The glyph's echo hadn't stopped.
It hummed like a second heartbeat in my chest — one that didn't belong to me.
The system called it Version_37.
I called it the part of me that should have stayed buried.
"Merge at 73%"
"Cognitive bleed detected…"
"Morality sync: fractured"
I should have backed away from the glyph.
I should have tried to sever the thread.
But I didn't.
Because part of me — the part the gods failed to erase — wanted to know what I was when I stopped holding back.
Each breath I took dragged another shard of Version_37 deeper into my spine.
Another timeline, another memory, another blood-soaked decision I hadn't made — but still somehow remembered.
I saw a child's village turned to ash.
I saw kings kneel before a throne wrapped in black flame.
I saw my own face smiling down from the pyre, not burning—celebrating.
That wasn't me, I told myself.
That was a mistake. A divergence. A glitch.
But the more I saw, the more I feared…
It was a possibility.
"You were never meant to survive this merge," the echo said behind me.
I didn't turn to face him. I didn't need to.
I could feel him — standing just outside my shadow, wearing my body like a tailored threat.
"I wasn't meant to die the first time either," I snapped.
"You were meant to obey. You failed."
"No," I said. "I disobeyed."
"Exactly," he said. "And now, I get to finish what you started."
"System Alert: Merge breach at 82%."
"Host instability projected."
"Phase override may trigger spatial rupture."
My fingers twitched — not from fear, but from pressure.
My own thoughts weren't just overlapping — they were arguing.
One part said defend the kingdom.
Another said rebuild it.
Another said burn everything and start again.
I wasn't alone in my own head.
I was being voted against.
⸻
"Leneth," I called out. My voice was raw.
She didn't respond.
When I turned, she wasn't standing anymore. She was kneeling.
Hands over her ears.
Eyes rolled back.
Bleeding from her nose.
"What's happening to her?" I shouted.
Version_37's voice was quiet.
Almost… impressed.
"She's a seer. And seers weren't meant to see two timelines at once."
"System note: Non-host nearby experiencing memory echo bleed. Recommend full withdrawal."
"NO!" I roared.
"You chose this path, Kael," the voice replied. "She didn't."
The glyph cracked.
Not just the stone — the magic.
It pulsed once, then shattered like a mirror dropped from the sky.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence.
Then a sound I had only heard in death:
A heartbeat that wasn't mine.
Not Version_37's either.
"Look in the mirror," the voice whispered.
I turned slowly.
The altar's cracked reflection no longer showed me.
Not him.
Someone else.
Same blood.
Same bones.
But eyes… golden.
Pupils like clockwork gears.
No fire. No rage. No fear.
Just precision.
"System override activated."
"Emergency Protocol V_47: ENGAGED."
"Stabilization in progress."
"Version_47 initialized."
My head spun.
"No—what is that?" I breathed. "What is that version?"
"The one they made when you kept failing," Version_37 said.
He was smiling now. Not angry.
Amused.
"Meet the gods' favorite son."
"Meet the version of you that never disobeyed."
"Meet your replacement."
The words hit harder than any blade ever had.
Version_47 stepped forward — no sound, no aura, no resistance from the air. It was like the world had already accepted him. Like I was the error now.
He looked at me like you might look at a rusted crown — a relic too flawed to restore.
"You were forged in fire," he said flatly.
"But fire is unstable. Fire rebels. Fire burns what it loves."
He blinked once — slowly.
"I am order."
The sky dimmed.
Not from clouds, but from code.
Lines of glowing glyphs etched across the heavens, forming a grid — a containment field cast by the system itself.
I felt the weight of it pressing on my lungs, my bones, my very name.
"System Correction: Overwrite protocol accelerating."
"All versions unsanctioned by Directive Prime will be assimilated."
"No," I whispered. "I'm not just a version."
I stepped forward.
Version_37 stepped beside me — not as ally, not as enemy. But as instinct.
"You may be perfect," he growled. "But you're not real."
"You are synthetic," I added. "Programmed. Hollow."
Version_47 raised a hand.
And the sky split.
A column of pure white energy descended like judgment itself, vaporizing the center of the bridge. Leneth screamed. The glyphs around us began to reboot — not restore — rewrite.
"This kingdom doesn't need memory," Version_47 said.
"It needs efficiency."
He pointed at me.
"And you're… obsolete."
I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.
I reached inside myself — past the timelines, past the rage, past even the fear.
And I ripped the merge limiter out.
"System Alert: Merge exceeded safety threshold."
"Unstable entity formation imminent."
"THIS ACTION CANNOT BE UNDONE."
I screamed — and so did the world.
The glyphs shattered.
The containment grid collapsed.
And all three versions of me—
merged.