FSE

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*****

Chapter Seventy Four

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Half in a dream, Vakaal walked through the storytellers' castle. With every step, he felt stronger. His shaping was a storm growing inside him, waiting to be unleashed, waiting to change the world itself. The collar he bore was now little more than a reminder of the terrible things done to his people in this place. This...wretched...place. This house of horrors, home only to blood and fear. It should not exist. The pup did not want this place to exist anymore. So brick by brick, it took itself apart behind him.

Alarm bells rang, and calls for help echoed down the corridors as the roof peeled away in Vakaal's wake. Some people ran for the exits. Vakaal did not stop anyone trying to flee, and even made sure the servants all left unscathed. Whenever he recognized someone kind, he waggled his fingers in a little wave. He paused to thank them for being nice even as the walls disassembled themselves all around him. Then he continued on his way, singing a song of hope amidst horror.

A robed man ran into the hallway before Vakaal. The man threw his hands out, throwing his shaping as a wall of invisible power intended to knock the pup off his feet. In years long past, when Vakaal fought them in the desert, their powers caught him off guard. Back then, their shaping tossed him across the sand, shattered bones, forced his body to knit together again. This time...

The pup's shaping was unstoppable. Everything was his story to tell, his world to change.

Vakaal tilted his head and time slowed to a crawl. He saw the human's shaping coming at him, a shimmering wave in the air. Vakaal snatched it as easily as he might catch a pebble casually tossed his way. He wreathed that wave in his own shaping, twisting the world, telling himself the story as he wished it to play out.

The pup turned the evil human's power back on itself, obliterating him.

The world bent around him, and obeyed. In the same instant the robed man hurled his power, Vakaal intercepted and returned it with ten times the force. The entire stone corridor rippled like water as the pup's power exploded down the hall. It hit the man so hard it didn't just lift him off his feet, it obliterated him. It left nothing more than a cloud of scorched red sand drifting through the air.

All the while, Vakaal kept singing. With every breath he took, he sang their story's end.

Descending a wide stairwell, Vakaal felt as if he was drifting, as though the world itself was carrying him wherever he wanted to go. The pup lifted a hand, staring at it. Blood coated his fur from the fight he'd had with the guards. He scrunched his muzzle. The wet, crimson stickiness made him sick. Vakaal rubbed his hands together, shaping rain from his fingers, rinsing the blood away as he walked onward.

Something felt wrong. Vakaal wasn't sure what it was, but he almost felt too strong. As though he'd given himself so much shaping it put the story out of balance. He whimpered, then set his jaw and flattened his ears. He_needed_ that power to set their story right. To stop the evil wrought upon his people by the terrible men in robes. Just as the first chief had done. Though...had not the first chief sacrificed himself?

As Vakaal passed through a large room, he wondered. Had the first chief also given himself too much power? Maybe he had used his shaping to strengthen his people, to ensure they would not only win, but survive. What if the first chief chose to let himself die, to prevent his endless shaping from unbalancing the world? Did Vakaal have to do that, too? The pup didn't want to die, but...if that was what it took to make sure his father was safe...

"Now!"

A vaguely familiar voice called out an order, and a group of men in robes sprung an ambush. Together, they all shaped the world around him, binding the pup. They pressed his arms to his sides, pushed weight against him, turned the air into a smothering, choking blanket through which he could not breathe. Vakaal turned his head, looking around the chamber. He had drawn near to where they often bound and tortured his father. Surely, Lovro would try and use his father against him. The rest of the storytellers knew Vakaal would go there, and they'd waited for him.

It didn't matter.

None could bind Brave Vakaal.

Brave Vakaal lifted his arms, and their insignificant shaping shattered like fragile pottery. A flurry of furious, bright indigo sparks whirled through the room, burning through the heavy, smothering air. The men cried out orders to each other, but it didn't matter. They tried to shape him again, tried to dampen his powers, but a whirling sandstorm of red and gold sprung to life all around him. It protected him, a shield from their shaping. They had nothing that could touch Brave Vakaal now. Nothing that could hold him. He wanted them to know it. Wanted them to understand what they had wrought upon themselves.

