He recognized this voice. Not the Watcher. Not an anchor. Something older. Something deeper. The Will itself—raw, unfiltered, speaking directly because the world was unstable enough to let it bleed through.
RETURN THE THREAD. RESTORE ORDER.
Cain stared at the dying anchor. "If I do that, I disappear."
YOU FULFILL YOUR DESIGN.
He shook his head. "Same thing."
The force behind the voice intensified. The grass flattened. The clouds convulsed. The anchor creature cracked at the torso, splitting nearly in half.
The Will pressed harder.
THE WORLD FRACTURES AROUND YOU. YOU CANNOT HOLD IT TOGETHER.
Cain snapped back, "Then I'll hold the parts that matter."
YOU CANNOT—
"Watch me."
He grabbed the anchor's arm. The moment he did, the creature froze, as if stunned by the contact. Cain felt energy surge up his arm, icy and hot at the same time, like trying to grip lightning.
He held on anyway.
The Will roared through him, furious, vast, impossible to fully grasp.
