Andy's house settled into silence after they left the demi-dragons in the hall.
The two creatures had curled near one another instinctively—Heaven's wings folding protectively, the female demi-dragon mirroring the motion as if remembering something older than instinct. The air around them felt… anchored.
Too anchored.
Andy noticed it first.
Not with his eyes. With the absence of noise.
His system—always humming faintly at the back of his mind—stuttered.
Not an error. Not a warning.
A blank.
Andy stopped mid-step.
"Do you feel that?" he asked quietly.
Sylence nodded. "Something is here."
Andrew frowned. "If something's here, why don't I feel danger?"
Andy swallowed.
"Because it's not allowed to touch you."
That was when the temperature dropped—not cold, not heatless—empty.
The lights didn't flicker. The walls didn't shake.
Reality simply felt… thinner.
From the corner of the room, something noticed them.
It had no shape that stayed consistent. When it tried to focus, it became wrong—edges folding inward, presence leaking backward in time. A thing that did not arrive.
It observed.
Not with eyes. With intent.
Andy's breath caught.
"I know this," he whispered.
Sylence turned sharply. "You've seen it before."
Andy nodded, slowly.
"My system detects collapse patterns," he said. "Narrative strain. Forced endings. Predatory corrections."
The thing shifted—testing the space.
The air resisted.
The demi-dragons stirred.
Heaven's eyes opened.
The moment they did, the presence recoiled.
Not fear.
Rejection.
A low vibration filled the hall—not sound, not energy—authority.
The haunting thing pressed forward anyway.
The space bent.
And stopped.
It couldn't cross the threshold.
Andy stared, stunned.
"It's feeding," he said. "On unresolved futures. On people who carry too much meaning."
The thing turned its attention fully to Sylence.
Not hunger.
Recognition.
"This one," Andy continued, voice shaking, "is meant to be consumed later. When the balance tips."
The creature tried again.
The demi-dragons rose.
Not aggressively. Not defensively.
They simply existed harder.
The presence shrieked—not aloud, but in denial.
Its form fractured, stretched—
And snapped back into nothing.
Gone.
The air rushed back into the room like it had been holding its breath.
Andrew exhaled sharply. "What… the hell was that?"
Andy sat down heavily.
"A collector," he said. "A thing that arrives when stories reach a correction point."
Sylence looked at Heaven, now calmly settling again, tail brushing the floor.
"And the dragons?"
Andy laughed once—short, broken.
"Demi-dragons don't fight threats," he said.
"They invalidate them."
He looked at Sylence with something close to awe.
"If their bond is true… nothing that seeks to harm their owner can complete its intention."
Silence filled the room.
Andrew glanced between them. "So… we're safe?"
Andy shook his head slowly.
"No," he said. "We're postponed."
Sylence knelt beside Heaven, resting a hand against the warm scales.
The dragon leaned into the touch.
"That's enough," Sylence said quietly.
Andy looked at him.
For the first time, the system behind Andy's eyes failed to give him an answer.
And that terrified him more than the haunting ever could.
The house did not return to normal.
It pretended to.
The lights stayed steady. The walls held. The demi-dragons slept again, curled like living sigils in the hall. But something irreversible had already occurred.
Andrew felt it.
He stood near the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight—not afraid, not confused.
Thinking.
"So," he said finally, breaking the silence. "That thing wasn't here by accident."
Andy didn't answer immediately.
"No," he said at last. "It never is."
Andrew nodded slowly. "And it wasn't after you."
Andy stiffened.
"And it wasn't after me," Andrew continued. His eyes shifted to Sylence. "It was waiting for him."
Sylence didn't deny it.
Andrew exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. "Figures."
He turned toward the hall, where Heaven's tail flicked lazily against the floor.
"And those dragons?" Andrew asked. "They didn't just scare it away."
Andy looked at him sharply. "What are you getting at?"
Andrew looked back—eyes steady, resolved.
"They changed the rules."
Silence settled.
Andy's system stirred—but hesitated.
Andrew noticed.
"That's new," he said quietly. "Your thing didn't answer."
Andy swallowed. "No. It didn't."
Andrew nodded, as if confirming something only he could see.
"Then here's my choice."
Sylence turned. "Andrew—"
Andrew raised a hand.
"I'm not leaving," he said. "Not the house. Not this mess. Not you."
Andy frowned. "Andrew, this isn't—"
"I know exactly what it is," Andrew cut in. "That thing wasn't hunting randomly. It was circling. Waiting for timing. For permission."
He looked directly at Sylence.
"And timing is your curse."
The words hit harder than accusation.
Andrew stepped closer.
"So here's the part you don't get to decide alone anymore," he said. "If the universe is going to line up knives around you, then someone needs to stand where it can't strike cleanly."
Sylence's voice was low. "That puts you in danger."
Andrew shrugged. "Everything does now."
Andy's system finally responded.
Too late.
"Andrew," Andy said carefully, "once you insert yourself into these trajectories, you don't get removed cleanly."
Andrew smiled faintly.
"Good," he said. "I hate clean exits."
He turned toward the hall again.
"The dragons stay," he added. "Not as weapons. As anchors."
Andy stared. "You're suggesting binding them to the house."
"I'm suggesting making this place… unacceptable to predators," Andrew replied.
Sylence felt it then.
Not fear.
Not relief.
Shift.
A choice had been made that altered probability.
The house responded—not structurally, but contextually. As if it had just been promoted from shelter to territory.
Andy rubbed his temples. "You have no idea what this pulls toward you."
Andrew looked at him, calm and certain.
"I do," he said. "I just don't think you're the only one allowed to carry it."
He extended a hand—not to Sylence.
To Andy.
"You know too much," Andrew continued. "And you're carrying it alone because you think that's penance."
Andy froze.
The system went silent.
Andrew's voice softened. "Let it be shared."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Andy took the hand.
The connection wasn't dramatic.
But somewhere unseen, something noticed.
And adjusted.
Heaven stirred, lifting its head briefly, eyes glowing faintly—approving.
The female demi-dragon mirrored the motion.
Two anchors.
One choice.
Sylence watched it all, chest tight—not with dread, but with something rarer.
Trust.
Outside, far beyond the house, the thing that had tried to enter lingered at a distance it could not close.
Waiting.
Because chaos was inevitable.
But now—
It would be contested.