He threw his hand to the ceiling, and what was left of the castle's top half exploded in an instant, blowing apart into thousands of stone blocks spiraling away into the night sky. In their place, Vakaal shaped furious clouds into being. A storm of red and gold, of flashing blue light and shrieking howls. A storm of pure change, the same terrible thing his people hid from in the old ruins. A force of ruination, to wipe this horrible place from existence.

Blue-white bolts struck everywhere, their sound not thunder, but the agonized squeal of a world forced to change. Everything the bolts struck turned to sand. A place not meant to exist, blasted back into beautiful desert one story-searing burst at a time. Raging winds sucked the sand away, spinning it deeper into the storm raging above their shattered citadel. The men in robes screamed as they beheld the wrath of Brave Vakaal. One by one, he cast each screaming man up into the tempest.

Of all the men who ambushed him, only one was spared. The man with the familiar voice turned and ran. Vakaal dropped heavy stone blocks in front of him, cutting off his escape. This man he recognized. As the storyteller whirled back towards him, terror tightened his face. All the color was gone. He held up his shaking hands in terrified submission, falling to his knees as the storm raged above them both.

"Please! I...I surrender...You...you don't have to..."

"I surrendered to you, once." Vakaal approached the man who so many years ago, led the group who came to his tribe and captured them. "You put a knife to my father's throat. Told me you'd make me watch him bleed out into the sand if I didn't give myself up."

"I...I was only doing what I'd been ordered too!" The man panted, looking around for escape as Vakaal neared him. "You'd already killed-"

"I trusted you to your word, that if I surrendered, you wouldn't hurt us anymore. But...you knew all along what was going to happen, didn't you? You let me heal that dragon, and the others because you wanted to see if I could. And you knew. You knew what Lovro would do to us here. Didn't you?"

"You...you have to understand-"

"I understand. You think you can force us to fix your story, to stop it from ending. But you can't. You can't change what's already happened. You should have died...you all should have died with your dead world. For you, at least...that will be your fate."

The pup lifted his hand, and the man floated up into the air. Vakaal smiled at him, and made a pushing motion. The man shot away into the sky, streaks of blue lightning wreathing him. His scream faded after only a moment. Vakaal followed him with his shaping, out across the desert, out beyond the sands, and far, far into the blasted wasteland. The day he captured Vakaal and his Father, that man stopped Father from erasing that very wasteland.

Vakaal thought it only fitting that his story end, alone, in a dead world.

After that, there was no one left to challenge him or impede his righteous path. Vakaal went down the last stairway, leading to the room where Lovro tried to kill Oasis, and the chamber where he was always tortured father. They had black shackles there, meant to bind the desert shapers. And for years he feared to count, they had bound his father. They'd cut him apart and made Vakaal put him back together.

Now, at last, Vakaal could fix not just his father, but everything.

Those chambers were lower in the castle, and though the walls shook and rumbled, they had not yet torn down, the ceilings there had not been ripped away. Lovro did not yet know the enormity of what he brought upon himself. Just as Vakaal wanted it. He found Lovro exactly where he expected him. Though the man was a lunatic, and his shaping was far stronger than his minions, he was also predictable in his way. Still thought he could use Father to bend the pup to his will. Just as Vakaal reached the door that led to his so-called training chamber, it opened.

"I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish." Lovro leaned against the wall, where Father was shackled. His arms were folded, and his knife hovered in the air, its tip pressed to Father's throat. A dribble of red blood matted the thick gray fur around Father's throat. "Whatever you've done to this place, we can fix. However many men you've killed, they can be replaced. But your dear father here, I don't think you can replace him." The knife twisted, and a little more blood ran down father's throat. "So what say you relax, hmm?"

