The first thing Mae felt was softness. Not stone. Not cold metal. Not a dirt floor, not the sting of chains. Warm. Soft. Quiet. Her lashes fluttered. Her body felt like lead. Her breath dragged in slow, ragged. Chest heavy. Limbs heavier. Where am I? The ceiling wasn't warped. No twisting lines. No broken sky bleeding through the walls. Smooth. Clean. Whole. Her heart stuttered. Panic surged. Her hands jerked, cuffed? No. Her wrists were free. Her fingers trembled against soft bedding.
No, no, what happened. where, the memories surged fast, too fast. The fracture. The world bending. Riven's voice pushing her, daring her. The pull. The change. The snap. Mae jolted upright with a sharp gasp, hands clawing at the blanket like it might hold her in place. Her breath ragged, eyes wide. No. I broke it. I did something wrong. I always. "Mae!" Riven's voice hit the air like a shot, sharp but relieved, half panic, half joy.
She flinched back as his boots skidded across the floor, crashing toward her. His hands hovered near her shoulders, not touching, just there. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. You're okay." His grin was wide but tense, like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You're awake. You, void, you're awake." Footsteps thundered behind him.
Lucien shoved through the door next, wide-eyed. "She's up?"
Kaine followed, arms crossed but his steps quick, agitated. "Finally." Sethis right behind them, leaning against the doorframe but watching, closer than he ever had before. Mae shrank back, hands curling around the blanket. Her chest heaved. Her throat burned. "No, I, I broke, I did something. I-"
"Stop." Riven's voice cut sharp but not cruel. "Mae. Listen." His hands dropped to his knees, bending closer, putting himself lower than her, softer. "No one's mad. No one's scared of you. You, you didn't break anything." Lucien nodded slowly, carefully. "I's, it's fixed, Mae. Whatever the hell happened out there, it didn't break. You didn't break it." Kaine grumbled under his breath. "Yeah. Somehow, you fixed it."
Her hands trembled harder. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her breath shook, ragged. Her chest tightened until it hurt. No. That's not right. That's not how this works. Nothing ever gets better. I break things. I ruin things. Why isn't it broken? Her fingers clenched, pulling the blanket tighter against her chest until the fabric bit her skin. Her vision blurred, something hot stinging behind her eyes, no, no not this, not here, not in front of them. And then it cracked.
A sob. Quiet. Shaky. Then another. No. No. No, not in front of them. But it came anyway. Not violent. Not messy. Just, soft. Raw. Tears welled and fell. Silent but unstoppable. Riven's smile dropped, not gone, just softened. His hand finally lifted, slowly, giving her space to pull away, but when she didn't, he brushed knuckles against her shoulder, gentle. "It's okay," he said quietly. "It's okay, chaos bomb. Let it go. You earned it."
Lucien leaned against the wall, arms crossed but not tense. Sethis looked away, not out of rejection, but like he was giving her privacy. Kaine shifted, jaw tight, hands stuffed in his pockets, awkward but there. Ashar never came. Of course he didn't.
And maybe... maybe that made it easier to fall apart. Mae buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. For the first time in her life. She cried.
Not because something was broken. Not because it was her fault. Not because she was hurt. She cried because, for the first time, something didn't go wrong.
--Riven's thought's--
Riven sat back on his heels, fingers laced behind his neck, staring at her. Mae. A tiny thing. All sharp edges and trembling hands. Face buried in her palms like if she couldn't see the world, maybe the world wouldn't see her. But there she was.
Breathing. Alive. And still her. Even after everything. A shaky breath rattled out of him, rougher than he meant. His usual grin faded, slipping somewhere behind the walls he rarely let drop.
What the hell are we doing. His eyes drifted toward the others. Kaine, pacing like a caged animal. Half ready to fight. Half ready to bolt. Lucien, leaning silent, thoughtful, but uncertain. Sethis, watching but guarded, calculating all the outcomes no one wanted to speak aloud. And Ashar, not here. Yeah. His chest pulled tight. Not a surprise. Ash always knew when distance was safer. Safer for her. Safer for himself. Safer for all of them.
Riven swallowed hard, his throat dry. Void help me. I almost agreed with Kaine.
Almost. The memory of it sat bitter in the back of his mind. That flicker of doubt. That split-second moment at the edge of the fracture, watching the world twist in her hands, watching the planet itself breathe for the first time in an eternity. Is this a death sentence? For her. For them. For reality. Or. His gaze flicked back to Mae.
Or is this the one impossible shot at undoing everything that broke? Galaxies, plural, on the edge of collapse. Civilizations that had long given up. The fracture had destroyed more than just planets. It destroyed hope. And yet. There she is. Alive. Small. Crying.
And she doesn't even know. She doesn't realize that sitting right here in front of him is the thing every empire in the sky would kill for, or kill to stop. Not just the key to healing this world.
But maybe, maybe even the key to saving Ash. His throat tightened at that.
Ash. His brother, not by blood, but something deeper. Older. Bound by the kind of loyalty that didn't come with words. The last. The last of his kind. A ghost walking in a dead man's skin for centuries, trapped in a broken reality with no home left to return to. And now. now there's a chance. A real one. Not just to survive. But to restore. To bring back what was lost. To fix what the fracture took.
But Void, at what cost? Riven dragged a hand down his face. His other hand drifted out, hovering near Mae's shoulder but not touching, afraid she'd shatter again if he did. His mouth tugged into a half-smile, soft, almost sad. "Little chaos bomb."
It used to be a joke. A jab. A way to needle her when she stumbled through things that made no sense. But now. Now it means something else entirely. A chaos bomb that didn't destroy, but rewrote. Not a weapon. A reset. A heartbeat where the universe had flatlined. Small. Fragile. Terrifying. Beautiful. And every power in existence would want her dead for it. His hand dropped back to his knee, fingers tapping nervously. We're already past the point of no return.
There was no walking away. No pretending this didn't happen. His eyes softened. His chest ached. You don't even know what you are yet. But I do. A slow exhale slipped past his lips. And for whatever it's worth, I've got you, chaos bomb. We all do. Even if it kills us.