The world noticed the change.
Not immediately—worlds rarely understood what had wounded them—but in the subtle way systems react when a core function stops responding.
Time flowed.
No rewind.
No correction.
The royal capital continued its noise and chaos, unaware that a fundamental rule had failed.
Anos Voldigoad walked through the streets as if they belonged to him.
Mana parted around his steps, bending instinctively to avoid touching his source. Spirits hidden in the air watched him in silence, their contracts trembling, their forms unstable.
"So these are the foundations," Anos murmured. "Spirits bound by fear. Humans protected by repetition."
He stopped.
Ahead of him, the black-haired boy from earlier stood arguing with a small blonde girl.
"Hey! I didn't take anything from you!" the boy protested.
"You bumped into me," the girl snapped. "That means it's fair game."
Anos observed without interest.
Then he felt it.
A disturbance—thin, sharp, eager.
Killing intent.
From the shadows of an alley, something moved with practiced hunger. Not chaos. Not madness. A professional.
An assassin.
"So early," Anos said. "The story rushes itself."
The woman stepped into the light, white hair flowing, smile sharp enough to cut.
"My, my," Elsa Granhiert purred. "Two targets instead of one? How generous."
The black-haired boy froze.
This was where he was meant to die.
Anos stepped forward.
Elsa tilted her head. "Oh? You feel different."
Anos met her gaze.
"You exist because this world allows mistakes to be undone," he said calmly. "Unfortunately for you, it no longer does."
She lunged.
The blade never reached him.
Anos raised his hand—not to block, but to decide.
Elsa's momentum vanished. Her form wavered, her grin faltering as her existence unraveled from the inside out.
"Wait—what did you—"
She was gone.
Not slain.
Not erased.
Corrected out of the narrative.
Silence filled the alley.
The blonde girl stared, trembling. The black-haired boy collapsed to his knees, gasping.
"I… I should be dead," he whispered.
"Yes," Anos replied. "You were scheduled for it."
He turned away.
"Consider yourself obsolete."
Above them, unseen by human eyes, threads of fate snapped—one after another—as the world struggled to replace what it had lost.
It failed.
Anos continued walking.
"This world will learn," he said softly, "that progress without consequence is not progress at all."
Far away, in a place wrapped in shadow and longing, a woman finally opened her eyes.
Someone had touched her domain.
And refused it.
Her smile faded.