Vakaal stared at his Father. The older urd'thin was chained to the wall, his manacles locked into black chains, his ankles the same. His collar was bound to the stone. It was the same thing, every time. Year in, year out. Torture his father, make Vakaal heal him, build his strength till he was strong enough to fix their world. Only now did Vakaal understand that he was _already_that strong. Even with his muzzle bound shut, Father managed to smile and perk his ears. Yet a strange, sad emptiness shone in his dark eyes.

Father knew.

The pup's heart ached for his father, a little whimper crept up his throat. His ears drooped, and his powers started to slack. His poor father.

"I'm not playing, this time." Lovro snarled, unfolding his arms to flourish one of his hands at the pup. "You want him to die? All I need do is keep you busy long enough, and in a few moments, there won't be a father left to heal. Or do you think you can bring him back once he's already dead?"

"If I have to." Vakaal's voice was flat. He ignored Lovro, and walked to his father. He reached up to squeeze Father's shackled hand. Father squeezed back. "I solved it, Father."

Father nodded, and whined through his bound muzzle. He understood.

"The answer is, I do."

Father sighed, and nodded three times.

"Are you listening to me?" Lovro's voice rose, anger flushed his cheeks. He seemed more upset about being ignored than he was about what was happening to his people outside the inner walls. "If you expect me to cower just because you've shed your shackles, then expect to be disappointed. I knew it would happen eventually. Consider it a test of your progress. But the collar's different. Its failsafe will end you in an instant if you try to circumvent it too far. It's synced to my spark, and my spark only. So if-"

"I solved your riddle." Vakaal stepped away from his father, and turned to face Lovro. "I do."

"What?" Lovro blinked, growling through grit teeth. "What are you babbling about?"

"Your riddle." Vakaal kept his voice flat. He tilted his head back, staring into Lovro's eyes. Somewhere behind their madness, fear was creeping in. "I solved it."

"What riddle?" Lovro glanced at Father, then back at the pup.

"I do."

"What does that mean?"

Vakaal swept a hand through the air, mimicking Lovro's flourishes. "Who tells the storytellers' story?" He dropped his hand. "That's the riddle." A low, menacing snarl crept into the pup's voice, a deeper sound than such a creature should have been able to manage. The ground trembled beneath him. "I do. That's the answer. I tell your story."

Lovro went pale. He sucked in a breath, then reached for Vakaal's collar. Once again, Vakaal saw the shaping, like tendrils of change, shimmering and slinking through the air, connecting with the collar around his neck. Vakaal let Lovro's shaping touch the collar, just to make his point. There was nothing dangerous left in it, no failsafe, no binding power.

"The pup's collar opened."

The collar opened, and Vakaal pulled it free from his neck.

Lovro gasped and stumbled back. "How...how did you..."

"This world..." Vakaal gestured with the collar at the world beyond. "It's my story. And everything in it? Is part of that story. You, your people, your collars...you're all mine to change, now." Vakaal held the collar up in the air, then let it go. It floated a moment above his hand. "The collar shattered, never to contain the pup again."

The collar vibrated before Vakaal, floating in the air. The whole world bent around it, and the air itself crystallized, like he was viewing the black circlet through a prism. With an earsplitting crack the collar shattered into a million pieces, spraying black sand around the room. Lovro threw his hands up in front of his face, turning away.

"That's impossible! You...you can't possibly...unless..."

"I told you. It's my story now." Vakaal turned away from Lovro, to face his father. He lifted his hand, and the straps fell from Father's muzzle. The shackles all opened and Father dropped to the floor, onto his hands and knees. Vakaal helped him up. "Father! Are you alright?"

Father's only answer was a fierce, powerful hug. The hug melted some of Vakaal's pain, some of his fear, and he pressed himself to his father, arms around him. While they hugged, Father turned his head to growl at Lovro, his ears pinned. "I told you, time and again, you couldn't hold him. That he would end your story. Now...now, I think you're starting to understand why."

"He...he's not just..."

