Chapter — Enimies of the Narrative
Veydras had watched civilizations disappear in less time than it took the little girl to finish her soup.
That was why he stopped.
He had crossed this planet intending to forget it by morning. It was small, technologically primitive, and so irrelevant that most interstellar maps represented its inhabited regions with a single dot.
Yet there they were.
A mother, a father, and their daughter sat outside a crooked stone house, arguing over dinner.
The little girl stole something from her father's plate.
Her father stole it back.
She immediately pointed at him. "Mom!"
Her mother looked between them, reached across the table, stole it from both of them, and ate it herself.
The girl gasped.
Veydras stared.
He remembered this.
Not them.
This.
There had been a time, impossibly long ago, when meals had sounded like that.
The father noticed him standing along the road and waved.
Veydras froze.
The mother followed her husband's gaze and smiled.
Then their daughter noticed him.
She waved with both hands.
Veydras's hand moved before he could stop it.
One pale finger emerged from his sleeve.
Then another.
He almost waved.
The little girl grinned.
She jumped down from her chair and ran toward him.
Veydras's hand disappeared immediately beneath his sleeve.
"No."
She kept coming.
Veydras stepped backward. "Stop."
She was perhaps six.
Old enough to recognize fear.
Too young to understand why an adult would be afraid of her.
The girl reached toward him.
Veydras recoiled violently.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
She froze.
Her smile vanished.
The entire table went silent.
Her father immediately stood. "Hey!"
Veydras wasn't looking at him.
He was staring at the child's hand.
Five fingers.
Warm skin.
Stable.
Alive.
His breathing slowly settled.
Veydras whispered, "I'm sorry."
The girl's father was already approaching.
Veydras turned away before he reached her.
He had frightened the child.
Good.
Fear healed considerably faster than what his hands did.
Behind him, the girl's mother called, "Come back, sweetheart."
Tiny footsteps retreated.
Veydras continued walking.
Then the little girl shouted after him.
"Bye!"
He stopped.
For several seconds, Veydras didn't turn.
Then he quietly answered.
"Goodbye."
He hadn't said that word to a child in a very long time.
Back then, his name had been Veydras Miekō.
The name belonged to a world so ancient that even its ruins no longer existed.
He had two sisters.
Liora was older and had converted this minor chronological advantage into absolute political authority.
Mira was younger.
Mira followed him everywhere.
One afternoon, Veydras looked down from his bed and found her sitting on his floor again.
"Mira."
She looked up. "What?"
"Why are you here?"
Mira held up the paper in front of her. "I'm drawing."
"I can see that."
"Then why did you ask?"
Veydras stared at her.
Liora laughed from the doorway. "She got you."
Veydras turned toward his older sister. "Nobody asked you."
Liora leaned against the frame. "Impressive defense."
Veydras threw a pillow at her.
Liora caught it.
Mira burst out laughing.
Their mother shouted from downstairs, "If something breaks, you're all fixing it!"
Liora immediately shouted back, "Veydras did it!"
Veydras sat upright. "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"
Liora tossed the pillow back at him. "You were going to."
That was home.
Annoying.
Loud.
Safe.
Veydras would eventually forget the names of cities.
He forgot rulers.
Wars.
Entire civilizations blurred together after enough time.
He never forgot Mira's laugh.
The first sign was a spoon.
Veydras picked it up during breakfast.
His fingers tingled.
When he put it down, part of the handle had turned pale.
He rubbed it.
The metal flickered.
Then returned.
Veydras frowned.
Liora noticed from across the table. "What did you do?"
"Nothing."
She picked up the spoon and inspected it.
"Impressive defense."
Veydras groaned. "Can you learn another sentence?"
Liora put the spoon down. "No."
Their father examined it later and found nothing obviously wrong.
So nobody cared.
Then Veydras's books developed missing corners.
A cup lost part of its handle.
Once, his bedroom door blurred beneath his palm.
Veydras started wearing gloves.
His mother noticed immediately.
"Why are you wearing those?"
Veydras answered too quickly. "Cold."
His mother glanced through the open window.
The sun was shining.
Veydras considered his options.
"Very cold."
His mother stared at him.
Veydras left before the interrogation could improve.
The gloves helped.
Until they started deteriorating too.
Liora caught him replacing them.
She stood in his doorway, watching him wrap fresh cloth around his fingers.
"Veydras."
"I'm fine."
Liora frowned. "I haven't asked anything."
"I know where this goes."
She walked over and sat beside him. "What's happening?"
Veydras hesitated.
Then he picked up an old piece of wood.
He pressed his fingertip against it.
Nothing happened.
Liora waited.
The surface slowly turned pale.
Then its edge flickered.
A small piece simply ceased to be there.
Veydras pulled his hand away.
Liora's expression changed.
"Things don't like me anymore," Veydras muttered.
