"Presence is power, especially when you stop apologizing for taking up space."
The First Convergence didn't feel like entering a room.
It felt like stepping into a breath someone else had been holding for centuries.
Aarav's vision blurred, not from pain, but from the sheer density of resonance around him. The world didn't settle into a shape. It swirled. Gold and silver threads looped around each other, forming spirals that unraveled before fully forming.
Aarav stumbled.
The King caught his arm, gripping firmly—not to control, but to anchor.
"Do not try to interpret it," the King murmured.
"It will shape itself around you when you accept what it is."
Aarav forced a breath through the pressure in his chest.
"And what is it?" he managed.
The King looked at the swirling light.
"Possibility."
Aarav steadied himself.
The world around them shifted again.
Shapes formed—faint at first, like someone sketching outlines in fog. They sharpened as Aarav focused:
Trees.
A forest.
A path winding through it.
Aarav blinked.
"Is that… real?"
The King shook his head.
"It is a memory of a future."
Aarav frowned.
"That makes no sense."
"Neither does the Convergence," the King replied calmly.
The scene shifted abruptly.
The forest darkened.
The path fractured.
Aarav saw himself standing there—
tall, older, eyes shadowed, shoulders heavy.
Another future.
The world shimmered.
A different version of Aarav appeared—
this one brighter, posture open, expression hopeful.
And then another—
sharper, angrier, every movement rigid.
And another—
exhausted and fading.
Aarav stepped back.
"What is this showing me?"
The King watched the flickering futures with a quiet, almost analytical grief.
"All the versions of you that the Vale believes you could become."
Aarav blinked rapidly.
"I don't want to see this."
"You must."
Aarav swallowed.
"Why?"
The King turned to him.
"Because you need to understand the weight of becoming before you choose how to walk."
Aarav's heartbeat thudded painfully in his ears.
The futures shifted again.
Aarav saw himself reaching for the King.
Aarav saw himself walking away from the King.
Aarav saw himself confronting the King.
Aarav saw himself protecting him.
Aarav saw himself breaking.
Aarav saw himself thriving.
Aarav saw himself isolated.
Aarav saw himself surrounded by others.
Aarav whispered, "This is overwhelming."
The King's voice softened.
"Yes."
The Convergence pulsed.
The swirling strands brightened, and new shapes formed—this time surrounding the King.
Dozens of versions of him.
Versions still wearing grief like armor.
Versions lost in storms.
Versions calm and steady.
Versions fractured.
Versions whole.
Aarav stared.
"You have so many futures too."
The King nodded.
"Yes."
Aarav swallowed.
"Which one are you?"
The King hesitated.
"I do not know."
Aarav turned to him.
"You're not the storm anymore."
"No," the King agreed quietly.
"But I am not yet what I will be."
Aarav frowned.
"So what's the point of this?"
The King looked directly at him.
"To show us what we become to each other."
The world pulsed violently.
Light flared.
And suddenly, the futures rearranged themselves—
pairing versions of Aarav with versions of the King.
Symmetry shifting.
Futures colliding like puzzle pieces that refused to fit cleanly.
Aarav watched, breath caught in his throat.
There were futures where they stood side by side.
There were futures where they walked in opposite directions.
There were futures where the King towered over him, power unchecked.
Futures where Aarav stood taller, voice steady and unmoving.
Futures where they destroyed each other.
Futures where they rebuilt each other.
Futures where neither existed at all.
Aarav whispered, "This is too much."
The Convergence reacted to his fear—
the room tightening, light scraping in harsh lines.
The King grabbed his shoulders, voice low.
"Aarav. Look at me."
Aarav forced his gaze up.
"You are not any of these futures," the King said.
Aarav's breath trembled.
"And neither am I."
The Convergence stilled.
Light softened.
Aarav spoke through clenched teeth.
"So which future is real?"
The King shook his head.
"None.
Not yet."
Aarav stared.
"Then why show them?"
"To remind you," the King said gently,
"that the world does not ask you to predict who you will become.
Only to choose who you will not become."
Aarav froze.
"Who I won't?" he echoed.
The King nodded.
"Yes.
The First Convergence does not define us.
It eliminates the versions we refuse to be."
Aarav turned to the swirling future-specters.
Versions of him—
cold, cruel, hollow, broken, violent.
Versions of the King—
unanchored, monstrous, collapsing, controlling.
Aarav's stomach twisted.
"I don't want to be any of those," he said.
The Convergence brightened.
"You do not have to be," the King said.
"But you must say it."
Aarav swallowed.
He stepped toward the storm of flickering selves.
"I refuse to become the version of me that breaks people to feel safe."
A future dissolved.
"I refuse to become the version of me that hides until nothing is left."
Another shattered.
"I refuse to become the version of me that sees the world as suffering I must carry alone."
More fragments spiraled away.
The room brightened further.
He turned to the King's fractured futures.
"And he," Aarav said quietly,
"is not going to be the version of himself that destroys the world because he's afraid of losing someone."
A violent future of the King shattered.
"And he is not going to be the version that collapses when someone steps away."
Another version faded.
"And he is not going to be the version who sees everyone as a replacement."
The last bleak version dissolved into dust.
The room calmed.
The light softened.
Aarav exhaled.
The King watched him with an expression that held more awe than fear now.
"You have done what I never could," the King whispered.
"You have refused futures."
Aarav swallowed.
"I chose truth."
The Convergence responded.
The remaining futures—only a few now, soft versions, whole versions—drifted upward like lanterns rising into a night sky.
Aarav reached out and touched one.
It didn't break.
It glowed brighter and settled back into the spiraling structure above.
The King stepped beside him.
"Aarav."
Aarav looked up.
"You must choose one more truth," the King said softly.
Aarav stiffened.
"What truth?"
The King's resonance steadied.
"The truth of what you want—not what you fear, not what you run from."
Aarav froze.
Want.
Not need.
Not survival.
Not duty.
Want.
Aarav opened his mouth—
but no words came out.
Because he didn't know.
Or he did know, but he didn't want to say it.
The Convergence dimmed.
Waiting.
The King stepped closer.
"Speak what you want," he whispered.
"And the First Convergence will let us go."
Aarav's pulse hammered.
The room strained.
Waiting for the truth he didn't know how to name.
"The chamber widened subtly around him, as if recognizing the shift."