"No." Father hugged Vakaal tighter. "He's not. Like me, he has the power to bring this dead world back to life. You followed something unfathomable here, and at last, you found it. The tribes, our people, where did you think they came from? My son and I, we're...different. Meant to start things anew. And Vakaal? Vakaal could have done_everything_ you ever wanted, but what you wanted was wrong. Stories are meant to end, so that new stories can be born from their ashes. Endings always bring beginnings. I tried to teach him to live his life the right way. To understand _why_things are the way they are. To grow up strong, and wise, and some day, to take my place, and lead his tribe, his creation, as one of them."

Father swallowed, his arms around Vakaal, but his eyes remained fixed upon Lovro. "All we ever wanted here was a family! Just...a little place in the world to know peace. To know happiness, to see our creations spread and thrive. But you...you had to follow us. I love my son with all my heart, and all he ever wanted was to sing, and dance, and make me happy. You took something pure, and... I have watched you break him down and strip away his innocence bit by bit, until you've laid him bare to his broken soul. Now what does he have left to put himself back together with? All you've left him is...anguish, and grief, and anger. You've...you've only just glimpsed what you've made him into. But the pup...the pup should always be pure."

Vakaal lifted his head, gazing up at his father. He didn't quite understand what Father was saying. Tears ran down his father's fur, as he cupped Vakaal's head in his hands.

The pup should always be pure.

Something changed in Vakaal's head. Something crystalized, hidden away and protected, then gone from his memory as soon as he noticed it.

Vakaal nuzzled at his Father. "Can we go back, now? To the tribe?"

Father heaved a trembling sigh. "The tribe's gone, Vakaal. I think in your heart, you already knew that." Father glared once more at Lovro, fire and fury dancing in his dark eyes. "You brought your ruination to our world and now, like you, we have nothing. When this is all over...no one will remember your name. You're nothing to us now. You're just...another murderer, like the rest. You're nothing. You're sand, in the storm."

Lovro cried out, falling back against the wall. His golden robe rustled and whipped around him, and thread by thread, it dissolved into sand. He held a hand up in front of his face, then screamed when his fingertips dissolved just the same. Lovro's whole forearm turned into sand, collapsing and scattering across the floor. Moment by moment, inch by inch, golden sand consumed every part of him. He shrieked and flailed around. His legs gave out as his feet were consumed. What was left of him crawled across the floor, moaning. Soon there were no lungs left to fill with air. Lovro's head hit the floor, his eyes glazed over, and then the last of him crumbled away into golden dust.

When he was gone, Vakaal could not remember his name.

Vakaal hugged his father again. Their nameless captor was dead. They were free. But, something wasn't right. Father said the tribe was gone, so they had no home to return to. Maybe he could build a new home, but it wouldn't be the same. Nothing would ever be the same, now. He swiveled his ears. In the distance, the storm still howled. Vakaal tilted his head back, peering at the ceiling. He could almost see through the stone, see the red and gold clouds tearing everything apart beyond. Soon it would rend the castle into blackened wasteland.

"I...I made...a storm. Like...like the ones we hide from."

"I know, pup."

Vakaal looked at his hands. Even now, his shaping boiled inside him. It never seemed angry before, but now it was furious. Wanting to be unleashed. Demanding to be unleashed. "I feel strange. Like I'm too strong. Like..." He grit his teeth. "Like I could fix everything! Father?" Vakaal turned his hands over. The air bent around them. Behind all his shaping, an ever-growing ocean of uncertainty filled him. "What...what _am_I?"

"You're my son." Father snatched Vakaal up and hugged him again, pressing the pup's head to his chest.

Vakaal laid his head against his Father, staring up at him. "You...you used to teach us about the gods, and those who came before. And now... Father, what are we?"

Father worked his jaw, his flat, his eyes gleaming. Even with all his power, he struggled just to find the words. "Once...once, we were lonely. We ended that for each other, a long, long time ago... Sometimes, I don't know which of us first..." He set his jaw. "Vakaal, you are my son. I love you, and that's all that matters. That's all that matters."

