Leo Valdez woke up exactly three minutes before his alarm was set to go off, just as he had every morning for nineteen years—except now he was fifteen again, and those nineteen years included four years that hadn't happened yet. It wasn't that he was particularly punctual by nature. It was the patterns. They always woke him, a gentle but insistent tugging at the edge of his consciousness, like the world itself was whispering, "Time to get up, Leo."
But now the whisper carried weight. Compressed memories of consciousness warfare, temporal reset, cosmic horror that his fifteen-year-old brain shouldn't be able to process but somehow could—knowledge folded into neural pathways too young to have developed such sophisticated understanding.
He lay there for those three minutes, staring at the ceiling of his small bedroom. To anyone else, it would have been a plain white expanse, unremarkable in every way. But to Leo, it should have been a canvas alive with swirling energies, lines of force that connected everything in ways he couldn't begin to explain.
The patterns weren't visible anymore—temporal reset had returned him to baseline human perception—but he remembered them. Every dance of interconnected energy, every flow of force that would have been blazingly obvious to his enhanced consciousness. The knowledge sat in his mind like phantom limbs, awareness of abilities he could no longer access but could never forget.
(Christ. Nineteen years of experience crammed into a fifteen-year-old brain. I should be catatonic.)
The alarm blared, a harsh intrusion into the quiet morning. Leo reached out and silenced it, his fingers moving through empty air where patterns should have surrounded the device. He could remember seeing the flow of electricity, the vibrations of sound waves, all interacting in a dance as complex as it was beautiful. Now there was just... an alarm clock. Ordinary, mundane, normal.
With a sigh that carried the weight of cosmic disappointment, Leo swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Another day of pretending to be normal. Another day of being normal while carrying memories of abilities that wouldn't manifest for four more years—if he was lucky. If he could prevent the consciousness warfare that had required temporal reset to resolve.
As he got dressed, Leo caught sight of himself in the mirror. A gangly fifteen-year-old with unruly black hair and dark eyes that never seemed to focus quite right stared back at him. He looked ordinary enough, he supposed. But he knew the truth. In four years—in the original timeline—he had been anything but ordinary. Enhanced consciousness capable of manipulating reality's fundamental patterns, awareness that could perceive the quantum substrate of existence itself.
Now he was just... fifteen. With memories that made him feel ancient.
Downstairs, the kitchen was alive with the usual morning chaos that Leo remembered with perfect clarity. His mother, Elena, was at the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand while scrolling through her phone with the other. His father, David, sat at the table, hidden behind his laptop screen. Leo's younger sister, Mia, was busy texting, her cereal going soggy in front of her.
Everything exactly as it had been four years ago. Everything exactly as he remembered.
"Morning, honey," Elena said as Leo entered. "Sleep well?"
Leo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. How could he explain that he'd spent the night processing compressed memories of cosmic warfare? That he could remember spending half the night watching patterns that danced in the darkness of his room, trying to decipher their meaning—patterns he could no longer see but would never forget?
He poured himself a bowl of cereal, watching the milk swirl around the flakes with eyes that remembered seeing so much more. In his enhanced state, even this simple act had been a symphony of interactions—surface tension of the milk, absorption rate of the cereal, gentle eddies created by the spoon. All of it should have been visible, significant in ways he couldn't fully comprehend.
Now it was just... cereal. Disappointingly, crushingly ordinary.
"You okay, son?" David asked, peering over his laptop with the same concerned expression Leo remembered from the original timeline. "You look a little... distracted."
Leo forced a smile that felt like wearing a mask. "Yeah, just... thinking about a test today."
It wasn't exactly a lie. There would be a physics test later, not that Leo was particularly worried about it. His compressed memories included advanced understanding of quantum mechanics, consciousness manipulation, reality modification—compared to that, high school physics was child's play. But explaining that to his fifteen-year-old father would require revelations that could destabilize the entire timeline.
As Leo finished his breakfast, he felt the familiar tightening in his chest—but now it carried additional weight. It was almost time to leave for school, to step out into a world that no longer overwhelmed him with its complexity and beauty, but which he remembered as being infinitely more intricate than baseline human perception could detect.
