The moment she truly began to "reject reality" came without any warning.
No tremors, no alerts, and no familiar pause that usually comes before a system refresh.
It happened naturally, almost gently.
One of them stopped.
It had been leading the way.
Its form was unstable, its limbs often blurred at the edges, as if constantly being corrected and then negated. When it moved, it left brief traces on the ground, but those marks vanished quickly, as if they had never existed.
It was closest to her.
So close that it had almost entered her space.
Then, it stopped.
Not because of a command.
Not because of fear.
But because, it suddenly realized—
it didn't need to move forward anymore.
At that moment, the space trembled ever so slightly.
So small it was barely perceptible.
If I hadn't been standing here, I might have dismissed it as an illusion.
She noticed it.
She slowly turned around and looked at it.
Her expression held no surprise, nor any wariness.
It was more like she was confirming something that had finally occurred.
"Did you hear that?" she asked.
The thing did not speak.
Its head tilted slightly, as if it was understanding, or perhaps confirming.
"They're calling you," she said.
At the moment those words left her lips, a strange tugging sensation appeared in the air.
Distant.
Very distant.
It felt like a pull coming from another plane.
I was familiar with that sensation.
Reality was calling back.
It always does.
Without urgency, without pressure, and without emotion.
As long as you remain within reach, it will keep extending its hand.
The thing froze.
Its outline began to waver.
As if it were being pulled in two directions simultaneously.
"Are you going back?" she asked.
Her tone wasn't a test.
Nor was it an invitation.
She was genuinely asking.
The thing didn't answer.
But its body began to change.
One part of it grew clearer.
And another part began to fade.
As if being redefined.
The man stood beside me, his breath quiet.
"This is the first time," he murmured.
"The first time what?" I asked.
"The first time something in her range is simultaneously deemed by the outside world as still capable of being taken away," he said.
A tightness gripped my chest.
"What happens now?"
He didn't answer.
Because it had already begun.
The pull suddenly intensified.
Not roughly.
But with a calmness, almost indifference—
You don't belong here.
The thing leaned back.
Not moving.
But its presence was subtly reduced.
At that moment, she moved.
She didn't reach out.
Nor did she draw closer.
She simply took one step forward.
Just one.
The whole space seemed to solidify beneath her.
The tugging sensation suddenly stopped.
Not disappeared.
But suppressed.
Reality's call remained.
But now, it wasn't the first to speak.
That thing stabilized.
Its outline became whole again.
Even clearer than before.
She spoke:
"You may stay."
This time, it wasn't directed at me.
It was directed at it.
That thing nodded very slowly.
The instant the motion completed, a faint cracking sound echoed from the depths of the space.
Not a sound.
More like a rule that had always been established was gently bent.
The man quickly lifted his head.
"It refused," he said.
It wasn't surprise.
It was the tension after confirmation.
"Refused what?" I asked.
"Refused to be taken away," he said.
I looked at the thing.
It stood there, looking more stable than ever before.
It even seemed—
At ease.
She reached out.
This time, she truly reached out.
Not to grab.
But just to rest her hand lightly on its shoulder.
The motion was completely natural.
As if checking if it was standing firm.
"Good," she said.
Just one word.
And the space fell completely silent.
Not silence.
But with nothing else attempting to intervene.
I whispered, "Will this be noticed?"
The man didn't look at me.
His gaze lingered in the distance, as if waiting for something.
"It's already been noticed," he said.
The moment the words left his mouth, something incredibly thin entered the air.
Like a transparent film.
It had no shape, no temperature.
It just existed.
I knew what it was.
The recording had begun.
Not interference.
Just documentation.
She clearly sensed it too.
But she didn't look up.
She didn't even show any flicker of change.
Just gently patted the thing's shoulder.
"Go to the back," she said.
That thing turned and walked toward the area behind her.
Several other beings of various forms were already standing there.
They automatically made a little space for it.
No exchange.
But they seemed to accept its arrival.
"You're expanding this place," the man said.
She looked at him.
This time, her gaze wasn't gentle.
"Not me," she said.
"It's what they've left behind."
"Left what?" he asked.
"The part that remains unexplained," she replied.
Those words sent a chill down my spine.
I suddenly understood what she was truly doing.
She wasn't fighting anything.
Nor was she creating opposition.
She was catching those—
Results that could no longer be rationally explained.
Those failures that were quickly categorized and quickly disappeared.
Those things labeled as anomalies, yet they had genuinely occurred.
She gave them a place.
And that place was becoming ever more stable.
The man didn't finish his sentence.
Because the outcome was already clear.
More and more things would never return.
I watched her.
For the first time, I realized clearly—
She was no longer just a mother.
She had become a node.
A place where outcomes couldn't be casually erased.
And I was standing here.
Not by accident.
Not as a bystander.
But because it had been assumed I would keep watching.