Not every world wanted to live.
That was the hardest truth Aarav had learned.
The message arrived without panic, without urgencyjust a calm, deliberate signal, marked with a phrase that made Mira's hands go cold:
DECLINED INTERVENTION
Aarav read it twice.
Then again.
"They're wrong," he said.
Mira didn't answer.
Caelum did. "They're serious."
The world appeared before theman ocean-covered planet with a single city floating at its center, shaped like a vast spiral shell. The sky glowed soft violet. The water was perfectly still.
It was beautiful.
It was dying.
Structural failures rippled beneath the ocean. The planet's core was collapsing inward. In less than twelve hours, everything would be gone.
Aarav clenched his fists. "I can stabilize this."
"Yes," Caelum said. "They know."
"Then why"
"They voted."
Aarav froze.
"What?"
"They voted to end."
Mira whispered, "Every citizen."
They stepped through.
The city was quiet. Not sad. Not frantic.
Peaceful.
People walked slowly. Some held hands. Some sat by the water. Some painted murals onto walls that would not exist tomorrow.
A woman approached Aarav.
She smiled.
"You're late."
Aarav swallowed. "You asked us not to come."
"Yes," she said. "But I hoped you would anyway."
He blinked. "Then why decline help?"
She gestured to the city.
"We have lived for seven thousand years. No wars. No famine. No injustice. No gods."
Aarav frowned. "That sounds perfect."
She shook her head.
"It is complete."
He didn't understand.
"We have told every story," she said. "Loved every way. Built every dream we had."
Mira whispered, "You're choosing extinction."
"No," the woman replied. "We're choosing an ending."
Aarav felt sick.
"You don't get to do that."
The woman studied him kindly.
"Neither did we," she said. "Until you broke destiny."
Aarav's chest tightened.
"You're using my freedom to die."
"Yes."
"That's not what it's for."
She smiled softly.
"Freedom isn't for anything. That's why it's terrifying."
Aarav stepped forward.
"I can save you."
"And then what?" she asked. "We drift. We decay. We lose meaning."
"Meaning doesn't come from endings," he snapped.
"It does for us."
A child ran past them, laughing.
A couple danced slowly near the edge of the city.
A group of elders sang.
Not in mourning.
In gratitude.
Aarav's voice broke. "You don't want tomorrow?"
The woman shook her head.
"We've had enough tomorrows."
He couldn't breathe.
Mira touched his arm. "Aarav…"
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no."
He reached.
Not with power.
With pleading.
"Please," he said. "Let me save you."
The woman touched his hand.
"You already did."
He froze.
"You gave us the right to decide how our story ends."
Tears slipped from his eyes.
"That's not saving," he whispered.
She smiled.
"For us, it is."
Aarav fell to his knees.
This wasn't collapse.
This wasn't tragedy.
This was consent.
And he hated it.
The city gathered.
Not to beg.
To thank.
They bowednot to him.
To the choice.
Mira was crying.
Caelum was silent.
The woman knelt in front of Aarav.
"You taught us that endings don't have to be punishments," she said.
Aarav shook his head.
"They do to me."
She kissed his forehead.
"Then you are still human."
The ocean began to glow.
The city's structures hummed softly.
Aarav felt the collapse approaching.
Slow.
Gentle.
Irreversible.
He could still stop it.
He could.
He closed his eyes.
And didn't.
When the city vanished, it did not scream.
It sang.
Aarav collapsed.
Not from power.
From grief.
Mira held him.
He whispered, "I could have saved them."
Caelum said quietly, "You could have erased them."
Aarav stared at the empty ocean.
"I hate this."
Mira pressed her forehead to his.
"So do gods."
He laughed weakly.
"Good."
Because now
He wasn't one.