Alwyn had always prided himself on his ability to assess a situation—read between the lines, parse the power dynamics, and calculate his next move with surgical precision. For decades, that instinct had shaped nations, saved lives, bent systems. But this… this was beyond any framework he'd ever known.
He blinked slowly, his breath fogging faintly in the damp air as he sat slumped against the base of a thick, unfamiliar tree. The bark bit into his back like cold stone. His fingers curled against the soil—wet, dense, rich with the scent of petrichor and moss. He could feel the shape of his hands: younger, smoother. That realization struck like a second death.
Younger? His brow furrowed. He held his hands in front of him, twisting them, flexing. The bones didn't ache. The calluses he'd built up over decades of writing, working, gripping podiums and hands and weapons of policy—they were gone. Gone like everything else he once knew.
And he was tired. Not in the way old age had brought—quiet, settled exhaustion—but in the violent way one feels after being hurled through a plate-glass window. His body screamed with phantom pains. Muscles he didn't remember straining throbbed with fatigue. It took him several long, shaking breaths just to convince himself that this was real. That he was breathing again.
His clothes were odd, too. Black shirt, black pants—foreign, slightly stiff, but not uncomfortable. Still, they weren't his. They felt… placed on him. Intentionally. Like someone had dressed a corpse.
The forest around him was dim, the last hints of twilight dying in the canopy above. Trees unfamiliar in species loomed like silent sentinels, and a breeze whispered through the undergrowth, carrying the distinct smell of imminent rain. There was no wind strong enough to explain the ringing in his ears.
Alwyn exhaled, low and long. Where… am I? No landmark in sight. No distant hum of a city, no flicker of civilization. Just silence—and the distant trill of some bird he didn't recognize.
Instinct told him to move. Not in panic, not recklessly. Just move. Pick a direction. Establish control.
So he rose, shakily, brushing dirt from his pants. His joints obeyed with unnatural ease. North. He chose, guided by a patch of sky still slightly brighter through the trees. He walked at a measured pace, conserving energy, not because he feared danger, but because uncertainty was a danger of its own.
As he walked, strange thoughts began to crowd his mind. A subtle shift in his perception that he could not explain. He spotted a small bird—somewhere between a crow and a sparrow—flit between branches ahead. But he had seen it do that a moment before it actually did. His step faltered. It wasn't déjà vu. It wasn't intuition. He knew what it would do—before it moved. More visions followed. Flickers at the edge of his thoughts. He'd see himself walking a path not yet taken. Hear words that hadn't yet been spoken. For the briefest moments, he'd feel doubled—one part in the now, and one fraction of himself reaching forward, grasping at threads not yet woven into the present.
"A fever dream," he muttered aloud, hoping the sound of his own voice might anchor him. But the words did little to comfort. His voice, too, sounded younger. Less weathered. Less… earned.
Was this death? A hallucination? Or something worse—a kind of rebirth he'd never asked for?
He had died. Of that, he was sure. His memory of that last night was still clear: the quiet clink of a wine glass, the stars above his balcony, the knowledge that his work was finished. His empire of reason and order, left behind like a final breath. And now this. Rain began to fall—slow, soft droplets that broke the stillness with gentle rhythm. Alwyn paused beneath a large tree, letting the water trail down the leaves above him like a curtain. His hand brushed the bark again, grounding himself.
"I don't know this," he said under his breath. "I don't know."he repeated slightly panicked, as if it was the first time he muttered those words in awhile,
For once, there was no one to impress, no advisors to perform for, no voters to convince. Just a man, reborn into mystery, stripped of his certainties, stumbling forward through a forest where the future bled into the present and nothing made sense.
And yet, despite it all, a part of him stirred—a fragment of the old fire. If this was a new beginning, then somewhere ahead would be answers. And power. For now, he walked on, surrounded by ghosts of what had not yet happened, he had seen himself arriving at a tall black structure, but it wasn't all, while he was walking he was beginning to hear voices, in the forests, then... he started seeing devils, made of fire, constantly burning, at this point he had to choose a place where to sit himself and relax, not sure of what steps to make, if these visions continued, then it would become a problem walking, he thought for a bit, a cave would be optimal, he imagined a cave in which he could sleep in, warm enough to support his body temperature, "that would be convenient but i doubt i could find it" after a couple of minutes he conveniently found a cave, without asking to many question he entered the cave, it was strangely warm inside, the moment he closed his eyes to make sense of what now has become a terrible headache, the visions intensified, now almost a future, a future made of doom and madness, gods being created and destroyed, souls, firefighters, witches, a cataclysm, Adolla, a second sun, human thought and subconscious, everything, like a film that is yet to be watched, slowly that headache turned into pain.... a lot of pain, he was... seeing a future, he did not know why but he could see it, something inside himself was telling him that;
As the pain surged through his skull and the visions danced violently behind his closed eyes, something else began to awaken—a deeper layer of perception. At first it was chaos, but then clarity bloomed like fire in the void.
