Creation Of All Things

Hilltop – Night of the Reunion

The fire crackled, soft and low, casting lazy shadows across their faces. The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Alice was tuning her old guitar. Aria had her eyes on the stars. Alfred was poking the fire with a stick like he was expecting it to fight back.

Joshua sat a little apart, glasses slid down his nose, fingers twitching around a half-burned notebook.

He hadn't spoken in a while.

Not like him.

Alfred noticed first. "Yo, genius. What's up?"

Joshua blinked. "Huh? Oh. Nothing. Just thinking."

"That's dangerous," Alice said without looking up.

Aria turned slightly. "What kind of thinking?"

Joshua leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

"Do you ever feel like… we're just one version of us?"

They blinked.

"Like…" he hesitated. "What if there's another hill. Another fire. But in that world, we're not here. We didn't make it. Or we're someone else entirely."

Alfred chuckled. "Okay, nerd levels rising."

"No, seriously," Joshua said, eyes flicking toward the stars again. "It's the multiverse theory. Infinite variations of reality. Every choice, every chance, splits into another world."

Alice looked up now, brows raised. "Like… other versions of us?"

"Yeah," Joshua said quietly. "Worlds where you never joined the band. Where Aria never got her scholarship. Where Alfred never learned to use fire. Where maybe…" he paused. "…someone's missing."

The silence sat a little heavier now.

Aria's fingers curled around her mug.

Alfred frowned. "Where are you going with this?"

Joshua looked up at them.

"What if this—this peace, this life—what if it's the rare one? The lucky draw? And in most other worlds, we don't get this ending. What if we… only got this because something—or someone—was removed?"

Alice leaned back, expression unreadable.

"You're talking like this is borrowed time."

Joshua nodded. "Maybe it is. Maybe something had to go wrong somewhere else for this world to go right."

"…That's dark," Alfred muttered.

"Not really," Joshua said. "It just means we were meant to remember. To be the reminder. That peace can exist. That there is a world where everything turns out okay."

Aria stared at the flames.

"…I believe that," she said softly.

They looked at her.

"I don't know why," she continued, "but sometimes, I get this weird dream. A place with thrones in the sky. Names I don't recognize. War. Gods. Blood."

She paused.

"And then I wake up… and this place feels even more real. Like it's earned."

Joshua smiled faintly.

"That's why we come back here," he said. "Every year. To anchor ourselves. Even if somewhere else… someone else is still fighting."

Alice strummed a quiet chord. "So what, you think we're echoes of some other world?"

"Maybe," Joshua said. "Or maybe we're the dream that world is chasing."

No one spoke for a moment.

Then Alfred stood up, stretched his arms, and looked at the sky.

"Well… if that's true, I hope the other me's not too uptight."

Aria smirked. "Or too dumb."

Alice stood next. "Or too soft."

Joshua got up last.

"If there is another us," he said, "I hope they find each other too."

They nodded.

And somewhere far away—in another plane, another life—an echo stirred.

A whisper in the stars.

Not gods.

Not heroes.

Just kids, once.

Still holding their promise.

Some Weeks Later – Joshua's Basement

The others moved on. Laughed. Lived.

But Joshua… couldn't let it go.

He stared at the same stars every night, notebook on his lap, equations like spiderwebs crawling across the pages. He didn't sleep much anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt something. Not a dream. Not a memory. A hum. Like his soul was hearing an echo from somewhere far.

He wasn't sure when the theory turned into obsession.

He just knew—he had to prove it.

And to do that…

He needed parts. Rare ones. Forbidden ones. Stuff you couldn't just walk into a store and buy.

So, he went underground.

Literally.

Undermarket – City Sublevel 9

The tunnels stank of smoke and solder. Neon lights flickered against rusted pipes. Vendors whispered through modified gas masks. People didn't ask questions here—they sold plasma batteries and stolen core shards like fruit at a market stand.

Joshua adjusted his coat, pulled his hood lower. His glasses flickered with interface readouts. He scanned for what he needed: Quantum Conductor. Rift Regulator. Reality Harmonic Stabilizer.

He found the last piece tucked behind a curtain at a stall selling old celestial tech.

"That's a dangerous toy," the vendor grunted. "You building a bomb?"

"No," Joshua said, voice too calm. "A door."

He reached for the part—when a shadow fell across him.

"I'd be careful with that," a voice said.

He turned—and froze.

Aurora.

Tall. Still. Eyes like galaxies buried under frost.

She looked exactly the same as in his dreams.

His legs almost gave out.

"Y-you're…"

She raised a brow. "I get that a lot."

He swallowed. "Aurora, right?"

"I know you," she said, not answering. "You're one of the Williams kids. Joshua."

He blinked. "How do you—?"

"I remember things I shouldn't," she said. "Dreams I've never lived. Wars I never fought. But they feel real."

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"And I keep seeing you."

Joshua's breath hitched.

"…Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same."

He hesitated.

Then pulled out his notebook—opened it.

Equations. Models. Theories stacked on theories. Star charts with marked points. Alternate timelines.

"A multiverse?" she asked quietly, scanning the pages.

He nodded. "I think we're not alone. Not just in the space kind of way. In the self kind of way. I think there are other versions of us out there. And I want to prove it."

Aurora stared at him.

Then she looked at the equipment in his arms.

"You're building something to cross realities."

He nodded again.

"And you didn't tell the others?"

"They wouldn't believe me."

She exhaled slowly.

"…I do."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"I don't know why," she said, stepping closer. "But I believe you. And if you're serious…"

She reached for the Rift Regulator and handed it to him.

"…Then I'm in."

Joshua stared.

Then smiled.

"…Okay. Let's build a door."

Later That Night – Aurora's Hidden Workshop

The lab was quiet. Far cleaner than Joshua's. Every tool was labeled. Every panel carefully wired.

The two of them stood over a half-assembled frame shaped like a massive ring—etched with symbols neither of them recognized but instinctively understood.

Joshua worked fast, guided by instinct and math. Aurora fine-tuned the field layers with her hand glowing faintly—reality bending ever so slightly under her touch.

They didn't speak much.

They didn't have to.

By morning, the ring pulsed.

Not alive.

Not yet.

But close.

Joshua stepped back, panting.

Aurora tilted her head. "You think it's stable?"

"No," he admitted. "But it's a start."

She looked at the machine again.

Then at him.

"…If you're right," she said, "what are you going to do when you find the other versions of us?"

Joshua didn't answer right away.

Then finally, softly—

"I'll tell them we made it. That peace is possible."

Aurora nodded.

"…Then let's make sure that door opens."