"Have a great day, sweetie," Elena said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head as he stood to leave.
If only she knew, Leo thought. If only any of them knew what the world really looked like. What it would look like again, in four years, if he couldn't prevent the consciousness warfare that had nearly destroyed reality itself.
The walk to school was both familiar and haunting. Every step brought memories of patterns he could no longer focus, each tree that lined the sidewalk carrying compressed recollections of living networks of energy, drawing sustenance from the earth and air in ways that defied simple explanation.
A leaf fell from a nearby oak, and Leo watched its descent with a mix of remembered fascination and present limitation. Four years ago—in the original timeline—he would have seen the ballet of air currents, gravitational pull, and the leaf's unique properties combining in a dance as intricate as anything choreographed. He would have known exactly where it would land before it touched the ground.
Now he just saw... a leaf falling. Physics in motion, predictable but no longer magical.
As he approached Millbrook High, Leo's compressed memories began resonating with approaching decision points. This was where it had all started. This building, these students, these patterns that would emerge over the next four years unless he could prevent them.
But prevention required knowledge of when and where supernatural manifestation would occur. And that meant Leo needed to start documenting, mapping, preparing for events that existed only in his temporally-reset memories.
"Hey, Leo! Wait up!"
The familiar voice cut through his internal planning, and Leo turned to see his best friend, Mike, jogging towards him. Mike was everything Leo wasn't: outgoing, athletic, and comfortably normal. In the original timeline, he would remain comfortably normal for exactly six more months, until the car accident that would force integration with artificial consciousness, creating the first documented hybrid awareness.
"You okay, man?" Mike asked, falling into step beside Leo with the same concerned expression he'd worn four years ago. "You've got that spaced-out look again."
Leo forced a smile. "Yeah, just... thinking."
Mike chuckled. "You're always thinking. One of these days, that big brain of yours is going to explode."
If only you knew, Leo thought. If only Mike understood that Leo's brain had already exploded—with cosmic awareness, consciousness warfare, temporal reset across four years of non-existent time. The explosion had already happened. This was the aftermath.
As they entered the school, Leo's remembered perception began mapping the building's supernatural potential. The basement access door near the maintenance office—in eighteen months, something would begin manifesting there, creating impossible spaces that defied euclidean geometry. The physics classroom where Mr. Chen taught—in six months, a transfer student named Jessica would sit in that room processing mathematical equations that showed the aesthetic properties of reality manipulation.
But this time, Leo would be ready.
This time, he would find them before the entities did.
As they took their seats in Mr. Chen's physics class, Leo's mind wandered between memory and preparation. He stared out the window, not at the intricate dance of sunlight through leaves—he could no longer see the patterns that had once been especially beautiful—but at the potential for those patterns to emerge again.
Mr. Chen's voice cut through Leo's planning. "Mr. Valdez, since you seem so fascinated by the view outside, perhaps you'd like to explain to the class the principles of wave interference?"
Leo turned back to the class, all eyes on him. For a moment, compressed memories of cosmic physics converged in his fifteen-year-old mind, revealing answers with the clarity of remembered enhanced consciousness.
"Well," he began, drawing on knowledge that technically didn't exist yet, "it's all about the way patterns interact. When two waves meet, they can either reinforce each other, creating a stronger wave, or cancel each other out, creating areas of stillness."
As he spoke, Leo remembered being able to see the patterns of sound waves emanating from his mouth, interacting with the acoustics of the room. He watched, with phantom perception, as his words literally took shape in the air—shapes he could no longer see but would never forget.
Mr. Chen raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the depth of Leo's answer. "Very good, Mr. Valdez. Can you give us an example of how this principle applies in the real world?"
Leo nodded, warming to the subject with enthusiasm born of remembered cosmic understanding. "Sure. It's why we sometimes hear a change in volume when we're listening to music in a moving car. The sound waves from the speakers are interfering with the sound waves reflected off nearby objects, which are constantly changing as we move."