He felt something calling to him, an energy—primordial, vast, waiting to be commanded. When he focused, the world around him changed entirely.
He no longer saw with his eyes. What he perceived now were not just shapes or colors but souls—the very essence of life—each one cloaked in a serene blue hue, like candlelight behind gauze. The trees whispered their silent presence, animals shimmered with quiet life, and even the earth below hummed softly with the weight of existence.
But then came the other vision, distinct and separate.
Overlapping the spiritual silhouettes was a lattice—Reishi—not alive, but formed. Structured like crystal, flowing like air, it wrapped around objects, gathered in nodes, and danced in response to his thoughts. It was the building block of the invisible world, the code behind the form. Unlike souls, which were, Reishi could be written, shaped, and rewritten. He realized this substance obeyed not just presence, but will. All of this was coming natural to him, a second nature that had always been there, a world alive , like a book that's now complete, with this new clarity, he took a deep breath and analyzed the future he had seen, he didn't like it one bit, even with the "happy ending", too much suffering in-between, to much inefficiency, even after everything is done new enemies will arise much more powerful than the previous ones, changing the world but not the people does not change anything.
Now that he knew what was going on and where he was he could pinpoint with accuracy what to do, he took a breath, then another, then "HAAAAAAAA-",after a couple of minutes of screaming , he was perfectly calm and collected, closing his eyes, he started commanding reishi particles, slowly he started to create shapes, weapons ,day to day objects, it was as if the realm of the soul was an extension of his will, he did not know why, just that It was, after a while, when he was trying to shape reishi into objects something strange started to happen, he started seeing, seeing options, seeing ways reality could construct itself, a bit like the visions of the future he had prior…and most importantly, to choose which of those possible outcomes would become reality. In that instant, the swirling motes of Reishi snapped into focus—not as raw material to be molded, but as threads of fate awaiting his command.
Options of reality manifested before him, ways the future could unfold, like grains of sand, both close and distant, Alwyn stood silent in the Oasis clearing, the motes of Reishi suddenly still around him. Before, they had been raw material—now he saw them as countless threads of possibility, each waiting to be woven into reality.
He raised his hand and willed one strand forward. Instantly, it solidified into a simple staff made of reishi—one possible version of what he might have made. He let it dissolve, then reached again, this time forging a slender reishi blade with obsidian like properties. The world shimmered, and he found himself holding a knife. He tested the blade's edge against a fallen log. It bit cleanly through. Alwyn's pulse raced—every cut, every shape now lay under his thumb. But power without purpose was hollow.
Beyond the trees came a distant roar: an Infernal—Alwyn's blade flicked into existence, but with it came a flash of futures. In one, the monster overwhelmed him; in another, he ducked and vanished; in a third, he plunged the blade into its flank and watched its flame die.
His breath caught. the option chosen.
He willed the third outcome. The world slowed—a single heartbeat stretched—and the knife in his hand bloomed into a spear. He slashed downward in a fast, fluid motion.
The Infernal's shriek echoed as his spear struck true, quenching its fiery life mid-roar. The grove fell silent once more, the creature's embers collapsing and dying on the ground. Then a wisp of black, Reishi-like mist drifted through the spot where the Infernal had stood, swirling briefly before vanishing—revealing a woman suspended in midair, her only form... a body woven entirely from solidified Reishi, the remnant of a soul, he could tell though... she would dissolve herself in a minute if he remained there and did nothing, so he decided to use his future related powers on her, selecting a timeline where her soul would have 5 minutes before dissolving.
