Daniel didn't sleep.
He sat on the edge of his bed, lights off, watching the faint glow in his chest pulse through the darkness.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again:
Two suns. Violet clouds. Endless sky.
A world the size of a coin.
"I didn't mean to make that," he whispered.
Creation does not wait for permission.
The voice inside him was quieter now, but closer. Like it had settled into him.
Daniel rubbed his face. "Then how do I stop?"
No answer.
Of course.
A faint distortion shimmered in the air near his desk. Like heat above a road. He froze.
"Don't," he warned, though he didn't know who he was talking to.
The distortion widened.
Air folded inward, silently peeling back like invisible fabric.
The tear appeared again.
Larger this time. The size of a door.
Beyond it, the violet sky stretched endlessly, clouds drifting like oceans in the air. Light from the twin suns spilled into his room, painting the walls in alien gold.
Wind rushed through, tugging at his clothes.
Daniel stood slowly.
"I'm not going in there," he said immediately.
His feet took a step forward.
"I said no."
Another step.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
You wished to understand.
"That doesn't mean—"
The floor beneath him vanished.
Daniel fell forward—
—and landed on soft ground.
Warm air wrapped around him. A scent like rain and lightning filled his lungs. He rolled onto his back and stared upward.
Two suns burned in the sky.
Huge.
Close.
Real.
The clouds weren't clouds. They were islands of glowing vapor drifting like continents in the air. Rivers of light flowed between them.
Daniel sat up slowly.
Grass — if it was grass — shimmered in shades of silver and blue. The horizon curved strangely, like the world wasn't fully finished.
"I…" His voice echoed too far, like space itself was hollow. "I made this."
Yes.
The word felt different here.
Stronger.
Daniel stood on shaky legs.
"This is a dream," he muttered, though nothing about it felt like one. The wind brushed his skin. The ground felt solid.
A laugh bubbled up — half awe, half terror.
"I made a world by accident."
He took a step.
The sky flickered.
A section of land in the distance blurred and dissolved like smoke.
Daniel froze.
Unstable. The Core's voice was sharper now. Your mind wavers. The dimension mirrors you.
"So if I panic—"
The ground trembled.
A crack of darkness split the sky.
"Okay! Okay! I'm calm! I'm calm!"
He forced slow breaths.
The crack sealed. The trembling stopped.
Daniel swallowed hard.
"So this place… depends on me?"
All creations reflect their creator.
His thoughts raced.
"If I die here—?"
You will not. This dimension is tied to your existence. It cannot reject you.
"Great. My own personal fragile universe."
He turned slowly, taking it in. Beauty and incompleteness mixed together — like a painting still being made.
Then he felt it.
A pressure.
Not from inside him.
From the sky.
Daniel looked up.
One of the suns dimmed slightly.
A shadow passed over it.
Something vast moved behind the light.
His stomach dropped.
"…What is that?"
The Core went silent.
Which scared him more than any answer.
The shadow stretched across the sky, not blocking light — absorbing it.
The air grew colder.
A ripple spread through the clouds, as if reality itself was nervous.
Then a voice — not like the Core.
This one was empty.
Flat.
Endless.
"Unauthorized creation detected."
Daniel's blood turned to ice.
"I just got here…"
The sky darkened further.
"Dimensional structure unstable. Existence inefficient."
A tear of blackness opened in the heavens — not like his tear.
This one was jagged. Violent. Devouring light around it.
Daniel stepped back.
"What is that?!" he shouted.
The Core answered at last.
The Eraser has noticed you.
The black tear widened.
Something began to come through.
And Daniel understood one horrifying truth:
He had created life…
But something else existed only to end it.