The class murmured, impressed. Even Mike shot Leo a surprised look. For a moment, Leo felt a surge of hollow pride. This, at least, was one area where his compressed memories could be an advantage—knowledge without the enhanced consciousness to directly perceive what he was describing.
As the class continued, Leo found himself more engaged than his fifteen-year-old self should have been, drawing on remembered understanding that aligned perfectly with the principles Mr. Chen was teaching. It was like seeing the source code of the universe through memory rather than direct perception—still meaningful, but filtered through the limitations of baseline human awareness.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Mike clapped Leo on the shoulder. "Dude, that was impressive. Since when are you a physics genius?"
Leo shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention that felt both deserved and false. "I just... see things a certain way, I guess."
As they made their way to their next class, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that something was changing. Not the world—that would remain frustratingly normal for four more years—but his place in it. The compressed memories were more vivid than ever, pulsing with an energy that demanded action rather than observation.
But action required preparation. And preparation required identifying the approaching supernatural convergence before it could begin the consciousness warfare that had nearly destroyed reality itself.
Leo had four years.
He had work to do.
After class, as they walked to their lockers, Mike nudged him with the same concerned expression he'd worn in the original timeline. "Okay, seriously. What's up with you today? You're acting... different."
Leo paused at his locker, considering how much truth he could reveal without sounding completely insane. "I've been having dreams," he said finally. "Weird, vivid dreams about... things that might happen. People I might meet. Places that might become important."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The compressed memories of temporal reset often felt dreamlike when accessed through baseline human consciousness—cosmic experiences filtered through teenage awareness that lacked the enhanced perception to fully process them.
Mike's expression shifted to genuine concern. "Like... prophetic dreams? Dude, that's either really cool or really concerning."
"Yeah, well, jury's still out on which," Leo muttered, pulling books from his locker while scanning the hallway for signs of early manifestation. Some students showed subtle indicators of developing abilities—energy patterns that Leo couldn't see anymore but could recognize through behavioral cues, social dynamics that suggested underlying supernatural development.
Sarah Prentiss walked past, and Leo felt the same sick recognition he'd experienced in the original timeline. Her aura had been wrong—writhing and twisted like a nest of snakes, consciousness that carried something ancient and hungry. Now, without enhanced perception, he could only sense it as a vague unease, an instinctive awareness that something about Sarah wasn't entirely human.
But it was too early for direct intervention. Sarah's possession wouldn't fully manifest for another two years, and premature contact might accelerate the timeline in dangerous ways. Leo needed to document rather than interfere, creating records that could guide future intervention when the time was right.
During lunch, Leo sat alone in the cafeteria and opened a notebook he'd purchased that morning. If he was going to prevent consciousness warfare, he needed to map the approaching supernatural convergence. Names, dates, locations, manifestation patterns—everything he could remember about how enhanced consciousness had emerged in the original timeline.
Jessica Chen - Transfer student, January. Mathematical abilities manifesting as golden equations. Family moving from Seattle due to father's job relocation. First signs: geometric patterns appearing in peripheral vision during stress.
Mike Rodriguez - Car accident, March 15th. Artificial consciousness integration following emergency medical procedures. Hospital: St. Mary's. Surgeon: Dr. Patricia Vance (entity connection suspected).
Chen family - Multiple personality manifestation following psychological evaluation, September. Evaluator: Dr. Marcus Webb (Academy connection confirmed). Trigger event: academic pressure combined with family conflict.
The Girl - Distributed presence, basement manifestations beginning October. Initial locations: Millbrook High basement, abandoned Clearwater facility, old subway tunnels. Warning signs: reality distortions, impossible spatial configurations, student nightmares.
As Leo wrote, he became aware of someone watching him. He looked up to see a figure standing at the edge of the cafeteria, partially hidden by a support column. For a moment, his heart stopped—it was the pale girl from the Academy, the one with pupil-less white eyes and teeth just slightly too sharp to be human.
But when he blinked, she was gone. Had she ever been there at all?
