’Becoming my first–’

The thought started forming in Damian’s mind, trying to process what the figure had just offered.

Then everything stopped.

The snow that had been falling froze in place, suspended in the air like someone had pressed pause on reality itself.

The wind that had been carrying distant sounds from the training center went silent.

Damian’s chest stopped rising, his heart stopped beating and his thoughts cut off mid-formation as time itself came to an absolute halt.

The figure stood there for a long moment, looking at Damian’s frozen form.

Then its head tilted upward, that void-like darkness turning toward the sky

"FATE!"

The word tore through the frozen silence like thunder, the voice carrying absolute authority.

"COME BEFORE ME!"

The demand echoed across the training center grounds, across the mountains and across reality itself.

But only silence answered, heavy and oppressive.

The figure remained still, patiently waiting, but nothing happened.

"I know you’ve been listening ever since I appeared here! I know you’ve heard every word we’ve spoken!"

The voice grew sharper and more demanding.

"If you won’t come willingly, then I’ll have to us–"

Suddenly, the entire sky transformed.

One moment it was normal darkness scattered with stars, moon and dark clouds.

The next, the entire expanse above them transformed into countless colorful threads, weaving and intertwining in patterns too complex to follow.

Blues and golds and crimsons and purples, all flowing together in endless motion, stretching from horizon to horizon.

The threads pulsed with light, with power, with something ancient and terrible.

And a voice emerged from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Why are you doing this?"

The words didn’t sound like normal speech, more like reality itself was vibrating to form language.

"What is it that you want to do now?"

The voice carried no emotion, just absolute statement of fact.

The figure looked up at the threads spreading across the frozen sky.

"From now on..."

The voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

"You aren’t allowed to interfere directly in his path."

The figure’s hand rose, pointing toward Damian’s frozen form.

"You won’t provide any help to the Hooded One, you won’t whisper to the Oracle, you won’t grant visions to any seer who tries to glimpse what’s coming."

The threads pulsed faster, light flickering through them.

"Let them see only what they’re capable of seeing on their own, without your hand guiding their sight toward the outcomes you prefer."

Silence spread across the frozen world.

The threads continued their endless weaving, but the voice didn’t respond.

Then it spoke again.

"And why would I do that?"

The question carried something that might have been amusement.

"Why would I listen to... you?"

The figure’s hand lowered back to its side.

"Because after today, I won’t interfere as well."

Those words hung in the air between the shrouded figure and the cosmic threads above.

The weaving stopped completely, every thread freezing in place as if Fate itself had been caught off guard.

The figure continued, its voice steady and unwavering.

"Both of us will step back completely and never interfere directly again. There will be no more guidance, no more manipulation and no more tipping the scales one way or another."

The black energy swirled faster around the figure’s form.

"Let the ones who are truly fighting decide the outcome once and for all, no matter what it shall be."

The threads remained frozen, not even pulsing with light anymore.

"He shouldn’t be given the freedom to decide."

The voice came out firm now, carrying weight behind every word.

"I already told you what would–"

It cut off abruptly, as if catching itself mid-sentence.

"Among the millions of timelines I can see, there isn’t a single timeline where–"

"That’s why you need to stop interfering after today."

The figure’s voice cut through Fate’s words like a blade.

"You shouldn’t believe everything you see."

The threads pulsed once, violent and sharp.

"This again."

The voice carried something that might have been exasperation.

"You ask Fate itself to not believe in what is Fated to be. You demand that I ignore what I know to be true, what I can see with absolute certainty."

A pause.

"Why can’t you just accept that Fate is absolute? That what I see will come to pass regardless of your interference or mine?"

The figure remained silent, that black energy swirling around its form.

The voice continued, and this time it carried something different, something almost personal.

"After all this time, your faith hasn’t wavered even once?"

The question hung in the air.

"Even after everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve endured, everything you’ve lost... you still believe?"

Still the figure said nothing, just stood there in the snow beside Damian’s frozen form.

Then it spoke, and the doubled voice carried cold finality.

"Will you step back yourself, or do I have to make you?"

The threads flared bright, light flooding across the frozen landscape.

"As if you can make me."

The voice held absolute certainty, the kind that came from being a fundamental force of reality itself.

"You may be powerful, but do you really think you–"

"Then–"

The figure’s hand rose, fingers spreading wide.

Whoosh

And a book appeared in its grasp, worn and battered, pages yellowed with age and water damage.

The cover was faded and barely legible, the kind of cheap book you’d find discarded in trash bins and forgotten in gutters.

But if Damian had been conscious, if he could see what was unfolding in this frozen moment, he would have recognized it immediately.

This was the same book he’d found in that dumpster in his past life as Alessio.

The same book that the Beggar had read to him in exchange for a small piece of bread.

The same book that had started everything.

The novel about this world.

And the moment it had materialized in the figure’s hand, the threads of Fate began to fluctuate wildly.

Colors shifted and changed, patterns breaking apart and reforming, the entire tapestry convulsing like a living thing in pain.

"You–"

The voice tried to speak, but the figure moved.

Its hands gripped both sides of the worn book.

And tore it in half.

RIP

The sound cut through the frozen silence like a scream.

"–you leave me with no choice."

The figure finished the sentence it had started, completing it as the two halves of the novel fell from its hands.

Whoosh

Black energy exploded from the destroyed novel, erupting like something that had been trapped and compressed, was finally set free.

It shot upward toward the threads spreading across the sky.

BOOOOOM

The impact detonated like a star going supernova with light flooding everything, turning the world pure white.

The brightness was intense, swallowing snow and mountains and sky until nothing remained except blinding radiance.

Then slowly and gradually, it began to fade.

The light retreated, pulling back to reveal the frozen landscape once more.

But everything had changed.

The threads of Fate still spread across the sky, still wove their endless patterns.

But they were dim now, barely visible, their light reduced to faint glimmers that struggled against the darkness.

And the figure standing beside Damian had become translucent, its form wavering like smoke, the black energy around it thin and weak.

"You..."

The voice emerged from the dimmed threads, and it was weakened, strained in a way it hadn’t been before.

"How did I not see this?! How is this possible?!"

The words came out almost frantic.

"I should have seen every possibility, every choice, every outcome! How could you hide this from me?!"

The figure’s voice came out quieter now, but still carrying that same certainty.

"I already told you... You shouldn’t believe everything you see."

The translucent form shifted slightly.

"You aren’t absolute... You never were."

Silence fell across the frozen world, heavy with implications too vast to fully comprehend.

The threads pulsed weakly, trying to regain their former brilliance and failing.

Then the voice spoke again, quieter but carrying something that might have been understanding.

"And for you to do this..."

A pause.

"Your faith has also wavered, hasn’t it?"

The figure was quiet for a long moment.

Then it spoke.

"Do you even know where my faith lies?"

The voice came out genuine, almost curious.

"Do you truly understand what I believe in, what I’ve been fighting for all this time?"

The questions hung in the air between the weakened Fate and the translucent figure.

"I see."

The voice emerged slowly, processing.

"I see now. You really played well, better than I anticipated. You were planning this from the beginning, weren’t you?"

The figure didn’t respond, just continued staring up at the sky.

"Now, even if I want to, I can’t interfere much anymore. You’ve bound me, trapped me in my own weakened state."

Silence spread around them.

Then the voice spoke one more time, carrying a question that felt loaded with terrible significance.

"But I want to know one thing before I go..."

The threads began to fade, pulling back toward wherever they’d come from.

"Do you truly think that without your direct interference, without your guidance and protection..."

The voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"He can survive what awaits him?"

The question hung in the frozen air, unanswered.