The tower's pulse had quieted, but the city hadn't. Daevara vibrated like a living wound, its streets breathing in the aftermath of creation. Aric felt it every time he moved—threads of dread and wonder coiling around him, feeding the thing that had begun to grow inside his chest.
Kairos monitored him from within, voice flat to hide its unease. "Residual power levels declining. Emotional reserves: sixty-two percent. Recommendation—rest and recalibration."
"I don't sleep when the world's changing," Aric said. The wind scattered ash through the tower's broken doorway. Beyond it lay the city's heart, divided by shadow into districts of ruin. "You said fear is the strongest source. I want to see how strong."
"Sector Nine meets that criterion," Kairos replied. "Population evacuated decades ago. Persistent haunt phenomena."
He descended the stair of light. Every step whispered against his boots, the sound of something alive that pretended to be stone. The further he went, the more he felt the pulse of Daevara's fear calling to him—a rhythm that matched his own heartbeat.
The air thickened when he reached street level. A fog rolled in from the east, carrying the scent of salt and electricity. Buildings leaned together like conspirators, their windows dark with condensation. Somewhere inside those walls, the city remembered pain.
He moved without stealth. Fear fed on awareness; the more the ghosts knew he was there, the stronger they would become. That was what he needed. He walked into the mist until even the tower's glow vanished behind him.
The first whisper came from above: a single word spoken backwards. The second came from the ground, voices tumbling over each other, hundreds of them repeating his name. Aric stopped, tilted his head.
"I'm listening," he said softly. "Show me what you're made of."
The fog rippled. From it emerged shapes—children's outlines, soldiers, faces without mouths. Their eyes glimmered faintly blue, bright with terror. Each step they took left shadows behind that didn't fade.
Kairos hissed in his mind. "Spirits multiply by reflection. Do not engage—"
But he was already raising his hand. Threads of silver unfurled from his fingertips. He caught the nearest spirit by the chest. Its fear rushed into him, raw and cold, and the thrill was immediate—ecstasy edged with nausea. The more he drew, the more the shape shrank until it burst like smoke.
The others shrieked. They lunged. Aric spread his arms and welcomed them. Fear poured in—images of drowning, fire, loss, every nightmare that had birthed this city. He devoured it all, his veins burning with their anguish.
For a while there was no sound except his breath and the low chant of power filling him. Then the rhythm changed. The fear didn't break apart as before; it thickened, refusing to dissolve. His skin iced over. Inside his skull, something laughed.
"Architect!" Kairos's tone spiked. "You're exceeding tolerance! Neural feedback critical—"
He couldn't answer. The emotion had become substance, pressing against his lungs, crawling under his ribs. He saw flashes of himself in the spirits' eyes: a man made of their terror, smiling with their mouths. For the first time since awakening, he felt afraid—and the fear looped back, feeding itself.
The world folded. Light bent around him, streets twisting into a spiral. He fell through them, crashing into a room that smelled of dust and metal. The walls here were covered in mirrored glass, each pane reflecting a different moment: his hand striking, his eyes hollow, his body glowing with stolen power.
He tried to stand but the reflections moved independently, laughing in distorted tones. They began to peel from the glass, stepping into the room as living copies, each one carrying a different fragment of him—rage, guilt, desire, indifference.
Kairos's voice fought through the static. "This is a Fear Loop. Terminate the Simulation!"
Aric's throat was dry. "No… I can break it."
He reached for the nearest double—its expression serene, almost kind. When he touched it, pain screamed through him. Every fragment connected; his memories detonated. He saw Eira's smile, the circle of light, the faces of the spirits he'd consumed—all collapsing inward.
You cannot devour fear without becoming it.
The whisper wasn't Kairos this time. It was hers. The room pulsed once, then burst outward into the open air. He was on his knees in the street again, rain hammering down. The fog had cleared, but the fear remained inside him, restless, growing teeth.
Kairos's voice steadied, clipped. "You almost died."
Aric wiped water—or sweat—from his face. "Almost. But look."
He raised his hand. A faint aura bled from his palm, black edged with silver. The colour of terror converted to strength. The air around it quivered. He smiled, exhausted. "Now I know how to feed this world."
"At what cost?"
"The same cost as every creation," he murmured. "Someone has to feel it."
Lightning illuminated the sector. The buildings' faces shifted, watching him with new recognition. He stood slowly, every muscle trembling, and walked back toward the tower's direction. Behind him, the fog began to move again, following—not as threat, but as leash.
Kairos said nothing more. The silence between them was full of heartbeats that didn't belong to either of them.
He didn't remember the walk back to the tower, only the echo of thunder pacing him. The streets seemed to part of their own accord, as though the city had learned to fear him too. Windows sealed, doors fused, even the wind changed direction. What had once been a living wound now recoiled from its surgeon.
