Elias Rowen discovered two important truths within the first hour of his awakening.
First: punching a concrete wall while emotionally unstable was a terrible idea.
Second: concrete lost.
He stared at the crater his fist had left in the alley wall, flexing his fingers slowly. Not a scratch. Not even soreness. The faint starlight beneath his skin pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, like the universe itself had decided to install mood lighting.
"…Okay," Elias said carefully. "That's new."
The voice returned—not commanding this time, but patient.
Choose.
Elias swallowed. "I don't even know what the options are!"
The alley dissolved.
Not exploded—dissolved. Reality peeled away like wet paint, revealing a vast internal space where countless paths hovered like glowing veins branching from a single heart.
Some were sharp and crimson, radiating raw force.
Others were cold and geometric, promising absolute control.
A few shimmered softly, chaotic and alive, refusing to stay still.
Elias felt drawn toward one blazing path—Dominion Ascension. Strength. Authority. The ability to never be ignored again.
But then he felt it.
A ripple.
Something small. Annoyingly small.
Somewhere impossibly far away, a presence buzzed.
"What the hell is… a fly?" Elias muttered.
Aurelius was having a bad feeling.
He hovered above a discarded apple core, wings twitching, antennae buzzing like faulty sensors.
"Lumulith," he said, "humans are getting very loud."
"They always do," Lumulith replied calmly.
"No, I mean existentially loud. Like reality is arguing with itself."
Lumulith's expression darkened as he observed the branching flares across the horizon—human sparks igniting in wildly different ways.
"There," he said. "That one chose Predatory Ascension."
A distant shockwave rattled the air as a human body twisted, muscles expanding beyond natural limits, bone reshaping with a wet crack.
"And that one," Lumulith continued, "Conceptual Binding. They'll become… inconvenient."
Aurelius grimaced. "Why does every option sound like a villain origin story?"
"Because humans don't choose evolution," Lumulith said. "They choose solutions."
Elias gasped as the internal space collapsed, dropping him back into the alley. Sweat drenched his clothes. The glow beneath his skin dimmed—waiting.
He hadn't chosen.
Around him, the city screamed.
Somewhere nearby, a man roared as his body erupted in flame that didn't burn him. Sirens wailed. Gravity twisted briefly, flipping a bus onto its side before snapping back into place.
Elias staggered forward. "This is insane. This is—this is wrong."
And yet…
Part of him thrilled.
"I could stop this," he whispered. "I could be strong enough."
The fly's presence buzzed again, clearer now.
Annoyed.
Cautious.
"Why do I feel judged by an insect?" Elias snapped.
Aurelius sneezed midair.
"I think one of them noticed me."
Lumulith sighed. "That was inevitable."
Aurelius hovered higher. "Look, I didn't mean to wake them up. I just wanted to not die."
"And now," Lumulith said, "you are a catalyst."
Below them, the air split as a human stepped partially out of reality, their form flickering like a corrupted image.
"HEY!" Aurelius shouted instinctively. "STOP THAT! YOU'RE GOING TO RIP A HOLE!"
The human turned.
They looked at Aurelius.
Their eyes glowed with geometric symbols.
"…Did the bug just talk?" the human asked.
Aurelius froze. "…I regret everything."
Elias arrived moments later, breathless, staring at the scene: a glowing, half-phased human… and a fly hovering between worlds like it belonged there.
"What is that?" Elias demanded.
Aurelius straightened midair. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I have a name. It's Aurelius."
The phased human laughed. "You're telling me this mess started because of a fly?"
Lumulith appeared, reality folding around him. "No," he said calmly. "This mess started because of choice."
Elias felt it then—the pressure, the pull. His own path flared brighter.
The phased human sneered. "I don't need permission to evolve."
"And that," Lumulith replied, "is why humans terrify the universe."
Aurelius hovered between them, very aware of his size.
"Okay," he said nervously. "New rule proposal: no one destroys reality today."
The phased human raised a hand, space warping dangerously.
Elias stepped forward.
"Stop," he said.
The word carried weight.
The warped space stabilized—for now.
Everyone stared at him.
Elias clenched his fists. "If we're going to evolve… then we do it without burning everything down."
The human scoffed. "And who are you to decide that?"
Elias looked at Aurelius—the smallest being in the room, hovering stubbornly against impossible odds.
"…Someone who hasn't chosen yet," he said. "And that scares me enough to be careful."
Above them, unseen forces watched closely.
Because now there were two anomalies.
A fly who bent evolution through adaptation.
And a human who hesitated.
And hesitation, in a universe built on certainty, was the most dangerous choice of all.