Sniffling, Vakaal managed to smile. Maybe Father was right. It didn't matter what they were, as long as they had each other. He wiped his eyes, trying not to cry. The pup lifted his hand, and the walls and ceiling peeled apart, revealing the churning, red-gold clouds beyond. "This is...this is all wrong. Isn't it?"

Father took a deep breath and let it out in a long, defeated sigh. "Yes, pup. It is. This isn't what you were meant for. This isn't the life I wanted you to live."

In a staggering flash, Vakaal saw himself in the desert. He was older now, full grown. As old as his father, at least. He stood tall and proud, lean but strong. He carried a pup of his own upon his shoulders, and together they sang as they climbed a dune. Another pup, a female...his daughter...she clutched at his tail, giggling. Behind them walked the pups' mother. His mate, a girl from the tribe he knew his in youth. All grown up, just like him. Happy. Silver bands marked the grown Vakaal's wrists, and horns. Runes and emblems were woven into the fur of his neck. He was their chief, now. Their prime shaper. Their historian. Their Storyteller. In the distance, a great village surrounded an oasis. A growing civilization. Vakaal gasped and tumbled back against his Father.

Father caught him, held him upright. "You've seen it now, haven't you? The life you should have lived. The life I so desperately wanted for you, from the moment I took you away, after the first time I fought the storytellers."

"The...first time?" Vakaal flattened his ears. "How...how many..." Something else struck Vakaal, and he gasped, his eyes wide. "Father...are you...were you the First-"

"I wanted you to have a chance to spin your own story." Father knelt, and put his hands upon Vakaal's shoulders, staring into his eyes. "What you've seen, that was the life I wanted to give you. The life you should have lived. Simple and peaceful and free of all this madness. It is my greatest regret that I could not make that happen for you. That I...that I failed you, Vakaal. For that, I will always be sorry."

"No..." Vakaal whined, shaking his head. He didn't want Father to be sorry. Didn't want Father to be sad. It wasn't Father's fault. It was _his_fault. The storm above grew stronger. "No, you didn't do anything wrong!"

"I did, Vakaal, I did." Father pressed his face to Vakaal's fur, sniffling. "I should have...I should have slain the storytellers when they came for us. But I thought...I thought if I let them take me, they'd never have cause to look for you. I thought you'd be free of them. That you'd...you'd grow up, leading your tribe, raising your own family...and you'd never have to fear them again. That at last you could spin a new world into being, for your tribe, your family, just like you once did for me. I was certain if I finally let them take me, that you'd be free, forever. I didn't...think you'd come after me, but I should have known. I should have known, because...because we always do..."

"I couldn't let you die!" Vakaal whimpered, his voice shaking. He wrapped his arms around his father's neck, holding him. "I still wasn't strong enough, I...I gave up, because..."

"The mistake was mine, Vakaal." Father shuddered, an arm around his son. "I should have kept you safe from all this. What horrible father have I been, to let you endure this, for all these years? I didn't want..." He nudged Vakaal's muzzle with his own. "I didn't want it to come to this! I...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What foolish creature am I, to have ever believed that...I'm sorry, Vakaal, I'm so sorry for what I've put you through, because I feared how it would end. Because...the only way to make it end, is for you to know what we are. What you are. I feared that, because I know what that knowledge makes of you. Yet for all our suffering, what do we have left?"

Vakaal held his father's head, his voice soft. "Each other..."

Father sobbed, stroking Vakaal's fur. "We do. We do..."

"I can fix this..." Vakaal stroked his father's fur, his voice. "I...I want to fix this. I want to make this right, for you..."

"Vakaal, no..." Father took his hand and squeezed it, shaking his head. "You can't. Even when we rebuild it, it's...wrong, it's different. Once you know, it's so much harder not to interfere. They...have to be free to choose, even when they're wrong! Even when they'll die, you...have to let them die! But it's so hard! And if _they_know, then they ask and ask, and take and take! It only works if no one knows...not even you. But...you'll always...I tried to raise you right..."