Liora looked at his hand. "Have you told Dad?"
"No."
"Mom?"
"No."
"Anyone with considerably more medical knowledge than you?"
Veydras glared at her.
Liora sighed. "We're telling them."
"What if it's nothing?"
"Then Mom embarrasses you in front of a doctor and I enjoy myself tremendously."
Liora stood.
Without thinking, Veydras caught her sleeve.
Both siblings froze.
He released her immediately.
Nothing happened.
They stared at the fabric.
Liora smiled first.
"See?"
Veydras looked at his hands.
He wasn't nearly as reassured.
They never reached the doctor.
That evening, Veydras was helping his father move a cabinet.
His grip slipped.
"Wait—"
His father adjusted the weight. "I've got it."
Veydras caught his side again.
His palm burned.
The cabinet flickered.
Veydras immediately released it.
His father dropped his end. "What the hell?"
A corner of the cabinet disappeared.
Not broke.
Disappeared.
The crash brought everyone else into the room.
His mother rushed in first. "What happened?"
Veydras stumbled backward. "I don't know."
His hand touched the floor.
The wood beneath it turned white.
He jerked away.
The whiteness kept spreading.
Liora saw it.
"Veydras."
He stared at the floor.
"I didn't—"
The damaged section distorted.
Its shape seemed unable to decide what shape it was supposed to have.
Veydras backed into the table.
The table flickered.
His mother instinctively moved toward him. "Are you hurt?"
Liora grabbed her wrist.
"Don't touch him."
The room went quiet.
Everyone looked at Liora.
Then at Veydras.
That was when the fear finally entered.
Veydras stared at his family.
"I didn't mean to."
His father crouched near the damaged floor. "Nobody said you did."
He picked up a metal tool and carefully reached toward it.
The tool touched the pale wood.
It flickered.
His father dropped it.
Too late.
The tips of his fingers turned white.
His father stared at them.
Veydras felt his stomach drop.
"Dad?"
His father stumbled backward.
His mother caught him.
The instability crossed immediately.
She screamed.
Liora shouted, "LET GO OF HIM!"
His mother didn't.
Of course she didn't.
Her husband was falling.
She grabbed him harder.
He tried pushing her away.
The distortion climbed his arm.
Liora rushed toward their mother.
Veydras screamed, "LIORA, DON'T!"
She didn't hear him.
Or didn't care.
Liora grabbed her mother's shoulder.
The instability crossed again.
Panic did the rest.
His father collapsed.
His mother tried holding him.
Liora tried pulling her mother away.
Everyone touched everyone because that was what people did when their family was hurt.
Veydras stood several feet away.
Untouched.
Perfectly healthy.
Watching.
"No..."
His father's hand disappeared.
Then part of his arm.
His mother screamed his name.
Liora dragged her backward.
The instability was already crawling across Liora's wrist.
Then Mira appeared in the doorway.
She stared at all of them.
"Mum?"
Veydras spun toward her.
"Mira, stay there."
She started crying.
Veydras raised both hands and immediately realized how horrifying that probably looked.
He lowered them.
"Mira. Look at me."
She did.
"Stay there."
Mira took one frightened step toward them.
Veydras shouted, "Don't!"
She stopped.
For once in her life—
she listened.
Veydras never remembered exactly when his father disappeared.
There was too much happening.
One second his father was there.
The next his mother was reaching toward an empty space.
Then the instability took her too.
Liora dragged herself toward Mira.
One of her arms was already disappearing.
She shoved her younger sister toward the doorway.
"Outside."
Mira shook her head. "Liora—"
"GO!"
Mira ran.
Liora collapsed.
Veydras stepped toward her instinctively.
Liora recoiled.
"Don't touch us."
He stopped.
The words hit harder than anything else had.
Liora saw his face.
Her own expression broke.
"Veydras..."
He couldn't answer.
She swallowed.
"I didn't mean it like that."
A pale fracture crossed her chest.
Liora gasped.
Veydras moved again.
She shook her head violently.
"No."
So he stood there.
Liora tried to smile.
It looked terrible.
"Take care of Mira."
Then she was gone.
Veydras found Mira beneath the tree behind their house.
The moment she saw him, she ran toward him.
Veydras panicked.
"STOP!"
Mira stopped so suddenly she nearly fell.
Veydras stared at her.
She stared back.
Behind them, their home was disappearing section by section.
Mira was sobbing.
"Where's Mom?"
Veydras couldn't answer.
Mira's voice became smaller. "Liora?"
Nothing.
"Dad?"
Veydras looked away.
Mira understood.
Her face collapsed.
She started toward him again.
Veydras backed away at exactly the same speed.
"No."
Mira screamed at him, "I don't want to be alone!"
"I'm here."
"Then come here!"
"I can't!"
