The galaxy did not notice small things.
It did not care when a planet cracked, when a star burned out, or when a civilization screamed itself into extinction. Such events were common—background noise in an infinite expanse.
But when laws shifted?
When reality itself hesitated?
Then the galaxy listened.
Far beyond the red skies of Mars, beyond the spiral arms where light thinned and time lost meaning, something stirred.
It had no true body.
No singular form.
It existed as awareness layered upon awareness, an intelligence stretched across dimensions where distance was an irrelevant concept. It had slept for an age measured not in years, but in epochs—dreaming within the folds of collapsed stars, feeding on the slow decay of existence.
And then—
It felt him.
A ripple.
Not energy. Not matter.
A discontinuity.
The entity's attention sharpened.
Impossible.
The thought was not spoken, but it echoed across a thousand dead star systems.
Something had altered a local rule without authorization.
Something had touched the edge of infinity.
Something was awake.
On Mars, Mardust stopped walking.
The wind had died.
The dust storms froze in place, suspended like crimson ghosts. Even the planet's low hum—its subtle gravitational heartbeat—stuttered.
He felt it.
Not as fear.
As pressure.
"System," he said quietly, eyes lifting toward the sky. "Tell me what just looked at me."
The Galaxy System did not answer immediately.
That alone was alarming.
For the first time since their bond had formed, the constant hum of guidance dimmed—like a voice lowering itself out of instinctive caution.
Then—
WARNING.
COSMIC OBSERVER CONFIRMED.
Mardust's jaw tightened. "Observer doesn't sound aggressive."
CORRECTION.
OBSERVER IS EVALUATING THREAT AND UTILITY.
The words settled heavily in his chest.
"Utility," he repeated. "That's worse."
The entity shifted its focus.
Across incomprehensible distances, perception narrowed—layer after layer of dimensional interference peeled away until Mars appeared not as a planet, but as a conceptual node. A fragile cluster of physical laws wrapped around a burning core.
And at its center—
A man.
Not a god.
Not yet.
But something incorrect.
The entity examined him the way a mathematician examined a flawed equation.
Organic structure… yet law-responsive.
Finite form… infinite vector potential.
System-bound… but not enslaved.
Interest deepened.
The Void Sovereign—known in lost tongues as Axiom-Thren, Devourer of Constants—extended a fragment of awareness.
Not a strike.
A question.
Mardust staggered.
The sky split—not visually, but perceptually. He suddenly saw layers behind layers, reality peeling back like thin glass sheets. His vision filled with impossible geometries, angles that bent inward, colors that did not belong to any spectrum.
He dropped to one knee.
"System!" he barked. "Now!"
HOST MENTAL INTEGRITY UNDER ASSAULT.
DEFENSIVE MEASURES ACTIVATED.
The Galaxy System surged.
Runes burned across Mardust's skin, flaring briefly before sinking beneath the surface. Gravity snapped back into place. Time stabilized.
But the pressure remained.
A presence.
Watching.
Testing.
Mardust lifted his head slowly.
"I don't know who you are," he said aloud, voice echoing strangely, "but if you're looking for permission, you won't find it here."
There was no response.
Instead—
A shift.
The ground in front of him folded inward, not collapsing, but inverting. A shape emerged—not a body, but a projection. A distortion in space where meaning itself seemed strained.
Within it, a voice manifested—not sound, but direct comprehension.
YOU ARE NOT SCHEDULED.
Mardust's teeth clenched. "I didn't ask to be."
YOU ALTER LOCAL LAW WITHOUT SANCTION.
YOU ACCESS INFINITE PATHWAYS WITHOUT CLEARANCE.
The air vibrated violently.
EXPLAIN.
The word carried weight—cosmic authority pressing down like the gravity of a dying star.
Mardust stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
"I was taken," he said, voice steady despite the pressure crushing against his bones. "Stranded. I survived. I adapted. If that breaks your rules—then your rules are fragile."
