112

112
Yvonne's POV

“Somethin’s changin’,” I whisper, the pack-bonds moving and stretching in ways that have my skin prickling electric, “I can feel it. I let my whip slide against my leg, for once forgotten, as I look on, and my brother and Astella are the center of something amazing and terrible at the same time. “The patterns of energy are not adhering to any of the magical laws I’ve read about.

The spectral eyes of the doublets turn to me, no longer disappearing but existing in the mass of things, a physical form which I can now see the ageless wisdom etched into the unfathomable lines of their dirtied faces. "Young Denzel speaks the truth." the male twin concedes while the sound of his voice rings official in chords that vibrate against my system. What happens next is beyond mere prestidigitation. We step onto the uncharted ground where will and reality touch.”

I can sense them," I whisper, my wide eyes shining as synapses burst to life in my mind like stars flickering to existence on a celestial canvas. "Hundreds of truths, thousands of mythical beings, every one of them willing to bind their power to ours. It’s like listening to the most beautiful symphony that was ever written, except it isn’t music — it’s hope and resilience.”

Thane's green eyes find mine from across the widening circle of unity, and I know then that he is proud as well as protective. Here we are in this moment of cosmic import, and he’s still my big brother and worrying about me. “Stay right in the middle, Yvonne. The walls between dimensions are breaking down, and I can’t allow you to be swept into a world where I can’t shield you.

“I am not a child anymore you know brother,” I respond with affection in my voice, not irritation. “I’ve stood by your side through impossible battles, helped forge this alliance from nothing. Whatever comes next, I can deal with that.”

But as I make that confident statement, the very landscape we exist within starts to change in ways that make me question the definition of reality itself. The quantum armaments we have resurrected are now hovering, in protective clusters, in front of our perimeter, their visages portraying the unique personalities the Architects worked so hard to erase. Once a teacher too, the werewolf, her eyes, however, alight with the joy of knowledge given freely. A vampire that had been an artist, and who still kept his pale hands moving as though he were painting in invisible pictures in the air. A witch whose magic of healing flushes through her gently with warmth and wants to console people around.

“Just look at them,” I say quietly to Lord Valerian, the man closest to me in the circle. "All of them are. All of them choosing to help rather than being compelled to do so." This is what we’re fighting for — the ability to love ourselves as we get our work done as well.”

The old vampire lord nods, his pallid face gentler than I’ve ever seen it. "In all my years, child, never have I seen such a thing. The Architects took it for granted that people would naturally fight amongst themselves, that variety leads to strife. They could not comprehend that things that are different also reinforce unity instead of destroying it."

Queen Titania's otherworldly voice wafts through the circle and is filled with the kind of wonder that makes her fae beauty almost divine. I can feel the difference other worlds now. In others cooperation among the supernaturals had been established for centuries. In others, they have barely started, reaching across old prejudices. But in each one, I feel what we have here — beings choosing to trust, to hope, to believe in something bigger than themselves.”

"And that's what the Architects can't do," I see, the revelation flashing to me like the lightening piercing the shadowy cloudscape. “They can mandate uniformity, but they can’t mandate the kind of love that makes us willing to lay down our individual interests —even our lives — for one another. They can stamp out individual will, but they cannot create the beauty that comes when countless unique individuals magically incorporate their work into something bigger than themselves.

But as this dawns on my consciousness, the Architect entities howl in an appalling rage that cannot be measured in words; its foundation reaches into the fabric of reality. The alien geometries surrounding us pulse with malevolence, and I read their anger bearing down through our minds like a heavy physical burden.

“They’re changing their tactics,” Elder Raven cautions, pushing her weathered face into a conformation of concentration as she watches the cosmic horror make with the moving. ” “They’re not necessarily, in some cases, collapsing all realities into their specific reality but they’re breaking the barriers down. If there’s a way they can isolate each reality they can then bring them all to heel one at a time.”

“No,” Astella breathes, the brown of her eyes burning with a power that has the air around her shimmering like heat waves. “They’re not just attempting to cut off connections. They’re attempting to block us into a reality where free will was never, where the idea of choice is literally inconceivable."