"Why?!"
Veydras looked down at his hands.
Mira followed his eyes.
She understood.
Slowly, she sat in the grass.
Veydras sat several feet away.
The last section of their house disappeared behind them.
Neither spoke for a while.
Eventually Mira asked, "Did you do it?"
Veydras could have lied.
He wanted to.
Instead, he whispered, "Yes."
Mira cried.
Veydras did too.
Mira survived for three days.
Those three days stayed with him longer than everything that came after.
Veydras learned how to remain near her without touching her.
He left food and moved away so she could collect it.
He opened doors using objects and abandoned them before she came near.
They slept on opposite sides of rooms.
Whenever something began flickering, they moved.
Mostly, they talked.
Silence meant thinking.
Thinking was worse.
On the second night, Mira looked across the room at him.
"Are you going to disappear too?"
Veydras examined his hands.
"I don't know."
Mira wiped her eyes. "I hope you don't."
He looked at her.
"Why?"
Mira seemed almost offended.
"Because you're my brother."
As though that settled it.
For her, apparently, it did.
On the third morning, Veydras woke to Mira staring at her wrist.
A pale patch had appeared beneath her skin.
He sat upright.
"Mira?"
She looked at him.
Neither needed to ask.
Somewhere during those three days, she had touched something the instability had already reached.
Maybe a door.
Maybe clothing.
Maybe food.
Veydras never found out.
There wasn't one final stupid mistake he could spend eternity correcting in his head.
It had simply spread.
Mira looked down at her wrist.
"Is it happening?"
Veydras nodded.
She started crying.
He moved toward her.
Then stopped.
Mira noticed.
For several minutes, they remained apart.
The discoloration climbed her arm.
Eventually Mira whispered, "I'm scared."
Veydras's face tightened.
"So am I."
Another section of her hand flickered.
Mira stared at it.
Then at him.
"I don't want to go alone."
Veydras looked down at his hands.
Three days.
He had spent three days refusing to touch the only person he had left.
He slowly removed his ruined gloves.
Mira understood.
"If you touch me, will it happen faster?"
Veydras couldn't speak at first.
Then he nodded.
"Probably."
Mira cried quietly.
After a moment, she held out her hand.
Veydras stared at it.
Then he took it.
The instability accelerated immediately.
He panicked and tried to pull away.
Mira squeezed his fingers.
"No."
Veydras stopped.
Mira moved closer.
This time, he let her.
He wrapped his arms around his little sister.
She buried her face against his chest.
Veydras shut his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Mira's voice was muffled against him.
"I know."
He held her tighter.
She became lighter.
Then lighter still.
Until Veydras was holding nothing.
He didn't move.
There was nobody left to warn him not to.
Afterward, Veydras tried to remove his hands.
A knife destabilized against his wrist.
Then an axe.
Then industrial machinery.
Everything capable of destroying his hands was destroyed by them first.
Eventually Veydras sat surrounded by ruined equipment, staring at his fingers.
He couldn't even destroy the things that had destroyed everything else.
He stayed there until nightfall.
A very long time passed before Veydras stopped blaming only himself.
Long enough for his world's name to disappear.
Long enough for its language to die.
Long enough that civilizations he watched rise became ancient history themselves.
Veydras watched enough suffering that eventually he noticed something.
A pattern.
People suffered.
Someone changed because of it.
That change hurt someone else.
Wars produced heroes.
Heroes produced enemies.
Hope appeared shortly before catastrophe with almost suspicious regularity.
Again.
And again.
Pain arranged into arcs.
Violence arranged into spectacle.
Veydras came to hate the elegance of it.
One day, he watched a recording of another civilization destroying itself.
He stopped the projection.
On the frozen image, a child knelt beside a body.
Veydras thought of Mira.
Then Liora.
Then the little house that hadn't existed for longer than most stars he'd encountered.
A thought entered his mind.
Violence because it entertains.
Veydras stared at the image.
Then he quietly asked,
"Entertains whom?"
That question stayed with him.
Eventually Veydras stopped wanting revenge against any particular person.
People weren't the problem.
People were what the problem happened to.
He wanted the structure that kept producing it.
Existence.
The narrative surrounding existence.
And if there truly was something beyond that narrative—something distant enough to watch suffering and find meaning, beauty, or entertainment in it—
Veydras wanted to find that too.
Back in the village, Veydras reached the bottom of the hill.
The little girl's laughter carried down from somewhere behind him.
She had already recovered from being frightened.
Good.
Veydras stopped.
He looked at his covered hand.
For just a moment, he remembered a smaller hand squeezing it.
No.
Mira hadn't let him pull away.
Veydras closed his fist inside his sleeve.
Then continued walking.
The village remained behind him.
Untouched.
He intended to erase existence one day.
Apparently, that didn't mean he had to be rude about it.