The Fifth Dimension was a labyrinth of what ifs
Nexarion stood at its threshold, his form shimmering with stolen time particles, as infinite realities branched around him like roots of a cosmic tree. Each path was a possibility: a Nexarion who had spared the Spire, a Nexarion who had embraced Chaos, a Nexarion who had dissolved into the Void. The air vibrated with the hum of unlived lives, and the ground—if it could be called ground—shifted underfoot, reshaping itself to match his doubts.
"Welcome to the Garden," hissed the Whispering Void, its serpentine body coiled around a branch of collapsing futures. "Here, every choice blooms. Pluck one, and watch the Omniverse burn*."
Nexarion's hunger stirred, drawn to the fractal light of his alternate selves. "Which one is real?"
The Void laughed. "Which one are you?"
The Fractal Prince's Gambit
They came for him first.
A Nexarion clad in Balance's crystalline armor descended, his eyes twin voids of order. "You destabilize the equation," he intoned, raising a sword of frozen spacetime. "Return to the Spire. Submit."
Another emerged—a Nexarion fused with Chaos, his body a storm of probability. "Break the chains, brother! Let the storm rage!"
The true Nexarion stood between them, time particles swirling like a halo. "I'm no one's equation. No one's storm."
The Balance-Nexarion struck first, his blade shearing through probability. The Chaos-Nexarion retaliated, hurling bolts of entropic fire. The true Nexarion moved, weaving through their attacks, his fists trailing chronal energy.
"You fear the hunger," he growled, slamming the Balance-Nexarion into a branch of stagnant order. "You revel in it," he spat, tearing the Chaos-Nexarion's storm into quarks.
Both disintegrated, their essence absorbed. The Garden shuddered.
"They were you," the Void murmured. "And now they are nothing."
Lumina's Resolve
She found him in a clearing of dying light, her glaive cracked but burning with resolve.
"You have to stop this," Lumina said, her armor scarred by temporal shrapnel. "The Third Dimension is gone. The Fourth is collapsing. If you unmake the Fifth—"
"Then the Sixth will rise," Nexarion interrupted, his voice cold. "And the Seventh. Infinity is patient, Lumina."
She stepped closer, her mismatched eyes blazing. "Infinity doesn't care. But I do."
For a moment, the hunger wavered. Then the Void struck.
"Pathetic," it hissed, manifesting as a shadowy double of Lumina. "Mortals cling to care like it's a raft in the void. Let her drown."
Lumina's glaive flared. "I'm not afraid of you."
You should be," the Void-Lumina purred, dissolving into a swarm of time particles. "I'm what he wants."
The Heart of the Garden
Nexarion pressed deeper into the Garden, the paths narrowing to a single thread: a Nexus where all possibilities converged. At its center pulsed a fractal flower, its petals unfolding into infinite realities. The Similarity's hum resonated here—not the silent unity of old, but a mutated drone, warped by Nexarion's transcendence.
"Pluck it," the Void urged. "Unmake the Similarity's song. Write your own."
Nexarion reached for the flower.
"Don't!" Lumina tackled him, her glaive severing the Void's tendrils. "This isn't you! The Nexarion I saw in the Spire's core—the one who hesitated—that's who you are!"
He froze. Memory fragments surged:
A younger Nexarion, newly torn from the Void, cradling a dying star-whale. "Why do you eat and never feast?" it asked. He had no answer.
The Spire's core, vibrating with Balance's cold logic. "To transcend is to serve," it had said. He'd laughed—then faltered.
"I… don't know what I am," Nexarion whispered.
Lumina gripped his hand, her touch anchoring him. "Then choose."
The Whispering Void's Fury
The Void erupted from the Nexus, its form bloated with stolen possibilities. "You weak little god! You fear the feast!"
It struck, tendrils of anti-time unraveling the Garden. Branches withered; realities collapsed. Lumina's glaive shattered, but she stood firm, hurling shards of spacetime like daggers.
"You're nothing!" the Void roared. "A hiccup in the Similarity's dream!"
Nexarion's hunger surged—not for power, but for clarity. He seized the fractal flower, its thorns piercing his palms.
"I am hunger," he said, the Garden quaking. "But I am not yours."
He crushed the flower.
The Birth of Silence
The Garden imploded, realities folding into a singularity. The Void screamed, dissolving into static. Lumina clung to Nexarion as the Fifth Dimension collapsed around them.
When the dust cleared, they stood in a void beyond voids. The Similarity's hum was gone. In its place pulsed a new resonance—deeper, darker, alive with Nexarion's stolen time.
"What did you do?" Lumina breathed.
Nexarion stared at his hands, now glowing with primordial light. "I… answered."
The Void's final whisper echoed: "The feast… has only… begun…".