The front door clicked open.
"We're back," my mother's voice called out, light and unburdened. "Did he behave, Rand?"
I stiffened.
Right on cue.
Footsteps approached, familiar presences flooding the house like they always did—warm, stable, completely unaware of what had just happened inside these walls.
My mother appeared first, grocery bags in hand. Her eyes softened the moment she saw me.
"There you are," she said, smiling as she lifted me effortlessly. "Were you good while we were gone?"
I nodded—more of a wobble, really—and leaned into her shoulder.
Comforting. Annoyingly so.
The Aura inside me reacted instinctively, rippling once before settling. I clamped down on it immediately. Too early. Too sloppy.
Let's not traumatize the family on day one.
---
My father followed, setting the bags down with practiced ease. He ruffled my hair gently.
"Looks like he's tired," he said.
If only he knew.
I studied his Aura from the corner of my eye. Calm. Untouched. Exactly as I remembered.
Good.
That meant whatever changed this timeline hadn't reached him yet.
---
They moved about the kitchen, unpacking groceries. The clink of containers. Casual conversation. The sound of normal life continuing without hesitation.
I sat at the table, legs dangling uselessly.
I reached for a cup.
Missed.
Tried again.
Nearly tipped it over.
…Right.
Once, I held collapsing dimensions together with one hand.
Now I couldn't be trusted with tableware.
Character development, apparently.
I wrapped both hands around the cup this time, concentrating like my life depended on it.
The Inner Dimension pulsed once—steady, restrained, obedient.
Good. Stay quiet.
---
"Lex?" my mother asked softly. "Are you feeling okay?"
I looked up at her, letting my expression slacken into something small and harmless.
She smiled in relief and went back to unpacking.
Crisis averted.
Inside, my thoughts shifted.
The vision from earlier hadn't faded.
Elyria falling.
That wasn't part of my recorded failures. I knew every way that world could end.
That wasn't one of them.
Which meant this wasn't a regression.
It was a deviation.
---
My legs kicked beneath the table, weak and uncoordinated. I almost slid off the chair before catching myself.
Fantastic.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my breathing into a calm rhythm.
This body is inconvenient.
But it's also invisible.
No one suspects the baby.
---
The house settled again.
Laughter. Warm light. Familiar voices.
Everything looked right.
Everything felt… thinner.
Like a perfect replica built one mistake too close to the original.
I closed my eyes briefly.
The image tried to surface again—golden spires, tearing skies—
No.
Not now.
---
Normal life would continue.
For today.
Maybe for a few years if I was careful.
But I knew better than to trust peace.
I leaned back, pretending to struggle with balance as my mother laughed softly and adjusted my seat.
A faint smile tugged at my lips.
Fine.
I'll play along.
For now.