POV: Meher
Reality shouldn't make noise.
And yet — it does.
A low, static hum ripples through the air like the world is buffering.
The first sign something's wrong isn't the lights flickering.It isn't the tremor under the floor.It isn't even the Vault alarms screaming like the universe is on fire.
It's Zareen whispering:
"…oh no."
That woman only panics when consequences finally cash their invoices.
Kiyan shifts beside me — posture locked, jaw tight, scanning the room like he expects an enemy to drop from the ceiling.
Avni doesn't move.
Her eyes are fixed on the center of the Vault — where Aarav and Nivaan stand, connected to the Core.
Their hands are clasped.
Their expressions?
Calm.
Too calm.
That's never good.
A pulse blasts from the Core — light surging through the room like a camera flash from God.
The world glitches.
Literally.
The walls flicker.
The floor melts — then snaps back.
My breath catches.
For a split second — I'm not in the Vault.
I'm in a train station.
Crowded. Loud. Someone crying. Someone laughing. A dog barking. A train departing.
Then — blink — I'm back.
"What the—"
Before I finish, the room shifts again.
This time, I'm standing in snow.
A blizzard.
Something metal crashes in the distance.
Something burning screams.
Another blink.
Back in the Vault.
My knees nearly give out.
Zareen grabs the wall, eyes wide and furious:
"The Sync is destabilizing the timeline."
Avni's voice is sharp, controlled, deadly:
"How bad?"
Zareen swallows.
"…reality is losing its anchor."
Great.
Fantastic.
Amazing.
We're dying in 4K high resolution chaos.
Static fills the air — not sound, but sensation.
My brain stutters.
My heartbeat skips.
The Core pulses again, harder.
Aarav's body jerks — but he doesn't let go.
Nivaan grits his teeth, eyes squeezed shut — like holding the system together is physically tearing him open.
"—stop—" Aarav mutters under his breath.
Not to us.
To reality.
To the system.
To everything.
But the universe isn't listening.
The Vault dissolves again—this time replaced by a black ocean under a blood-red sky.
Waves hit the ground where walls should be.
Something moves in the water.
Something… old.
Kiyan steps in front of me instinctively — because apparently his default mode is "human firewall."
Then — the glitch snaps back.
We're in the Vault again.
Except—
Not everything returned.
Half the room is missing.
Not broken.
Not destroyed.
Deleted.
A glitching void sits where machinery once stood — pixels flickering at the edges like reality itself is lagging.
Avni whispers:
"This isn't a sync."
Zareen finishes:
"It's a collapse."
A shudder rolls through the world — not in the room.
In existence.
Aarav gasps — finally reacting — and his voice comes out layered.
Two tones.
Two identities.
Two timelines.
"We need to stabilize the anchor."
Nivaan responds through clenched teeth:
"We don't have one."
Aarav opens his eyes — and for the first time since he returned… he looks afraid.
"But we can make one."
His gaze snaps to us — sharp, decisive.
To Avni.
Then Kiyan.
Then me.
And when his eyes stop on Zareen — everything clicks.
She goes pale.
"…no."
Aarav's voice is steady.
"You carry the memory thread from the original timeline."
She shakes her head.
"I can't—"
"You must."
"We don't know—"
"No one knows," Aarav cuts in."That's what makes it an anchor."
The world flickers again — half snowstorm, half void, half Vault — yes, reality is now ignoring math.
Zareen breathes once.
A shaky, resigned inhale.
Then she steps forward — placing her hand beside theirs on the Core.
The system reacts instantly.
Color floods the Vault.
Not normal color.
Data color.
Timelines.
Memories.
Options.
Lives.
Like someone projected the universe through stained glass and cracked screens.
Aarav speaks — low, clear, commanding:
"On the count of three."
Nivaan echoes:
"One."
Zareen closes her eyes.
"Two."
The world holds its breath.
Aarav whispers—
"Three."
They activate the Core.
And everything — time, memory, identity — shatters.
Not breaks.
Not explodes.
Splits.
Like a mirror hit by fate.
And we fall — not physically — but through timelines, futures, versions of ourselves that never existed and always did.
My last thought before the world tears itself apart:
This wasn't a glitch.This was a warning.