"Father..." Vakaal took his father's hand, his voice hoarse, and cracking. "It doesn't matter, because...I think I can start this over. We won't...we won't know, anymore...I can start all this over..."

"It won't be the same, Vakaal." Father cupped Vakaal's head in his hands, fingers gently winding through his fur. "It won't be us..."

The pup sniffled and shook his head. "It won't matter! Not as long as someone gets to live happily, at least...right? I can feel it, Father, my shaping...it's angry. It wants...it wants me to fix this, whatever it takes...I know I can do it..."

Father went quiet. "Vakaal, you're different, even than me. Sometimes I feel like one of us is but a dream, and the other, the dreamer. I cannot tell which is which." He trailed off, red-gold clouds reflected in his tear-filled eyes. "I don't know what will happen to us..."

"Let me try." Vakaal whined, his ears drooping. "I want to want to fix this for you, Father. I want you to see me grow up happy, just like you hoped. Please? Let me fix this...Let me fix...everything..."

"But Vakaal...I tried to break the story's shackles before, when I fled with you. It...it still led to...this." He swallowed, shaking his head. "What if it always goes wrong? If you truly shape everything anew, I don't know what will happen to us, to the world..."

"At least we'll be together, right?" Vakaal wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Somewhere...there should be a desert, there should be a happy Vakaal, right? With a happy father? If there's nothing left here for us, what does it matter if we burn away? At least...we burn together. And...and it's alright as long as somewhere, in some story...we get to live our lives as they were meant to be..."

Father rubbed his eyes, smearing tears into his fur. "Alright, Vakaal. I know you, and I know you must try to fix what's broken. It's what you always do." He worked his arms around his pup, hugging him tight. "Go ahead, my lovely son. Start things over. Leap the chasm, Vakaal. Leap the chasm."

Vakaal lifted trembling hands towards the sky. He took a slow breath, reached inside himself, and grasped for all the shaping boiling within him. It wanted out, it wanted to fix things, and the pup was going to let it do just that. With a feral howl, Vakaal cast all his shaping out into the world. He sent it to the sky, willed his shaping to go everywhere, all at once.

The pup shaped everything.

The pup thought of a desert, pure and clean. A place brought back to life, year by year, generation by generation, by a simple, happy tribe of desert dwellers. A people that were meant to grow and thrive, and through them, one day the world would be whole again. A place where a pup named Vakaal could grow up happy. A place where his Father could grow old, satisfied to know his son would live a long, joyful life.

Vakaal willed the world meant to be into existence, a story waiting to be told.

The earth shook. Time slowed. A bolt of blue-white traced a slow, lazy line through the air. Stone erupted into a frozen spray of sand, and time stopped completely. To make that new world a reality, Vakaal had to change what once happened. He had to change what once was, and ensure it would never be again. Even if that meant a whole new story had to be born. Even if that meant to balance the new story, the old one had to end.

Vakaal spoke, and every word was a thunderclap, shattering the sky. "The. Storytellers. Never. Found." For a fraction of a second lasting an eternity, Vakaal paused his thought. Why stop them from finding the tribe, when he could stop them from ever coming to their world at all? Or could he...could he...stop them from ever existing? Why fix only their story, when he could save all the stories they ever infected, like a plague? He could help everyone...

"They. Never. Exis-"

All at once, Vakaal saw four worlds laid out in a line, a mirror reflection repeated time and again. Each reflection was different. Each was wrong in its own way. Four versions of his own story, his own life. But his life was wrong, so they were all wrong. In one, he saw himself, bound and shackled to the wall in his father's place, with his father sobbing against him. In another, Brave Vakaal lay bloodied, and Father screamed to the sky. The pup had commanded his shaping to touch everything, and somehow, it opened a window into every version of his life, of his father's life.

One was a hero, one a villain. In one they were dying, only to return anew, and repeat it all again. In one, they lingered, alive and alone in an empty world, shaping expended to end the storytellers. They were...they were all wrong. None of them got to be happy. It wasn't...it wasn't fair...Was...was he the only one choosing to try and start over? Or...or had his choice just...led to more? They all...they all had to make their choice, for their own story...

