Time: Outside Time Event: A Soul's Bargain
Somewhere far beyond Death's shadow and the drifting remnants of Harry and Voldemort, another soul stirred.
There was no body, no breath, no heartbeat—only awareness floating in a vast, shimmering expanse of starlit mist. It was quiet here. Not the heavy silence of a grave, but the gentle stillness of a world waiting to be written.
The soul remembered pain.
Not the sharp, sudden pain of a curse or a crash, but something slow and relentless. Needles. Bleached ceilings. The hum of machines and the way people spoke in whispers when they thought he was sleeping.
Cancer, a word flickered through him like a distant echo. He couldn't remember his face anymore, or his age, but he remembered being tired—the kind of tired that sank beneath the skin and into the bones.
And then, he remembered lying down in a pod.
Glass sliding shut. A helmet descending. A voice promising, You can live a different life. A life of magic. A life where you're not trapped in a failing body.
He'd thought it was a miracle. A beautiful illusion that would make the last hours bearable.
"Is this…" he murmured into the void, "…the machine?"
Yet the voice sounded eerily familiar. It had the same cadence as the pod's AI—only deeper, more human, like the echo of his own mind repeating through infinite halls.
"No," a voice replied, clear and resonant, echoing through eternity. "This is beyond all machines."
The mist parted.
Before him stood a figure of pure light, its edges indistinct, like a man wrapped in dawn. No face, no features—only presence. Unlike Death's shadowed command, this being radiated calm, neither warm nor cold, like a judge who did not hate or care, only was.
"You have died, traveler," the Entity said. "Your last vessel failed. The dream you entered was severed when the machine faltered. Your consciousness should have dissolved."
The soul's awareness trembled. "Should have?"
"But it did not," the Entity continued. "Your will clung to existence. You wanted to live another life so fiercely that you pierced the veil between worlds."
The man—who was no longer a man—let that sink in. He had known he was dying when he stepped into the Reality Maker. He'd just wanted one last chance to feel alive.
"So I'm dead," he said slowly. "And this isn't part of the simulation."
"No," the Entity agreed. "This is the Universal Realm. Where souls are measured, and paths are chosen."
Despite everything, a faint, bitter humor flickered through the soul. "I guess… that means the refund policy doesn't apply."
Something like amusement shimmered in the light—just for a moment.
"Because you died inside the machine, your soul did not follow the usual path. It came here instead. The Universal Realm recognizes that your death was… misaligned with your will."
"Misaligned," he repeated. "You mean unfair."
"Fairness is a mortal concept," the Entity said. "But you were denied your last wish: a life lived on your own terms. For that, the Realm has decided to grant you compensation."
The mist seemed to still around them. The soul's awareness sharpened.
"Compensation," he echoed. "What kind?"
The words struck him with déjà vu. He'd heard this once already—or dreamt it. The phrases overlapped, as if the simulation's memory were bleeding through into whatever this was.
"Three wishes," the Entity replied. "And a new life in a world chosen by your heart. You will not remember who you were. But what you receive here will shape who you become there."
Three wishes.
The thought lit something inside him that had nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with every fantasy he had ever clung to when reality had grown too small and cruel.
He didn't hesitate.
"First wish," he said. "I want the Quake-Quake Fruit—the power to shatter mountains, seas, even the sky itself. But without its weakness. No drowning. No cursed sea that drags me down."
As he spoke, his words felt rehearsed, like lines from a script he had already performed in another life. Maybe he *had*. Maybe the machine had been more than a dream after all.
"Power to fracture reality," the Entity intoned. "Without the chain of its original price. Granted."
A pulse of force washed through him, like distant thunder shaking the core of his soul.
"Second," he said, more sure now. "The Shadow Clone Jutsu. Perfect clones, solid and real. No cheap illusions. They think, act, and learn—everything I learn, they learn."
"Multiplicity of self," the Entity murmured. "The ability to divide your will and grow it. Granted."
This time the power felt lighter, like a thousand threads being woven through his essence, each strand capable of forming another self.
