CHAPTER 6: The Sixth Fracture

The portal closed behind us with a soft hum.

Just like that, the fracture was gone.

No twisted space.

No shaking ground.

No gods watching from on high.

Only silence.

Saaya stood beside me, still for a moment—her arms loose at her sides, her breathing steady.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

She just looked forward, like she already knew what waited on the other side.

I stepped forward beside her.

What we saw… wasn’t a palace.

Wasn’t a city.

It was something else entirely.

A realm.

Suspended in stillness, floating above a sea of mirrored light—fractals turning gently beneath us like sleeping thoughts. Pillars stretched into the sky, carved from equations and memory.

There was no sun here, no sky.

Just a faint violet glow, as if the Scalar Grid itself was holding its breath.

Zurvan walked ahead, barefoot on a surface that wasn’t quite glass, but not stone either. It shimmered beneath him—like the world itself responded to his presence.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

I turned to Saaya. “You really trust him, don’t you?”

She nodded faintly. “He built this place with his own will. Not to rule. To survive. When the Five cursed him… he couldn’t leave this plane of existence. So he made this realm instead. A shelter… within a prison.”

Her words hung in the air like a quiet truth.

And suddenly, I understood.

Zurvan hadn’t just made a home.

He had taken the one thing the gods left him—limitation—and shaped it into a sanctuary.

A place untouched by chaos.

A place that still obeyed him.

A constant, inside a broken world.

We followed him across floating pathways that formed beneath our feet with every step. The silence wasn’t empty.

It was sacred.

I didn’t know what questions we would ask here.

Or what answers we were ready to hear.

But for the first time since being cast into this multiversal graveyard…

I didn’t feel like we were running anymore.

A few minutes later, Zurvan led us through a curved corridor of mirrored geometry that pulsed faintly with scalar light.

“I have multiple showers available,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re welcome to use them while I prepare accommodations.”

We nodded, thankful. The grime and chaos of the fracture still clung to our skin like old blood.

Time passed. We emerged clean, refreshed, and dressed in soft guest robes that fit perfectly. For the first time in days, I felt… human again.

“Excuse me,” I said as we returned to the living space, adjusting the robe slightly around my shoulders. “Would it be possible to get new clothes?”

Zurvan smiled gently. “Of course. I should’ve offered sooner. Just tell me what you’d like, and I’ll create it for you.”

“You can just… make clothes? From nothing?”

He chuckled. “Clothes, weapons, even entire zones—though that takes more effort. But yes. Speak, and it shall be done.”

“Alright…” I crossed my arms and began to imagine it. “Honestly, I liked what I had before.”

“I want a black V-neck shirt. Over it, a long black cloak that falls just to my knees. The pants—tight, but not too tight. Black, with faint red scratches woven subtly into the fabric like scars.”

I paused, then nodded.

“And boots. Black. Comfortable but sharp-looking. Lastly, a cross necklace. Silver, if possible.”

Zurvan raised an eyebrow, amused. “You really do like black, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said with a small smile. “But it’s not just for style. This outfit reminds me of home. Of where I came from.”

My smile faded, and I looked down.

“When I wear it, I don’t just think about killing the gods. I remember why I’m doing all this at all.”

My fists clenched, quietly.

“I miss my family.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward.

It was sacred.

Saaya looked at me. She didn’t speak, but her expression said everything. Quiet. Soft. Understanding.

“I see,” Zurvan said. “As you wish. Your request will be granted.”

With a snap of his fingers, the clothes appeared—folded perfectly in midair, floating toward me. I caught them and stared at them like they were treasure.

I went to the bathroom to change .

When I stepped back into the room, Zurvan had not moved. Saaya was standing nearby, arms folded, eyes closed in thought.

I walked over in my new outfit. It felt… right. Familiar and foreign at the same time.

Zurvan smiled. “Looks like it fits.”

“It does,” I said. “Thank you.”

Then, Saaya stepped forward.

“I won’t wear what they made for me.”

Her voice cut through the silence like a declaration—not of rebellion, but of resolve.

“Not the gods. Not the world that cast me out. If I’m going to face them, I need something that reflects who I am now—not what they tried to shape me into.”

She walked closer, her presence steady, clear.

“Make it black. Not the kind that hides—but the kind that devours light. A black that feels like memory unraveling. And trim it in violet. That strange, sacred violet you see at the edge of dying stars. The color of something beautiful right before it vanishes. The color of rebirth.”

“No chains. No armor across the chest. I don’t need to be protected. I’ve already survived. Let the fabric shape my body like it was meant to be there. Let the top mirror my legs—graceful, clean, elegant in a way that threatens without trying.”

“Give me gloves. Long. High as the shoulder. Like shadows I’ve made peace with. Smooth. Silent. Let them stretch across my arms for purpose, like a prophecy.”

“And for the rest—something that moves like dusk. Layers, flowing. Let it open and close with each step. Not to show off. To warn. Power doesn’t scream. It waits. And when it moves, it doesn’t ask for permission.”

“I don’t want to look like I’m ready for war.”

“I want to look like I already won.”

Zurvan said nothing.

He simply smiled and raised his hand.

With a quiet ripple in the air, the outfit formed around her in layers of flowing black and radiant violet. It shimmered in soft waves, like it had always belonged to her.

And when she stood there—still, composed—I was stunned.

Her blonde braid fell across one shoulder like a silver thread. Her gloves framed her arms like ribbons of dusk. Her dress opened with each step, whispering movement without sound.

She looked like a goddess.

But not one to be worshipped.

One to be feared.

I stared for a second too long.

Saaya tilted her head and smirked. “Whatcha gawking at, Sukara? See something you like?”

“I—no—I mean—” I looked away, blushing, and moved quickly toward the dining table.

She laughed softly behind me. Not mocking. Just warm.

Just then, soft footsteps echoed across the space.

A woman emerged from the far hallway—quiet and poised. She wore a refined maid’s outfit, cut modestly but stylish. A mole dotted her left cheek. Her long black hair was pulled into a side ponytail, a streak of light blue flashing through it like frozen lightning.

She moved like time had no weight on her. Like she belonged to this still world.

“Food is ready, my lord,” she said calmly.

Zurvan nodded, folding his arms behind his back.

“Perfect.”