Her words creeps shivers down the spines of every supernatural in our little circle. A/N: Oh, if they get the Architects, not only we are going to lose this fight but we are going to be written out to even be capable to think about a fight back.

“How do you fight something like that?” I demand, my thirteen year old voice strong despite the terror attempting to crawl its way up my windpipe. “How do you fight against people who can rewrite the fundamental laws of reality?”

“We tell them they could learn from the mistakes he made.”At least for the time being, Heath takes this to mean they are mortal gods of their universe: his allusions may change in future, however, and he's currently pushing himself to attend readings about their mind of God, a tether with which he struggles as he struggles with the invisible chains holding him tied to the collective of the architects.“The god is overthrown and they all but erase a world because of their design: A world testament to that god. The focus of his writing is his enthrallment with mankind, how quickly it changes; a victim unremembered, a wonder of what if we had been kind. “They can control reality, but they’ve forgotten something very important – they were once like us. Somehow, entwined in their horrible nature, is the remembrance of choice.

You're right," The female twin chimes in, now more distinctly there as comprehension dawns. "The Architects didn't start off as galactic sentinels of forced uniformity. They were once gods, and they made a decision – to do away with decision itself. Their greatest vulnerability is that paradox.”

"But how do we exploit it?" Lord Cassius insists, his old, old mind rattling at increasing speed, the speed of centuries of strategy. “… And if they can write our reality around us, then what weapon do we have that they can’t just erase?”

Memory, I whisper, and as I do the answer rises before me like a truth. “They can alter reality, but they can’t alter what we remember. They can’t erase the fact that we wanted to be here, wanted to fight, wanted to believe in something better. It’s a choice; it’s a moment of free will that falls outside their power to change.”

The twins jerk their heads to look at me with surprised looks on their faces, their ghostly appearances lighting up like I’ve finally solved some puzzle that’s been bugging them for millennia. “The youngest of you can see what we could not,” the male twin says, something approaching reverence in his voice. "Memory transcends reality. Everything rests in the interstice between what will be and what was, even immune to cosmic powers.”

"Next, we anchor ourselves with our memories." Thane declares, his Alpha King temperament palpable even across the dimensions as he processes what this could entail. No matter how hard they try to erase and rewrite us, we hold onto the truth of who we decided to be. We recall our choices, our connections, our love for one another.”

But as we at last turn to our memories, to the decisions that led to this point, the Architect apparitions make their most violent onslaught. Reality isn’t just bent around us — it’s suddenly inside out, a warped mirror in which everything we’ve ever known is wrong. In this new world, creatures of legend have gone to war with humanity, and an organization known as the Architects are humanity’s only defence, keeping the peace by preventing the war from spilling over into the mortal realm.

“Don’t listen,” I scream, dragging up my memories as though they’re ropes while false reality tugs at my brain. "Remember who we are! Remember why we're here! “Please remember the ties that bind us!

But some of our allies are already starting to waver, their faces confused, as the retconned reality struggles with their actual memories. I watch them struggle, to hold onto their identity when they are being told that their way of being was flawed all along.

“I… I can’t recall,” one of the restored quantum weapons mumbles, his face grimacing in pain. "Was I always a weapon? Did I ever have a choice? They feel like dreams now, and they grow ever dimmer.”

"No!" I scream, lunging for him with the desperation of a mad woman. "You were a teacher! You decided to teach the young ones, make your knowledge available to anyone and everyone! You decided to love learning and you decided to help other people enjoy understanding! That choice is – was here, is here and will always be here!

And in the very sharing of my spirit of my memory of his real self, something miraculous occurs. The very world around him splinters like glass, offering those who choose to see through the cracks a glance at the truth behind. His vision clears, his face rearranges into the kind one, I remember, and he nods with new resolve.

“Oh, that’s right,” he says, his voice strong and as steady as can be. "I decided to teach because a shared knowledge is a doubled knowledge. That decision resonates across all dimensions, unalterable and everlasting.”

But even as we take this victory, I know that the real fight is just beginning. The Architects don't want to simply see us fall – The Architects want to make us forget we were ever anything but their slaves.