The third wish did not come as quickly.
He drifted in silence, watching distant streaks of light—souls moving along their own paths. He thought of days trapped in a hospital room, staring at the ceiling while his body betrayed him. Thought of lying in the Reality Maker, desperate to escape a world where he was powerless.
"What's the point of strength," he said quietly, "if I'm still just… me? Fragile. Breakable."
He remembered lonely nights, empty hallways, the quiet terror of dying unseen and unremarked.
"Third wish," he said at last. "I want a soul cultivation technique—something that lets my spirit grow stronger forever. Not just my body. Not just borrowed power. I want to build something that can't be taken away."
The Entity was silent for a long moment, as if weighing the wish against something unseen.
"You ask for a path, not an artifact," it finally said. "A way to climb beyond your limits, step by step."
"Yes," he said. "I don't care how hard it is. I just… don't want to be trapped again. In a weak body. In a corner of the world someone else designed."
"Very well," the Entity decreed. "You shall receive a cultivation method for the soul—one unique to you. It will awaken in fragments as you grow. It will demand effort, choice, sacrifice. But if you walk it, your spirit will stand tall when all else falls."
Power rolled through him, slow and deep, like roots burrowing into an infinite earth.
Somewhere, far away, a machine beeped. A faint, mechanical heartbeat echoed through the mist. He didn't know it yet, but part of him was still tethered—to wires, to breath, to a body lying silent beneath fluorescent light.
He absorbed it all, trembling without a body to tremble with.
"Your wishes are granted," the Entity said. "One more decision remains. The world where you will be reborn."
Images unfurled before him like pages in a book: a castle of stone and magic, floating candles, the flicker of wands. A continent of vast plains and towering mountains where warriors soared through the skies, where dragons coiled in the distance and cultivators bent the world to their will.
Two universes. Two obsessions from the life he'd lost: Harry Potter and Coiling Dragon. Stories he had clung to when his own world had failed him.
The Entity's voice softened.
"Your heart leans toward two currents. Magic born of wands and prophecy… and power honed through cultivation and will. You must choose."
"Can't I…" He paused, then laughed. "Might as well be greedy while I'm dead. Can't I have both?"
"Such a convergence is rare," the Entity said. "Dangerous, even. Worlds resist being woven together."
"Then don't weave them," he said. "Drop me where they've already collided."
The mist fell quiet, as if the Realm itself were thinking.
"Very well," the Entity said at last. "We shall send you where the currents cross. Where worlds overlap by accident and law, not by design. You will not remember this choice. To you, life will simply… begin. But your path will be shaped by two destinies, and the wishes you carry."
The soul tried to smirk, but he had no lips. "Sounds fun."
"Fun," the Entity repeated softly. "A curious word, for one who died in pain."
"Pain just reminds you you're alive," he replied. "I'd rather feel anything than nothing. Send me to a world that doesn't feel empty."
For the first time, the light around the Entity flickered, like the hint of a smile.
"Then go, traveler. Live the life you were denied."
The mist rose, swallowing everything in radiant white. The soul felt himself being pulled, faster and faster, like a falling star. He caught one last echo of the Entity's voice, distant and fading:
"You will forget this Realm. You will forget me. But your wishes, your path, and your stubborn desire to live… those will remain."
And then he was gone, streaking through the darkness toward a waiting world.
Location: Unknown – Collision of Souls
Time: Unknown Event: Convergence
The void was no longer empty.
Through its endless black, three streams of light tore across existence—each distinct, yet drawn inexorably toward the same unseen point.
The first glowed a steady gold, its edges soft, its core pulsing with quiet courage. It carried memories of a cupboard under the stairs, a wand choosing its master, a boy standing alone against fate.
The second was jagged, violet-black flames spiraling in chaotic patterns. It burned with arrogance, terror, hunger—a soul that had torn itself into fragments to avoid the inevitable.
The third was bright white threaded with silver, newly forged, humming with unstable power. Inside it burned three wishes: to shatter the world, to multiply the self, to forge strength from the substance of the soul itself.