At the tower's base he stopped. The stone skin of the structure was damp with condensation; rivulets of water slid down it like veins. Every droplet reflected light from his aura, a faint pulse of black-silver that flared with each heartbeat. He watched it for a long moment, wondering whether he was watching himself dissolve or harden.
"Architect," Kairos said at last, "your vitals have stabilised, but residual fear signatures remain active. You are carrying them."
Aric smiled faintly. "Maybe they're carrying me."
He pressed his palm against the wall. The tower opened, soundless. Inside, the air tasted of ozone and new storms. The circle he had burned into the floor during his first Simulation still glowed dimly, like an eye half-closed. He stepped into its centre, the pulse of the city fading until only his own breath remained.
"Let's test it," he said.
"You mean purge it."
"No. Harness it."
Fear was still inside him, coiled and trembling. He called to it, shaping it with thought, giving it geometry. The air responded, folding around him in arcs of light that glimmered and bent. For a heartbeat, he felt the edges of every reflection that had attacked him in the loop. Now they obeyed.
The shapes took form—three pale figures woven from shadow and mist. Their eyes were hollow, their outlines cracked, but they stood waiting, poised like soldiers. Aric studied them with the fascination of a craftsman.
"Perfect," he said softly. "They remember what I feared most, and they still kneel."
Kairos's tone sharpened. "These are not tools. They are echoes of trauma. Release them."
He turned his head, voice calm. "They're prototypes. Each one carries a fragment of my emotion. If I can control myself, I can control them."
"And if you fail?"
"Then you'll learn how to bury a god."
He lifted a hand. The first echo moved, mimicking his gesture. The second followed, slightly delayed. The third twitched as though resisting, a shadow struggling against the string. He felt its defiance—a spark of independent will—and instead of destroying it, he smiled.
"Keep that," he whispered to the shade. "Every creation needs rebellion."
The tower's pulse deepened. The light above dimmed until only the circle beneath him glowed. In that faint radiance, Eira's silhouette appeared again—half inside the world, half within him. Her voice threaded through the hum.
You're feeding it wrong. Fear isn't a weapon; it's a door.
He froze. "Then show me how to open it."
Her outline flickered closer, hand brushing his cheek. The touch was like static and rain. Not yet, she whispered. When you're ready to be afraid again.
Then she was gone.
Kairos spoke carefully. "The anomaly is becoming more frequent. If it evolves, you may lose system control."
"I won't," Aric said. "She wants me alive. She wants the world alive."
"You cannot know that."
He didn't answer. The fear-constructs shimmered, dissolving into dust that spun around him like a crown. He inhaled the fragments; they sank into his blood, steadying the tremor in his hands. A strange calm followed—a cold, steady clarity that tasted of iron and resolve.
Outside, the rain thickened. Lightning climbed the sky in slow motion, illuminating the entire district. Daevara's citizens—those who still survived—looked toward the tower and saw it breathe. They fell to their knees, unsure whether in worship or terror.
In the Council's chambers, alarms began to wail. The chancellors stood before the central mirror where Aric's image flickered, distorted but unmistakable. "The Architect lives," one whispered. "And he feeds."
Within the tower, Kairos registered the spike in external surveillance. "They are coming. Enforcement units dispatched. Estimated arrival: three hours."
"Plenty of time," Aric murmured. "Let them watch. Let them see what fear becomes when it's used properly."
He spread his arms. The circle reignited, black-silver fire racing through its runes. The floor opened into a descending spiral of light. Below, new simulations formed—fields of glass, endless corridors, sky-cities waiting for command. Each glowed faintly with the emotions he had stolen.
He stepped toward the edge. Kairos hesitated. "If you descend, containment is impossible."
"I'm not looking for containment."
"Then for what?"
Aric smiled, the kind that chilled even the machine. "Proof."
He dropped into the light. It caught him, wrapped him in heat, and carried him downward through layers of trembling data. The sensation was weightless, almost gentle. For a moment he remembered falling once before—from a chair, from a world, from a life—and laughed under his breath.
When the light released him, he stood in another world entirely: an empty expanse where the ground was made of fractured mirrors reflecting a thousand versions of his face. The air smelled faintly of rain and memory. Overhead hung a sun the colour of bruised gold. This was his Simulation, built from fear and fuelled by what he had taken.
He knelt, pressed his palm to the glass, and whispered a single command. The surface rippled outward, forming paths and structures, each built from a single heartbeat of terror. Mountains rose, oceans quivered, stars blinked into place. The world trembled—and then it lived.
Kairos's voice followed him down, softer now, almost reverent. "You have done it, Architect. You have made fear into life."
Aric straightened, eyes reflecting the new sky. "No," he said quietly. "I've made it into truth."
The wind rose, carrying the echo of distant laughter that might have been Eira's, or the city's, or his own. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the power thrumming under his skin, the knowledge that every trembling thing in this world would now answer to him.
He looked up at the horizon where darkness gathered like ink. "Let's see who fears whom," he whispered, and began to walk.