The distortion pulsed.
For the first time, something like amusement flickered through the entity's awareness.
FRAGILITY IS IRRELEVANT.
ALL SYSTEMS FAIL EVENTUALLY.
"Then why bother enforcing them?" Mardust shot back.
Silence followed.
Not anger.
Consideration.
The Void Sovereign observed deeper now.
It saw the System—ancient, defiant, built not by gods but by desperate architects who had once tried to fight inevitability.
It saw the emotional anchor—the threads binding Mardust to Earth, to his family, to concepts like love, duty, restraint.
It saw contradiction.
And contradiction was dangerous.
YOU ARE A VARIABLE.
Mardust nodded once. "Good."
VARIABLES DESTABILIZE EQUATIONS.
"Only broken ones," he replied.
The distortion expanded.
The sky darkened—not from clouds, but from absence. Stars vanished one by one, erased from perception as the entity's attention deepened.
THE VOID SOVEREIGNS WILL NOTICE YOU.
OTHERS WILL FOLLOW.
Mardust's fists clenched.
"I figured."
YOU CANNOT WIN.
Mardust smiled faintly.
"I don't need to," he said. "I just need to stand long enough."
The pressure spiked.
Reality screamed.
The entity tested him.
Not with destruction—but with subtraction.
A concept was removed.
Not air.
Not gravity.
Distance.
Suddenly, Mars and Earth overlapped in Mardust's perception. He saw Caroline standing on the balcony, staring at the stars. He saw Mayson training at dawn. The twins laughing quietly in the hall.
Pain tore through his chest.
"Stay out of my mind," he growled.
EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENTS CONFIRMED.
WEAKNESS IDENTIFIED.
Mardust roared.
The ground exploded outward—not violently, but with absolute authority. Gravity reversed, folded, and reasserted itself around him in a perfect sphere. Space snapped back into compliance.
"You don't get to call that weakness," he said, eyes blazing silver. "That's why I'm still human."
The Galaxy System surged in response.
HOST RESOLVE SPIKE DETECTED.
TEMPORARY LAW ANCHOR ESTABLISHED.
For the first time—
The entity recoiled.
Not in fear.
In surprise.
YOU RESIST NULLIFICATION.
Mardust straightened fully now, standing tall amid the chaos. "I told you," he said calmly. "I adapt."
Silence stretched.
Then—
The distortion began to retract.
THIS INTERACTION IS NOT CONCLUDED.
"I wouldn't expect it to be," Mardust replied.
YOU WILL BE OBSERVED.
YOU WILL BE TESTED.
"Get in line," he said.
The presence withdrew—folding back into the deeper layers of reality until the sky restored itself, stars flickering back into existence one by one.
The wind returned.
The dust fell.
Mars breathed again.
Mardust dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
"That… was different," he muttered.
CONFIRMED.
FIRST CONTACT WITH VOID SOVEREIGN ENTITY: AXIOM-THREN.
THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.
He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "I didn't lose."
NO.
YOU WERE EVALUATED.
He laughed quietly. "I hate tests."
ADDITIONAL DATA:
YOUR EXISTENCE HAS BEEN FLAGGED ACROSS MULTIPLE COSMIC DOMAINS.
Mardust's expression sobered.
"So this is it," he said softly. "No more hiding."
CORRECT.
THE GALAXY NOW KNOWS YOU EXIST.
He stood and looked toward the horizon.
"Then I need to get stronger," he said. "Faster than they expect."
AGREED.
RECOMMENDATION: ACCELERATED ASCENSION PATH.
RISK: SEVERE.
Mardust didn't hesitate.
"Do it."
The System pulsed—brighter than ever.
PREPARING NEXT PHASE.
Far away, beyond stars and silence, the Void Sovereign watched.
Not with hunger.
Not yet.
With anticipation.
The game had begun.
And for the first time in an age long forgotten—
The infinite had found something that could push back.