Alwyn sank to one knee, the spear dissolving into reishi. This power… this gift or curse… He touched his temple, still feeling the pulse of countless futures, the extended use of...The Almighty—that was what it was. It was incredibly challenging for now, but something told him that once he grew stronger, it would become far easier. After a couple of seconds, the woman started floating to him, his will commanding her soul, he started observing it, her memories, her life, but there were two things, two points in her soul that contrasted themselves, one point was a beasts will, the other was human, an unbroken speck of humanity remaining after hundreds of years of suffering... it seemed that the speck of humanity was... emotions, records of the life before infernalization, dreams, the human part was blooming, like a flower in summer, he guessed the black reishi was the one keeping the human part suppressed and soul and body together and now thanks to its dissolution, the soul that now was tied to the body was collapsing since the body was now absent, seeing this, he focused on the reishi in the air and pulled it towards him, using it to solidify the walls of his mind, reinforcing the brain tissue and dampening the pain signals to reduce the splitting headache, then he reactivated The Almighty and in between all of the futures he saw, one... a single path, one outcome where she would not dissolve, one where she could live, he put his hand on her chest and selected it, instead of saving her in the conventional sense, he amplified the beastly part of her soul , then he kept the human part safe whit his own soul, with all of this happening, she started evolving, first a skull appeared in front of her face, then with the skull from her body darkness arose while a white substance arose from her eyes and her mouth, she was starting to transform into a..."a hollow" said a whisper in the back of his head, then without hesitating, he created a small knife made of reishi and cut himself on the wrist, making a big enough wound to draw blood out from but small enough that some localized reishi application could heal it, with the blood on his knife he stabbed her in the neck, the knife dissolved, it wasn't a conventional stab, his blood and the reishi permeated the soul he manipulated it to evolve further, he wasn't suppressing the hollow but giving it form, using the human side of her soul to give it: purpose, memories, and most importantly using the inherit power of his soul: "reiryoku" said the voice, in conjunction with the reishi in the area to power the transformation and the formation of her body, his blood, was not only doing that but adding to the mix a speck of his will, something that a normal hollow should not have, then once there was enough energy, he took of the arm on her chest to put on her head, then once the hollow was almost finished forming, using the reiryoku from his blood he applied a letter to her soul:
Letter: S – Der Schöpfung ("TheCreation")
Her mask cracked—fragments dissolving like sand—revealing her face. Her eyes opened slowly, glowing faintly. She was no longer Hollow. Nor a pure Quincy. Her soul now followed a new architecture. "An Arrancar hybrid bearing Quincy essence...interesting." this time the voice was louder, thanks to the nature of her shrift, she was able do unconsciously construct herself a new body, but he did not care for now he was almost on the verge of fainting;
Then—movement in his periphery. Figures stepping from the forest, cloaked in white robes. White-Clad. Their leader raised a hand, and Alwyn realized he was not alone in the Oasis. He had already seen them, their sins and mistakes, while he was tired he used his power to send a compulsion with the soul link of the woman, a compulsion to protect them, to not trust the white clad, then he used his power to send her images of their true objective...
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Selene's P.O.V
Chapter One: Foundations of a Sculptress
I wake before dawn to the soft glow of Shanghai's skyline, its million lights pulsing like constellations just beyond my window. My small apartment is cold, save for the hum of the electric heater and the stacks of blueprints piled on my desk. I pull on my favorite hoodie—printed with a dozen anime emblems—and pad across the concrete floor to the kettle. One hand cradles the steaming mug, the other brushes absent-mindedly against the locket at my throat: my sister's photo inside.
At the engineering firm where I'm the lone foreign specialist, I'm known as the quiet prodigy from Europe—introverted, impeccably precise, always a half-step behind a polite nod when spoken to. They pay me well because I can reverse-engineer any structure from memory and refine ancient Chinese designs with digital precision. I love the work: tracing each beam and joint in my mind, cataloging their stress points and load-distributions. But each paycheck—so much more than I ever earned back home—carries a heavier weight than success: it buys new treatments, new tests, new hope for my sister's failing heart.
Between CAD models and code-tight schedules, I escape into late-night anime marathons, subtitles flickering across my second screen. Bleach, Naruto... I watch them all, no matter the anime or manga, I marvel at heroes who reshape their worlds with a single spark of will, unaware that I share their secret wish: to engineer reality, to protect the ones I love. My colleagues think I study historical scrolls; few know the notebooks in my bag hold sketches of mechanical limbs, arcane runes, even entire floating citadels—engineering concepts for worlds I'll never build, unless fate allows.
Still, I keep my distance. At lunch, I sit at the window with my bento, tracing the river's flow instead of joining the chatter. In the evenings, I read my sister's messages—her courage spiking through every "I miss you" and "stay safe"—and store the dates of her next appointments in my mind as obsessively as I store the load-calculations of a thousand bridges.
Tonight, as rain taps the glass, I finish a final drawing: a compact centrifuge for the new compound her doctors hope can stabilize her. I press "send" on the encrypted email to my contact back home. The hum of the dataline feels like a promise. One day soon, I'll return to her—wealthy, powerful, and still that same quiet engineer.
But in this city of steel and light, I sense something shifting. carefully ordered life may not hold. And when it cracks, I will discover just how far my designs can reach.
I didn't know then that this would be my last night… for tomorrow the world would crumble, and I would burn away with it.
A tremor in my soul—unreadable by any calculation—warning me that the foundation beneath my I awaken to a rush of cold air and sunlight filtering through dripping leaves. My first sensation is weightlessness—no, a strange density—like every atom in my body has just found its place. I hang in the cave's mouth, breathless, my skin humming with unfamiliar power.
Below me, he knelt on one knee—pale, gaunt, and trembling. The spear he had forged to kill me was gone, leaving only dust on mossy ground. Behind him, closing in at the caves entrance, shadows shifted: figures in white robes glided forward, silent and deliberate. The White-Clad.
Instinct trembled in my bones, the craving to tear them apart. Immediately images of events that have yet to happen flood my mind, all the needless death, the self destructing force these people represent is revolting. But something tells me not to do that, to escape, an instinct
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
(A/U) This is a side project of mine if you wish for another chapter donate stoones ,Percy jackson fic will return on september and there'll be another major project coming too, hoped you like this chapter, personally the world of fire force always fascinated me and i want to explore it further,
Stay awesome!! bye