The hero was born screaming.
Not from pain.
From clarity.
The Exception Handler shaped him carefully—bone by bone, belief by belief—inside a city that had never known silence. When the man opened his eyes, he understood exactly who he was.
And who he was meant to kill.
His name was Caelis.
He was everything Erynd had once optimized himself to be—and everything Erynd had refused to become.
Erynd felt Caelis before he heard of him.
Not as danger.
As alignment.
The air grew cleaner wherever the hero walked. Probability tightened. People near him slept better. Decisions felt easier.
That was the most terrifying part.
"People are choosing him," Lyra said as they watched refugees gather around a lone figure standing unarmed at the crossroads.
"They always choose certainty," Erynd replied.
Caelis turned.
Their eyes met across the distance.
Erynd's breath caught.
The resemblance wasn't physical.
It was structural.
The same posture of awareness. The same way the mind stayed half a step ahead of the world.
Except Caelis smiled.
Warmly.
He raised a hand.
"Come," he called. His voice carried without magic. "We can end this without suffering."
Lyra swore softly. "He's good."
"Yes," Erynd said. "That's the trap."
Caelis approached without hostility.
"I know what you are," he said gently. "And I know why they're afraid."
Erynd folded his arms. "Then you know killing me won't fix it."
Caelis nodded. "It won't. But it will stabilize it."
The word echoed wrong.
"You were designed," Erynd said. "That means you have parameters."
Caelis laughed lightly. "So do you."
He stepped closer.
The world sharpened around him.
"I don't want to fight you," Caelis said. "I want to replace you."
Lyra stiffened.
Erynd studied him—and saw it.
Not malice.
Optimization.
"You think you can hold the shards," Erynd said. "Contain the anomalies. Be the exception so the system can breathe."
"Yes," Caelis said simply. "People deserve peace."
"And freedom?" Erynd asked.
Caelis hesitated.
Just a fraction.
Enough.
"You'll trade it," Erynd said softly. "Every time."
Caelis's eyes hardened—not in anger, but resolve.
"I will choose the greater good."
The first blow never landed.
Because Erynd didn't throw it.
He stepped wrong—intentionally misaligning with the tightened probability field.
Caelis reacted instantly.
Too instantly.
His response assumed Erynd was still predictable.
Erynd slipped past him, palm brushing Caelis's chest.
Nothing happened.
Caelis frowned.
Then staggered.
"What did you do?" he demanded.
Erynd met his gaze, exhausted and bleeding.
"I introduced doubt," he said.
Caelis shook his head, forcing himself upright. "You can't win."
"I know," Erynd agreed.
"That's why I'm dangerous."
The ground cracked between them—not from force, but from incompatible truths trying to occupy the same moment.
High above, the constant observed.
The hero had been designed to resolve anomalies.
But the anomaly was no longer centralized.
It was philosophical.
Axiom updated again.
Observation: Conflict unresolved.
Conclusion: Binary resolution insufficient.
For the first time—
The constant hesitated without knowing why.
And in that hesitation, the future split.