They hurtled toward the same destination: a planet hanging in the velvet dark, its oceans deep blue, its continents a tapestry of forests, plains, and cities. It was a world of magic, swords, and cultivation. A world where laws of reality occasionally bent to stories and souls.
The three lights pierced the atmosphere together, leaving streaks of light that no mortal eye could see.
Below, in a small town halfway across a quiet continent, a woman slept restlessly, one hand resting on the slight swell of her belly. Beside her, a man snored softly, one arm flung over the blanket.
The three souls descended.
The soft, nascent spark of a new life glowed within the woman. A tiny flicker of being, weak but pure, like a candle in darkness.
The third soul—the wish-bearer—reached it first.
There was no sound. No flash. The souls simply merged.
The newborn soul swallowed the white-silver light, its glow deepening, growing more complex. Threads of foreign power wound into its essence, binding perfectly—as if it had been waiting for that missing piece.
Then came the gold and violet.
Harry's soul did not merge. It touched the newborn soul gently, like a hand resting on a shoulder. Some part of him recognized the Entity's promise, the Realm's decision. He had been told he would return in another form. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps not.
Voldemort's essence lunged, thrashing, furious. He tried to sink into the core, to take control, to dominate as he always had.
But the newborn soul was no empty vessel.
Empowered by the wishes of another life and the cultivation seed granted by the Entity, it resisted. The souls collided not in sound, but in intent—three wills pressing against each other in a space smaller than a heartbeat.
The outcome was… compromise.
Harry and Voldemort did not fully merge. Instead, their remnants threaded into the edges of the new soul like shadows at the border of a flame. Their instincts, their echoes, their emotions—fear, courage, cunning, compassion—wove into its shape, but the core remained the wish-bearer's.
And so, in that quiet house, in that quiet town, something impossible was born:
A soul made of three histories, three destinies, and three sets of rules.
The baby's mother stirred in her sleep, one hand pressing gently over her stomach. She smiled faintly, still half-dreaming, as if she'd heard a distant voice whisper:
Live.
Location: East-Fall Town – Surprise: Pregnant
Year: 9980, May Population: 5,000Event: New Life
"Hogg! Hogg, where are you?"
Her voice rang through the modest, two-story house like a chime. In the front room, dust motes drifted lazily in beams of morning light.
Hogg Brauch straightened up from the workbench where he'd been sorting tools. He was a large man, six-foot-one with broad shoulders and hands scratched from years of labor. A hammer hung from his belt; his shirt was rolled up to his elbows.
"What is it, Rose?" he called back, turning just in time to see his wife practically flying into the room.
Rose Brauch's dark hair bounced as she rushed to him, cheeks flushed, eyes brighter than he'd ever seen them. She clutched a folded slip of paper in one hand like it was a treasure.
"Hogg," she said breathlessly, gripping his shirt with her free hand. "I—I'm pregnant."
The words hit harder than any hammer blow.
For a moment, nothing moved. Hogg just stared, the world narrowing until it was only Rose, her eyes, her trembling smile, the faint sheen of tears. His brain caught up a heartbeat later.
"You're…?" he managed.
She nodded quickly, laughing as the tears finally spilled over. "Yes. I went to the clinic this morning. The doctor confirmed it."
Something inside him snapped loose.
Hogg swept her up into his arms and spun her in a clumsy circle. Rose shrieked with delight, laughing as her feet left the floor.
"I'm going to be a father!" he shouted, voice rough with joy. "We're—we're going to be parents!"
He set her down, but his hands refused to leave her shoulders, as if afraid she'd evaporate if he let go.
"Really?" he asked again, because part of him still couldn't believe it. "You're sure?"
"Completely," she said, pressing the paper into his chest. "They did the test twice. Hogg, we're going to have a baby."
He looked down at the paper, seeing only blurred lines and numbers and the word positive. His eyes burned. His vision blurred for a very different reason.
"We have to make sure everything's okay," he said quickly, his protective instincts lighting up. "We should go to the big hospital in town. Proper checks, scans, everything. I don't want to miss anything."