In every version but his own, Vakaal saw they were all still collared. None of them had solved the riddle yet. Or...or Father forbid it, still clinging to his beliefs and fears. Or countless other reasons why two lives in parallel turned out differently, why hero became villain, why everyone lived or died. But they all suffered. They all ended up captured.

They all chose to save each other.

Because we always do...

Maybe the four stories weren't parallel. Maybe they were a loop, an endless cycle. Was that what Father meant? Father always chose to save the son. The son always chose to save the father. They always tried to start it over, to spin the world into being once more, to shape away the memories of Those Who Came Before...

Until the storytellers came again.

Until Father remembered, and fled it all. Then he was lonely...so Vakaal breathed life into a tribe as father breathed it into the world. A new home, a new family...

And still the storytellers came...

And still they ruined it.

It wasn't...fair...

All four visions of other worlds trembled. Suddenly Vakaal could feel them, and they were slipping his grasp. He was thinking too long, too hard about all of this, and his shaping was not waiting for him to find an answer. It followed his heart, and his heart wanted to fix everything, wanted to help everyone all at once. Parallel, loop, past, future, it didn't matter now. They all...they all had to make their own decision. But...none knew how to free themselves.

So Vakaal freed them all.

The pup sent his shaping everywhere, and re-wrote every story he saw.

"Every. Collar. Opened."

Every collar opened.

A ripple rolled through every world laid out before him, and one by one, every version of himself and his father lost their collars. Fathers and sons hugged, or gathered latent powers suddenly free. For a moment, a single, joyful moment, Vakaal thought he'd fixed things. But...but they were still sad, just like him. They were still angry, just like Father. If he truly wanted to fix things, did he have to start all their stories over? No, that should be up to them but...

Suddenly, in one world, a father, sick and tired of watching his pup suffer, unleashed his powers not on one man, but all of them. Changing his own story to eradicate every storyteller in existence, all at once. Such power tore his sky apart. In another, it was Vakaal taking revenge. Wiping out that city in a blink, eradicating everyone in it, human, dragon, urd'thin. Then that Vakaal's power overwhelmed him, obliterating everything in a sky-shattering blink. That world winked out.

No! No, that wasn't what he wanted!

No, no no! He wanted to fix them, not make them worse!

Pain tore through him as he forced himself to unleash yet more shaping. He snatched at those stories with his mind, struggled to heal them, tried to re-write them so they wouldn't make such terrible choices. But the worlds were already burning. The fruit was already halved. All he did was fracture them, splitting those stories into two, trapped in that same moment. Then it happened again, and again. The more he tried to change things, the more fractures those changes brought. The more Vakaal struggled to straighten out the path, to guide their stories in the right direction, the more those paths forked.

Every new fracture he made shifted the balance. He wanted to end the storytellers, but unless...unless they all ended at once...

Vakaal.

Vakaal!

His father's voice was an echo in the back of his mind. He opened his eyes without ever knowing they were closed. Father clutched his shoulders. The storm sat frozen around them, lightning stopped halfway to the earth. Father was frozen, too. He'd heard Father's voice, but how long ago did Father call him? Far above him, a sphere of blue lightning hovered above the shattered castle, and like everything else, it was locked in time, stuck there as Vakaal's shaping struggled to protect his world from the changes his heart had wrought. He wasn't sure how much longer that could last.

"I broke it!" Vakaal took a deep breath. "I have to...to fix it!"

He was making things worse, not better. Vakaal knew in his heart, all he should have done was try to fix their story, to tell the story where they were never captured. Even if that meant he and his father stopped existing, at least he'd know that somewhere, they'd live happily in another story. In the story that should have been.

But seeing so many versions of them where everything went wrong, he couldn't help it. He just wanted to fix them. They were slipping out of his grasp, now. The further he leapt, the wider the chasm grew. Every fracture pushed the original stories further apart. In his head, he saw them like images, painted on layers of glass. Every time he tried to fix them, all he did was shatter the glass. Four stories were eight, then sixteen. Whatever his powers unleashed had created an unstoppable cascade.

