Creation Of All Things

A ripple tore through space—not with a sound, but with a feeling. Like gravity sighing in reverse. Like the world itself didn't want him there, but didn't dare stop him either.

The sky above the distorted realm bled inwards. Color bent. Reality cracked like a mirror underwater. Trees twisted into themselves, roots sprouting from their own branches. The ground pulsed. Time slowed down, then sped up again, skipping seconds like a broken reel of film.

And then…

He stepped through.

A man.

Or something that wore the shape of one.

His figure didn't move like it should've. Every step folded space around him. Limbs lagged a split-second behind, like the universe had to catch up to his presence. His long coat dragged behind him, threads floating upward as if gravity was too confused to decide which way was down.

And on his face—

A spiral.

A mask, carved from a material that wasn't wood, or metal, or bone. It looked ancient. Alive. Endless rings spiraling in from the edges, swirling toward the center where a single black eye glowed faintly behind the slit. The design didn't stay still. It kept turning, slow and silent, as if it was watching you—even when you blinked.

He wasn't just a man.

He was the Spiral.

The Spiral King. The Eye of Collapse. The Maw Between Moments.

The air around him fizzed and popped, like the realm was trying to reject him. But the Spiral didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Just kept walking.

Behind him, the portal sealed shut like a wound healing the wrong way.

His boots pressed down on a path that didn't exist until he walked it. Each step left behind a brief afterimage—like the world had to remember where he'd been to make sense of where he was going.

The sky above split into patterns—spirals, like eyes, blinking open and closed across the clouds. A low, groaning hum filled the air. Not quite a scream. Not quite a song.

He paused at a ridge. Looked out across the broken horizon.

Mountains floated sideways. Rivers ran in reverse. And at the center of it all, far in the distance, something enormous stirred—a giant sphere of swirling light and shadow, pulsing like a heart made of paradox.

His domain.

The Spiral's voice finally slipped through the cracks of silence—low, cracked, like a whisper dragged backwards.

"Still beating," he murmured. "Still clinging."

He tilted his head slightly. A soft clicking came from the mask as the rings turned inward another notch.

"They never learn."

A single black feather fell from the sky.

He caught it between two fingers.

Then crushed it.

And all across the realm, things shifted.

A thousand copies of himself flickered into being across the distorted plane—each walking, turning, kneeling, rising—some forwards in time, some backwards, some too fast to see. All of them wearing the mask. All of them watching.

Because the Spiral wasn't just here.

He was everywhere.

And he had come for what was his.

Ostarius

Adam sat alone on the edge of the tower, legs dangling off the side like he didn't care about the height, or maybe like he wanted to feel how close the sky really was. The wind tugged at his coat, ruffled his hair. Below him, the city of Ostarius shimmered in the early evening haze, neon veins running through its streets like fading memories.

But he wasn't looking down.

He was looking at nothing. At everything.

His mind was still caught in the moment Kaiden said those words.

"Yes, Father. I'm your son."

That voice. Calm. Sure. No hesitation.

It had knocked the air clean out of Adam.

And now he sat up here, letting the weight of it all settle into his chest like a quiet storm.

Footsteps behind him. Light ones. Familiar. He didn't turn.

"I thought I'd find you up here," Alexandria said, voice soft.

Adam's eyes stayed on the horizon. "It's quiet here."

"Yeah," she murmured, walking closer. "Feels like the city knows something's changed."

She stopped just a few steps behind him, but didn't sit. She waited. Gave him time.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

He finally looked over his shoulder. Met her eyes. For a second, his face didn't show anything. Then, with a sigh, he looked away again.

"Kaiden," he said. Just that.

Alexandria's breath caught—just for a second. Her expression didn't twist, didn't break, but it shifted. The light in her eyes dimmed, just slightly.

Of course.

Of course it was Kaiden.

Adam heard that pause. That silence where a smile should've been. He knew what it meant. He sighed and looked down at the street again.

"You like me," he said. Not as a question.

Alexandria didn't answer right away.

Then she walked forward and sat beside him, knees pulled up close. She didn't look at him either. Just stared out like he did, like the city had answers she hadn't found yet.

"I did," she said finally. "I mean, yeah. I do. Still."

Adam looked at her. She kept her eyes ahead.

"I think I've always liked you, actually," she said, voice soft. "Since the start."

Adam stayed quiet.

"I used to tell myself not to feel anything," she continued. "That it was just a crush. That it'd fade. But it didn't. Every time you looked back to make sure I was still standing… it got worse."

Her voice cracked just a little. She stopped. Took a breath.

"I knew I didn't have a real chance," she said. "I knew the kind of story your life was becoming. The kind that doesn't leave room for someone like me. Still… I hoped."

She laughed, short and rough. "Stupid, right? Hoping you'd see me the way I see you. Hoping maybe, at the end of all this, it'd be me next to you."

Adam looked down. Guilt pressed hard into his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Don't be," she said fast. She turned to him, her eyes a little red but no tears yet. "Please, don't say sorry. This wasn't your fault. I never… made you feel obligated. It's just something I carried. My own mess."

She looked down at her hands, fingers laced together tightly.

Her voice dropped.

"I think that's what hurts the most. Not that he's your son. Not even that he's from the future. But that… I'm not part of it. That somewhere down the line, the version of you who lives… doesn't choose me."

Adam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say?

Alexandria smiled, and it hurt to look at. It wasn't bitter. It wasn't angry. It was accepting. And that made it worse.

"I'm not mad at you," she said. "Really, I'm not. I just… needed to say it out loud. To stop pretending like I was fine. Because I'm not."

She finally looked at him again. Her eyes shimmered under the dim sky.

"But I will be. One day. I'll be fine. I've survived worse than heartbreak."

Adam reached over. Placed a hand over hers.

"You mattered to me," he said. "You still do."

Alexandria nodded. "I know. Just… not in the way I wanted. And that's okay."

The wind picked up again. A lone paper fluttered past, caught in the breeze. Below them, the lights of Ostarius kept glowing, unaware of the small heartbreaks happening above.

They sat in silence for a while, side by side, not lovers, not strangers.

Just two people who missed each other in time.

And eventually, Alexandria stood.

She wiped her eyes once, gave him one last smile.

"Take care of Kaiden," she said. "He's got your eyes. But he's going to need your heart."

Adam nodded, silent.

She turned and walked away.

And Adam, still on the ledge, stayed there until the sun dipped past the horizon.

Alone again.

But not unaware.

Because now he knew what she had carried.

And that kind of weight never truly disappears.