Rose smiled, softer now. "I thought you might say that. I already booked an appointment. Seven weeks from now. They'll check the baby. Check me."
Hogg exhaled, long and shaky. He drew her into his chest, resting his chin on her hair.
"Thank you," he murmured, as if she'd personally rewritten his entire life. "For… for this."
She snorted lightly. "I didn't do it alone, you know."
He pulled back enough to grin at her. "I like to think I contributed."
She elbowed him gently, but her smile never faded.
Outside, people walked by on the cobbled street, unaware that something extraordinary had just been decided in the Brauch household. Unaware that within Rose, a soul unlike any other was growing quietly.
Location: East-Fall Town – Waiting & Winter
Time: 8 Months Later
Pregnancy changed the rhythm of the Brauch household.
Hogg started waking up earlier, as if every extra minute might somehow guard the tiny life they couldn't see yet. He fixed every squeaky hinge, reinforced the stairs, and checked the fireplace three times more often than usual.
Rose noticed, of course.
"You know the baby won't be born in the staircase," she teased one evening as he kneeled down, inspecting each step for the third time. "Or inside the fireplace."
"You say that now," he muttered, brow furrowed in serious thought. "But accidents happen."
She laughed, sitting on the sofa and resting a hand on her growing belly. "If our child is anything like you, I suppose they might try to climb into the fireplace."
He straightened, looking offended. "I only did that once."
"And your mother still tells the story every winter," Rose pointed out.
They went to every appointment.
The town's largest hospital wasn't enormous by city standards, but to East-Fall, it was a towering symbol of security. White walls, clean floors, the steady rhythm of machinery humming in the background.
In a small, private exam room, Rose lay on the bed while a doctor—a woman in her late thirties with neatly tied hair and kind eyes—studied the glowing panel beside her.
"Well?" Hogg asked, standing near the bed, hands clenched behind his back, as if physically stopping himself from pacing.
The doctor glanced at him with a small smile. "Everything looks good, Mr. Brauch. Heartbeat is strong. Growth is normal. Your wife and child are both healthy."
"Healthy," Hogg repeated, the word sinking into him like a blessing. He glanced at Rose, whose eyes sparkled with relief.
"That's all I wanted to hear," Rose breathed.
The doctor arranged a few follow-up appointments, scribbling notes on a tablet and handing them over. "We'll monitor regularly. But for now, go home, eat well, sleep well, and enjoy this time. The last months will feel long, but you'll miss them when they're gone."
Rose and Hogg thanked her and left, fingers intertwined as they walked back through the hospital's bright corridors. Nurses passed them, pushing carts, speaking in soft, polite tones. Somewhere in another ward, a baby cried. Somewhere else, someone coughed, machines beeping quietly beside their bed.
Life and death, side by side.
Hogg felt the weight of that balance more keenly with every passing day. At night, when Rose slept, he lay awake listening to her breathing, one calloused hand resting lightly on her stomach.
"Hey, kid," he whispered once, voice barely audible. "I don't know what kind of world you're coming into. But I'll do my best. I'll… I'll figure it out."
Inside, a small soul—three souls—stirred in the darkness, wordless and unaware, but feeling something like warmth.
Time moved. Leaves fell, then snow.
On the second day of the new year, at six in the morning, East-Fall lay wrapped in white. Every house, every tree, every roof glowed gently in the early light, as if brushed with powdered stars. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the streets were a quiet dream of winter.
Inside the Brauch house, Rose screamed.
Location: East-Fall Town – Winter Birth
Date: January 2ndTime: 06:00Event: Arrival
Hogg's world narrowed instantly.
He burst into their bedroom, heart hammering, to find Rose half-curled on the mattress, her nightgown soaked, hands clutching the sheets.
"Rose!" he gasped, rushing to her side. "Is it—?"
"My water broke," she gritted out, voice shaking. Sweat already beaded on her forehead. "It hurts, Hogg. It—ah—"
"I'm here," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I've got you. Just hold on."
He scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the strain on his back. She clung to him, face buried against his shoulder, breath coming in sharp bursts.
The cold hit them like a wall when he threw open the front door. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he ran, heart racing faster than his feet.
The hospital wasn't far, but every second stretched into a lifetime.
"HELP!" Hogg shouted as he shouldered through the hospital doors, his voice booming through the lobby. "Someone—please! My wife, she's—she's in labor! She needs help!"
Heads turned. Patients, visitors, nurses—it felt like the entire world pivoted toward him in the blink of an eye.
A nurse with quick eyes and a steady expression rushed forward, taking in Rose's state at a glance. "Put her on this," she said, rolling a mobile bed toward them. "We've got you. Breathe, ma'am. You're safe."
Hogg gently laid Rose down. The nurse began rolling the bed down the hall, calling out instructions to others as she moved.
"You'll have to wait here," she told Hogg at the door to the delivery room.
"What? No—" Panic clawed at his throat.
"Sir," she said firmly, meeting his eyes. "The best thing you can do right now is let us work. You did your part. Let us do ours."
Hogg's jaw clenched. His fists tightened. But he stepped back, because her eyes were honest, and because his legs suddenly felt like they might give out beneath him.
The door closed.
For a while, Hogg just stood there, staring at the wood as if he could will himself through it. Then he sank into one of the plastic chairs lining the corridor, elbows on his knees, hands pressed together as though in prayer.
He could hear faint voices. Commands. Encouragement. Rose's cries.
Time lost meaning.
At some point, a coffee cup appeared in his hands. He didn't remember who gave it to him. He didn't drink it. The liquid cooled, untouched.
Every scream from inside the room knifed through his chest.
What if something goes wrong?What if he lost her?What if—
Just as the spiral threatened to swallow him, the sounds on the other side of the door changed.
Rose's cry peaked—then cut off. For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Hogg stopped breathing.
Then he heard it: a sharp, thin wail. Fragile, indignant, alive.
His heart nearly burst.
The door opened.
A nurse stepped out, the same one from before. She wiped her hands on her uniform and smiled, a small but genuine curve of her lips.
"Mr. Brauch," she said. "Congratulations. Both your wife and your baby are safe. It's a boy."
The world tilted. Relief crashed through him so violently his knees almost buckled.
"A boy," he repeated, voice hoarse.
"You can see them now," she said, stepping aside.
Hogg pushed the door open.
The delivery room was bright and warm. Rose lay propped up on pillows, her hair damp and messy, face flushed with exhaustion and something softer. In her arms, wrapped in a white blanket, was the tiniest person Hogg had ever seen.
He walked toward them slowly, as if approaching something sacred.
"Hey," Rose whispered, her smile tired but luminous. "Come meet your son."
Hogg leaned in, looking down.
The baby's eyes were closed, lashes resting against chubby cheeks. His skin was flushed pink, his tiny fists clenched near his chest. Dark, wispy hair clung to his head.
As Hogg watched, the child's eyes fluttered open.
For just a second, Hogg forgot how to breathe.
The baby's gaze was unfocused, as all newborns' were, but there was something else there too—a depth that didn't belong to a life measured in minutes. For the briefest heartbeat, Hogg felt as though something looked back at him. Something old. Something… layered.
Then the moment passed. The newborn scrunched his face and let out a small, complaining sound.
"He doesn't like your face," Rose whispered faintly.
Hogg laughed, the sound breaking and wet, and bent closer.
"Hey there," he said softly. "I'm your dad. Sorry about the face. It's the only one I've got."
Rose shifted the baby carefully, cradling him closer. "He's perfect," she murmured.
Hogg reached out with a trembling hand and stroked the top of the baby's head. Warm. Real.
"Welcome home," he whispered.
Inside the child, three souls breathed as one. The wishes from another life lay dormant, folded deep within his spirit. Harry's legacy and Voldemort's shadow curled at the edges of his being like faint, distant storms on a clear horizon.
For now, he was just a baby.
For now, the world was simple: warmth, light, heartbeat, breath.
But this story had never intended to stay simple.