By the time the sun dipped low enough to stretch shadows across the living room floor, I had already learned something important about worlds.
They don't stay quiet once they notice you.
Kristina was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her back straight, eyes closed like she was pretending to meditate—but I knew better. Her fingers twitched every few seconds, like she was holding onto something invisible.
"You're doing it again," I said.
She didn't open her eyes. "Doing what?"
"The thing. The… twitchy thing."
Kristina sighed and finally looked at me. "I'm listening."
"To what?" I asked.
She hesitated. That pause was new. Kristina used to answer everything fast, like the world itself was scared to interrupt her thoughts.
"To the other place," she said quietly. "It's louder today."
I didn't laugh. I didn't joke. Not anymore.
Because I heard it too.
At first, I thought it was just the house settling—the soft groan of old wood, the hum of electricity. But beneath that was something else. A rhythm. Like a heartbeat that didn't belong to anyone in the room.
Mom was in the kitchen, pretending not to watch us while very obviously watching us. Grandma sat near the window, hands folded, eyes sharp in that way that made it feel like she saw more than she said.
"Don't push yourselves," Grandma said suddenly.
Kristina and I both froze.
Mom turned around. "Ma."
"I mean it," Grandma continued. "The world on the other side doesn't like being stared at too long. It starts staring back."
That did it.
I stood up. "Okay. You've been saying stuff like that for weeks now. I need answers."
The room went quiet.
Grandma looked at Mom. Mom looked at the floor.
Kristina looked at me.
"You know," Kristina said softly. "You just don't want to say it out loud."
I swallowed.
"We're not pretending anymore," I said. "Are we?"
Grandma shook her head once. Slow. Final. "No, baby. You haven't been pretending for a long time."
The air felt heavier after that, like the truth had weight.
Mom finally spoke. "There are places layered on top of this world. Not separate. Not imaginary. Just… unseen. Most people pass through life without ever touching them."
"And us?" I asked.
Grandma smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "The Bouie bloodline doesn't pass by doors. It opens them."
Something deep in my chest reacted to that sentence. A pull. A pressure.
Kristina winced suddenly, her hand going to her head.
"Kris?" I rushed over.
"I'm fine," she said quickly—but her voice shook. "It's just… louder again."
That's when I felt it.
The room shimmered.
Not like light. Like meaning.
The walls blurred, just for a second, and behind them I saw something else—tall shapes, broken skies, structures that looked like forts built from belief instead of wood or stone.
I stumbled back. "I saw it."
Mom's face went pale. "Already?"
Grandma stood. "Then it's begun."
Outside, the wind picked up, even though the trees barely moved. Somewhere far away—not in distance, but in depth—something shifted.
In another world.
In many worlds.
Far from Earth, in a realm shaped by conquest and imagination twisted into cruelty, Malachor stood before his generals.
They knelt, armored in forms that reflected their rank—some wore shadows like cloaks, others bore living sigils etched into their skin.
"The children have awakened," one general said.
Malachor's lips curved slightly. "I know."
"You placed the seed," another said. "The curse. It stirs."
"Yes," Malachor replied calmly. "But not yet. A slow burn. Fear ripens power."
"And the boy?" a third asked. "Kristopher Bouie."
Malachor turned toward a vast mirror made of fractured realities. In it, my face flickered for half a second before vanishing.
"He is not the threat they think," Malachor said.
The generals nodded.
That was his mistake.
Back in our living room, Grandma pressed a hand to the floor. Symbols flared faintly beneath her palm, old and patient.
"There are five major worlds," she said. "Earth is only one. The others are shaped by imagination given form. Build enough belief, and you can enter them."
Kristina frowned. "Like… forts?"
Grandma smiled. "Exactly like forts. But not just any fort. A true one. Built with intention."
I laughed weakly. "So all those times we played—"
"Training," Grandma finished.
Kristina looked at me, eyes wide. "We were training?"
Mom nodded. "Without knowing it."
Kristina suddenly grabbed my arm. Hard.
"Kris," I said. "You're hurting me."
"I know," she whispered. "I just… don't forget this moment, okay?"
A chill ran through me. "Why would you say that?"
She forced a smile. "No reason."
But the world pulsed again, and somewhere far away, chains tightened just a little.
I didn't know it yet, but this chapter of our lives—the one where everything still felt almost normal—was already closing.
And the worlds were watching.
Waiting.
For us to take our next step.