be human in the most inhuman way possible ¨C by standing between innocent people and the horrors trying to break into our world. The changed knife hangs heavy at my hip, its patterns swirling faster now, more urgent. Like it knows what''s coming. Like it''s eager to evolve further, to become whatever it''s becoming. Like me. Just stay human, I tell myself as I step into the elevator. Whatever else happens, stay human. The darkness doesn''t answer.