Soul One lounged in nothing again—one leg crossed over empty air, elbow propped on a chair that existed purely to offend reality. He looked far too relaxed for someone who had just explained that I'd nearly shredded my own soul like bad parchment.
I folded my arms. "If this is another lecture, get it over with. If I don't get back soon, some people will start worrying."
"They won't," he said lightly. "Time behaves itself here."
I grimaced. "I don't like the sound of that."
"Yes," Soul One agreed. "Mortals rarely do."
He shifted, the lazy amusement in his eyes thinning into something sharper, more deliberate.
"Let's talk about destiny."
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to. Every terrible story I'd ever read started exactly like that.
Soul One snapped his fingers.
The sigil between us rippled—then unfolded.
Light bloomed outward, forming a vast projection: a world-map woven from glowing threads. Continents stitched together by causality. Rivers of probability flowing and splitting. Knots of fate pulsing like slow heartbeats.
And at the center of it all—
One point burned brighter than the rest.
A beacon.
"That boy," Soul One said casually, "is the Chosen One."
I stared at the projection. "…You dragged me into the cosmic void to show me a protagonist?"
"Careful," he replied. "That word carries assumptions."
The image zoomed in.
Not a hero on a battlefield.
Not a king.
Not even someone important-looking.
Just a boy.
Young. Ordinary. Alive.
"When this one lives," Soul One continued, "the world remains coherent. It bends, it strains, it suffers—but it holds."
The light flickered.
"When this one dies," he said calmly, "the world begins to shift."
The projection fractured.
Threads snapped. Regions dimmed. Something darker seeped into the gaps—not destruction, but replacement.
"Not an apocalypse," Soul One added. "Worse. A rewrite. Slow enough that most people won't notice until it's irreversible."
I exhaled slowly.
"…So," I said, "you want me to assassinate him."
Soul One blinked.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
"No," he said, waving a hand. "Absolutely not."
I frowned. "That's… not what I expected."
"Because that's what my friends' enemies want," he replied. "And they're already trying."
The image shifted again.
Shadows crept along the fate-lines—indistinct, predatory. Interference points. Agents. Knots tightening around the boy's future.
"They can't touch him directly," Soul One said. "Not yet. The world won't allow it. Direct violations invite backlash."
I seized on that immediately. "Then why is this a problem?"
"Because," he replied, "they don't need to kill him."
The shadows moved.
Small tragedies.
Missteps.
Delays.
Losses.
"Break enough stepping stones," Soul One said quietly, "and destiny trips itself."
My jaw tightened.
"So you want me to… what. Babysit him?"
"Protect him," Soul One said simply. "From agents. From schemes. From interference that shouldn't exist."
"No."
He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't even let me finish."
"I don't need to," I snapped. "You're asking me to stand between a walking disaster and people like you."
"My friends' enemies," he corrected mildly.
"No difference."
I took a breath, forcing the edge out of my voice. "There are better choices. Stronger people. Smarter people. People actually built for this."
"Correct," Soul One said.
I paused.
"…You're agreeing with me."
"Yes," he said. "But there's a problem."
The projection shifted again.
Figures appeared around the boy—blazing silhouettes. Saints. Sovereigns. Monsters wearing human shapes. Presences so dense they bent the space around them.
"All of them are accounted for," Soul One said. "Threaded into fate. Watched. Balanced against countermeasures."
He looked at me.
"You aren't."
My Survival Instinct twitched.
"What does that mean."
"It means," he said calmly, "your reincarnation was unauthorized. Your soul signature is irregular. Your progression curve doesn't match any approved destiny model."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"You don't register as important," he continued. "Not to the world. Not to fate. Not to them."
I scoffed. "That's supposed to reassure me?"
"It should," he replied. "It's the only reason you're still alive."
The implication settled slowly.
Anyone powerful enough to protect the Chosen would draw attention.
Anyone weak enough to be ignored—
"…Slides under the radar," I muttered.
Soul One smiled. "Exactly."
"Then what about other reincarnators?" I asked.
"They're not here," he answered.
The image shifted—threads stretching, distances warping.
"They're in different regions. Different spheres of influence. Different pressure bands of fate," Soul One continued. "Too far to intervene cleanly. Too visible to move unnoticed."
"But I'm weak," I said flatly.
"You're weak for now," he corrected. "That matters."
"I almost died to a dungeon boss."
"Yes," he said. "And survived."
"That's not comforting!"
"It should be," Soul One replied. "Because the world won't allow anyone far above the Chosen's level to interfere directly."
I narrowed my eyes. "Explain."
"The bottom line of this world is balance," he said. "Excessive interference triggers correction. Agents who exceed acceptable thresholds suffer backlash."
"So they can't send gods."
"They can try," he said. "They'll regret it."
"And me?"
"You're close enough in scale to be overlooked," he said. "Especially if you're careful."
I clenched my fists. "That doesn't solve the real problem."
He waited.
"The Chosen will grow fast," I said. "Too fast. His enemies will escalate. Stronger agents. Smarter schemes."
"They will."
"And I'll fall behind."
"No," Soul One said calmly. "You'll keep up."
I laughed. "That's a lie."
He smiled. "That's a promise."
Cold crept down my spine. "Why?"
"Because I'll give you tools."
The word echoed unpleasantly.
"Not power-ups," he added, reading my expression. "Not shortcuts. Means. Leverage. Opportunities."
"I'd still be dealing with everything targeting him."
"No," Soul One corrected. "Only my friends' enemies. And their agents."
That somehow made it worse.
I shook my head. "This still isn't worth it."
His smile faded a fraction.
"You covered the echoes of my forbidden activation," I said. "That's not enough payment for walking into schemes built by beings like you."
Silence stretched.
Then Soul One sighed. "You really are difficult."
"I'm not interested."
He straightened.
"Then I retract my Edict."
The white space darkened.
Not violently.
Legally.
I scoffed. "Do that, and the Karmic Court notices an anomaly they missed."
"Yes," he said. "They'll come for you."
"They'll come for you first," I snapped. "You're the one who fooled them."
For the second time since meeting him—
Soul One looked genuinely annoyed.
The void trembled.
Then, just as suddenly, he relaxed.
"…Fine," he muttered. "Threats never work on you."
I frowned. "You're giving up quickly."
"No," he said, smiling again—sharper now. "I'm changing tactics."
I tensed.
"You don't care about destiny," Soul One said. "You don't care about the world. And you certainly don't want to play guardian."
"That's correct."
He nodded. "Good."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"Then let me reframe this."
A new image appeared.
Not the boy.
A girl.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
My breath caught.
"…Mia?"
Soul One smiled.
"Yes."