Change did not come like revelation.
It came like a bruise.
Slow. Tender. Unavoidable.
Aarav woke up on the floor of the observation ring, sunlight from a dozen worlds bleeding into the room like soft ghosts. His head ached. His eyes were swollen. His hands were wrapped in lightCaelum had healed them while he slept.
For the first time, Aarav didn't thank him.
Not because he was ungrateful.
Because he was tired of being exceptional.
He sat up slowly.
The multiverse was still there.
Not calling.
Not asking.
Just… existing.
And that was new.
He whispered, "I don't want to matter like I used to."
Caelum, standing by the wall, looked at him.
"Then matter differently."
Aarav frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Caelum said, "you stop being a solution."
Aarav laughed weakly. "I already did that."
"No," Caelum replied. "You stopped being the solution. That's not the same thing."
Aarav pushed himself to his feet.
"I don't want to hold the universe anymore," he said.
"Then don't," Caelum said.
"I don't want to be watched."
"Then walk away."
"I don't want to be remembered."
That made Caelum pause.
"That one," he said, "will be harder."
Aarav nodded.
"I know."
He walked to the balcony.
Worlds drifted.
Some bright.
Some broken.
Some quiet.
For the first time, he didn't feel responsible for all of them.
Only… curious.
"What if I stay somewhere?" he asked.
"Not as a Witness. Not as a constant. Just… me."
Caelum's eyes sharpened. "You would be vulnerable."
"Good."
"You would be hurt."
"Good."
"You would be ordinary."
Aarav smiled.
"That's the dream."
Caelum studied him.
"You are not choosing escape," he said.
"No," Aarav replied. "I'm choosing life."
Silence.
Then Caelum said, "Then you must stop being what you were."
Aarav exhaled.
"How?"
Caelum gestured to Aarav's chest.
"The symbol," he said. "The thing that makes you more than a person."
Aarav swallowed.
"I can't erase it."
"No," Caelum said. "But you can release it."
Aarav's heart slammed.
"Release it… to what?"
"To the multiverse."
Aarav stared.
"You're saying I should… die?"
"No," Caelum said. "I'm saying you should stop being special."
Aarav's hands shook.
"That power"
"is not yours," Caelum finished. "It never was. You were its anchor."
Aarav whispered, "If I let it go…"
"You will become finite."
Aarav closed his eyes.
Mira's laughter echoed in his memory.
The city that chose to die.
The world that asked to live.
The prophecy engine that hesitated.
He had done enough.
More than enough.
"What happens if I release it?" he asked.
Caelum answered honestly.
"You will forget some things."
"You will lose access to worlds."
"You will become someone who cannot save everything."
Aarav smiled.
"That sounds perfect."
He placed his hand over the faint symbol on his chest.
It no longer burned.
It pulsed gentlylike a heart that wasn't his.
"I don't want to be a constant," he whispered.
"I don't want to be a precedent."
"I don't want to be necessary."
The symbol responded.
Not with resistance.
With understanding.
It had learned.
Aarav inhaled.
And let go.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
Gently.
The symbol dissolvednot into light, but into possibility.
It spread.
Not as power.
As permission.
Across realities, tiny shifts occurred:
A child disobeyed a prophecy.
A ruler stepped down.
A machine paused.
A world breathed.
Aarav collapsed.
Not from pain.
From relief.
When he opened his eyes
He felt smaller.
He felt heavier.
He felt… real.
"What am I now?" he whispered.
Caelum knelt beside him.
"Someone," he said.
Aarav laughed.
A real laugh.
"I forgot how good that feels."
He stood slowly.
For the first time
The multiverse was not on his shoulders.
It was around him.
And he was inside it.
Not above it.
Not guiding it.
Living in it.
"What do I do now?" he asked.
Caelum replied, "Whatever you want."
Aarav blinked.
Then smiled.
"I think," he said, "I want to find Mira."
Caelum nodded.
"Not to save her?"
Aarav shook his head.
"Just to be with her."
And that
That was the most radical choice he had ever made.