The days following their fragile victory in Dallas were marked by a tense quiet—an uneasy peace that cloaked the siblings like a thin veil. The world had shifted, but the tremors of change still echoed beneath the surface. Zero could feel it, the delicate threads of time pulsing beneath his skin, demanding attention, control, and caution.
He had spent countless hours retreating to his private planet—a realm of his own creation, untouched by the chaos of reality. There, time moved differently. Moments stretched like silk, allowing him space to think, to plan, and to hone the subtle mastery of his unique gifts.
(Here, I am both ruler and prisoner. The solitude is my refuge, but also my cage.)
Outside that sanctuary, the world moved relentlessly forward. Zero had found ways to manipulate the flow of time in smaller bursts—stopping it just long enough to bend events, see the consequences, and redirect outcomes. His powers had grown beyond what he had imagined possible, yet each new ability carried the weight of isolation.
In this new timeline, he had chosen a different path: a life of influence, wealth, and calculated distance. Investing with precision gleaned from his glimpses of the future, orchestrating deals that flourished before anyone else saw their potential, he became an unseen titan—No. 0, the secret force quietly shaping the world's edges.
Yet, the silence in the mansion was deafening. The siblings barely noticed his absence, their own struggles fracturing their unity further. To them, he was always the outsider—the forgotten number.
(They don't see me. They never have. But maybe this time, I don't mind.)
Luther was the first to confront him, storming into the sleek penthouse where Zero oversaw the latest transactions, his eyes sharp beneath the low light.
"You've been hiding," Luther accused, the frustration thick in his voice. "Playing some game no one else understands. We needed you. We needed all of you."
Zero met his gaze evenly. "I've been doing what I must to keep us safe."
"Safe?" Luther's laugh was bitter. "You're more distant than ever. Pretending to be untouchable."
Zero's jaw tightened. (And here it comes—the storm I always knew was coming.)
"Safety isn't just about strength," Zero said quietly. "It's about control. And sometimes, control means stepping back."
Meanwhile, Vanya struggled with the remnants of her power, fear simmering beneath her skin like a dormant volcano. She sought Zero out one evening, violin case in hand, the weight of uncertainty evident in her eyes.
"Do you ever wonder if this power defines us?" she asked, voice fragile.
Zero nodded, the memories of past destruction flickering behind his calm facade. "It can be a curse or a gift. We decide."
She looked at him, searching. "I'm scared I'll lose control again."
"You won't," Zero assured her. "Not with us."
(If only they could see how much I want to believe that myself.)
Diego and Allison's tension was palpable, a battle of wills fueled by their differing approaches to the growing threat of the Commission. Klaus drifted between moments of clarity and chaos, his connection to the fractured timelines deepening.
Through it all, Zero remained the silent observer—the anchor they didn't realize they needed.
But the past wasn't done with them.
The Handler's shadow loomed large, her machinations subtle yet unrelenting. Each move she made threatened to unravel the fragile balance Zero had fought so hard to maintain.
The siblings knew a storm was coming. What they didn't know was that Zero had already begun preparing—for a battle not just for their survival, but for the very fabric of time itself.