Instead of fixing everything, he'd created something far worse. He was trying to solve a puzzle, but all he was doing was making more pieces. And none of them were the happy story he set out to tell. He struggled, trying to put pieces back together, trying to merge stories that never should have split. Trying to fix worlds that shattered.

He could make more fruit, but he'd never tried to make less. Once they existed, they existed, but...maybe...maybe if he put them together right...if he made them...one. As Vakaal felt everything slipping away from him, the pup made one last, desperate change, hoping beyond hope to fix this. To fix this for everyone.

"All the stories! Were one! The pup! Was one! One father! One Vakaal! One...happy-"

And then he lost control completely. All the broken pieces assembled again in an instant, and where there should have been four stories, four lives lived each for father and son...there was one. It was the same across all four stories, now. The wrath of a vengeful father. The sorrow of a grieving pup. The anguish of a son, made to watch his father tormented. The horror of the father, who hurt far more for his son than himself. They all poured together. One life now, one story in his head. Every life they'd ever lived all flowed into him.

They all led to Vakaal.

Vakaal screamed as every memory they ever had rolled through his mind at once. His power, meant to remake the world, did just that. The sky tore itself asunder. The ruined castle around him took itself apart as all the four stories all crashed together. In one world, the castle was limestone. In another, they'd brought granite. In one, there were vines. In another, thorns. As Vakaal screamed, holes tore themselves between four stories. Worlds merged in random places. New life was born from old. The castle reassembled itself from bits and pieces drawn in from holes torn in the sky, gates to other worlds.

Father's voice echoed through his head somehow. "Vakaal! I will always lo-"

And then Vakaal was gone. Pulled from existence by a roiling sphere of blue lightning in the sky. Clouds burst from that hole in existence, and others. Somewhere beneath him, he felt father's grief, felt Father's shaping touch the clouds, the sky, reaching for him, even as Vakaal's changes yet spread.

Pain erupted across him, searing every inch of his body. His fur burned away, his flesh scorched beneath it. There was no air to breath. His lungs crumpled inside him. For a few terrible moments, he was sure he was dying. Then horror turned to relief. Whatever he'd done, at least father was there to fix it. Wasn't he? Maybe he had re-shaped the world. Maybe their story was starting over, and this was just...what happened when the vellum burned. If that was true, then even if he was dead...at least he'd be with his father.

It was better that way.

A flash of light brighter than the sun itself made him cry out. Frigid air, colder than he'd ever known, hit his burned body. His stomach heaved as he fell, toppling through the air. He screamed, blinded by the white flash. Then he hit the ground, felt it ripple under him, absorbing his impact. Agony tore through him again as all the damage done to him healed itself. The pain stole his breath for long moments.

When his body was whole, Vakaal rolled onto his back. The ground was soft, but horribly cold. Even when his eyes recovered, all he saw was white. Vakaal gasped and clawed at his face, fearing he was blind. But he saw his hands just fine. Something white and powdery clung to them. His warmth melted it, left his fur damp.

Snow.

He knew it only from stories.

Vakaal pushed himself up to his feet. Snow whirled around him, an angry blizzard. He took a few wobbling steps. The snow crunched beneath his feet, so cold it hurt his bare pads. He hugged himself, shivering. Where...where was he? Where was Father?

"Father!" Vakaal took a deep breath. The icy air bit into lungs that had never known cold before. "Faaaaatheerrr!"

There was no answer but his own echo. In the distance, jagged mountains loomed, glimpses of dark stone visible beneath their white shroud. In the other direction, a grove of tall, conical trees with strange, needle-like leaves stood against the wind. Vakaal tilted his head back, staring up at the sky. Far above him, in the clouds, coiled blue lightning faded out. He'd...fallen from the sky.

He wasn't dead.

This...this wasn't his world. He'd leapt the chasm, and lost control. And now...

The pup was alone.