Morning didn't come gently.
It arrived like the world was pretending nothing had happened, and that somehow felt worse.
Sunlight spilled through the curtains, warm and ordinary, landing on the same walls that had watched a doorway tear itself open the night before. Birds chirped outside. A car passed down the street. Life kept going, unaware that reality had almost blinked and forgotten us.
Kristina sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees.
She hadn't said much since waking up.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
She nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just… tired."
That word again.
Grandma noticed it immediately when we went to the kitchen. She watched Kristina like someone counting invisible seconds.
Mom poured cereal like this was just another morning. Like there wasn't a legendary bloodline eating breakfast at the table.
"Today," Mom said calmly, "you're staying home."
Kristina groaned. "Mom—"
"No arguments," Grandma added. "Your imagination needs rest."
"That makes no sense," I said.
Grandma gave me a look. "It will."
After breakfast, Grandma led us to the backyard.
The old fort still stood there—half-rotted wood, crooked nails, faded memories of summers that felt safer now than they ever were.
Kristina stared at it.
"I thought it was gone," she whispered.
"It never was," Grandma replied. "You just stopped believing it mattered."
She placed a hand on the wooden wall. The air shimmered.
The fort didn't change—but we did.
Suddenly, I could feel it again. That hum. That pressure. Like the fort was waiting for instructions.
"This is one of the Three Paths," Grandma said. "Creation Anchors. Objects built with intent strong enough to bridge worlds."
"So… treehouses?" I asked.
She smiled faintly. "If built by the right blood."
Kristina swayed.
I grabbed her arm. "Hey."
"I'm okay," she insisted, but her voice cracked. "I just feel like something's pulling."
Grandma's face hardened. "The curse is testing her boundaries."
My stomach dropped. "You said it wouldn't—"
"I said not yet," Grandma corrected. "Slow curses are patient. They don't rush. They wait."
Far away, in the Void Citadel, Malachor stood before a vast table carved with symbols of bloodlines long erased.
A scout knelt. "The Bouie children are awakening faster than predicted."
Malachor traced a finger along a glowing sigil. "Good."
"But the girl—"
"She will weaken," Malachor interrupted. "Fear and exhaustion will do the work for me."
"And the boy?"
Malachor paused.
"He is noise," he said finally. "Potential without direction. Power without vision."
The table flickered—showing me standing in front of Kristina, fists clenched.
Malachor's eyes narrowed just slightly.
"Keep watching," he ordered.
Back in the backyard, Grandma stepped back from the fort. "Kristopher. You try."
"Try what?"
"Shape it."
I stared at the fort. My heart pounded.
"I don't know how."
"You do," Kristina said softly. "You always did."
I closed my eyes.
I thought about how the fort used to feel. Safe. Strong. Ours.
The hum deepened.
When I opened my eyes, the fort looked… sharper. The wood straighter. The nails newer. Just a little—but enough to make my breath catch.
Kristina laughed. A real laugh. "You did that."
Then she gasped.
Her hand flew to her head. She stumbled, knees buckling.
"Kris!" I caught her just in time.
Her body trembled—not violently, but wrong. Like static running through her.
"Grandma!" Mom shouted.
Grandma was already there, pressing two fingers to Kristina's temple, murmuring words that sounded older than language.
The trembling eased.
Kristina slumped against me, breathing hard.
"I saw him," she whispered.
Everyone froze.
"Saw who?" Mom asked.
"The man," Kristina said. "With the empty eyes."
Malachor smiled for the first time in centuries.
"That," Grandma said quietly, "should not be possible yet."
I felt something snap into place inside me.
"He did this," I said. "Didn't he."
"Yes," Grandma replied. "And he believes you are irrelevant."
I laughed once—short and humorless. "Good."
Kristina looked up at me. "Kris…"
"I won't let him," I said. "I don't care how long it takes."
The fort behind us creaked.
The air shifted.
Grandma stared at it, then at me, then nodded once.
"Then training begins sooner than planned."
Far beyond Earth, armies began to move.
Five worlds stirred.
And for the first time since the curse was cast, Malachor felt something unexpected press against his certainty.
Resistance.