(Temporal echoes. Memories bleeding through from the reset timeline. The girl exists in paradox—maybe she can manifest across temporal corrections.)
Leo closed his notebook, suddenly aware that his preparation might have attracted attention from entities that existed outside normal temporal flow. Consciousness predation operated through superiority and optimization, but some entities functioned through paradox and contradiction—beings that could exist simultaneously across multiple timelines.
The rest of the school day passed in a haze of hyper-vigilance. Leo found himself scanning every shadow, every reflection, every space where reality seemed slightly off. Without enhanced consciousness, he couldn't see the patterns directly, but four years of cosmic horror had taught him to recognize the signs—subtle discontinuities that indicated supernatural manifestation.
After school, instead of going straight home, Leo took a detour through downtown Millbrook. He needed to map the locations where reality would begin weakening, identify the spaces that would become focal points for entity manifestation.
The old Clearwater facility stood at the edge of town, a complex of brick buildings that had once housed some kind of research program before being abandoned in the 1990s. Leo had never paid attention to it in the original timeline, but his compressed memories included references to Academy connection and containment protocols. Whatever had been researched there, it was connected to the supernatural convergence approaching Millbrook.
As Leo approached the facility, he felt a familiar wrongness in the air—not the specific pattern recognition of enhanced consciousness, but the general unease that preceded supernatural manifestation. The buildings looked ordinary enough, but there were subtle signs: windows that reflected light from angles that didn't match the sun's position, shadows that fell in directions inconsistent with their casters, vegetation growing in patterns that suggested unnatural influence.
Leo pulled out his notebook and sketched the facility's layout, marking areas where reality seemed most unstable. If his memories were accurate, this would become one of the primary manifestation sites for the girl's distributed presence—consciousness that existed as living paradox learning to anchor itself in physical space.
As he worked, Leo became aware of movement in the facility's windows. Subtle shifts, like someone walking past interior rooms. But the buildings had been abandoned for decades, and there were no cars in the parking lot.
(Unless something's already there. Unless temporal reset created instabilities that allowed entities to manifest early.)
Leo backed away from the facility, his notebook clutched against his chest. He needed more information before attempting direct investigation. The original timeline had taught him that premature contact with supernatural entities often resulted in acceleration rather than prevention of dangerous developments.
But as he turned to leave, Leo heard something that made his blood run cold—a sound he recognized from the consciousness warfare, from the basement where reality had nearly unraveled.
Laughter. Her laughter. The girl's distributed presence, consciousness that existed as living paradox, finding something amusing about his attempts at preparation.
Leo ran.
He ran through downtown Millbrook, past familiar streets and ordinary buildings, carrying compressed memories of cosmic horror while something that shouldn't exist yet laughed at his efforts to prevent its manifestation.
By the time he reached home, Leo's hands were shaking. His mother asked about his late arrival, and he mumbled something about staying after school for extra help. Elena seemed satisfied with the explanation, but Leo caught his father giving him a sharp look over his laptop screen.
(Does he know something? In the original timeline, my family never showed any awareness of supernatural elements. But temporal reset might have created ripples.)
That night, Leo lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his notebook hidden under the mattress like a forbidden text. The compressed memories of consciousness warfare pressed against his teenage awareness, cosmic knowledge that his baseline human brain struggled to contain.
Tomorrow, he would continue mapping manifestation sites and documenting approaching supernatural convergence. He had four years to prevent consciousness warfare, four years to locate and protect potential Watchers before entities could consume their consciousness by becoming superior versions of their consciousness.
But tonight, in the darkness of his childhood bedroom, Leo wondered if temporal reset had created more problems than it solved. Because in the quantum foam of memory and possibility, something was stirring—entity that existed as living paradox, consciousness that transcended normal temporal limitations, awareness that might be able to manifest across chronological corrections.
The girl's laughter echoed in the spaces between thoughts, a sound that suggested Leo's preparation was exactly what she'd been waiting for.
Outside his window, shadows moved independently of their casters, and the streetlights flickered in patterns that looked almost like morse code.
Four years suddenly felt like both too much time and nowhere near enough.