Aurora Evans stood at the edge of a local lake, her curly blonde hair catching the afternoon breeze as she stretched her arms overhead. The water’s surface shimmered in the sunlight, rippling with gentle waves that lapped against the shoreline.

  She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of pine and fresh water, a luxury she’d once taken for granted.

  “This feels almost surreal,” she whispered to herself, tossing a flat stone across the water. It skipped four times before sinking beneath the surface.

  Three years before the end of the world, and here she was, enjoying a moment of peace. The irony wasn’t lost on her. In that other timeline, this lake had become a breeding ground for Hydra Eels, mutated water snakes with multiple heads that could strip flesh from bone in seconds. No one had dared to come near it after The Fall,

  If the wildlife didn’t kill you the bacteria would. She thought

  Aurora closed her eyes, letting memories wash over her. Not the horrific ones of death and destruction, but the beginning, when she’d first met Alexander.

  She’d been jogging through the park as she did every day, her routine perfectly timed to coincide with his lunch break. He sat on that same bench every afternoon, a shy tailor who’d watch her run past while pretending to be absorbed in feeding birds.

  Aurora smiled at the memory of finally stopping one day, breathless; not from the run but from the way he looked at her with those beautiful brown eyes of his. The sun always seemed to bless them in the perfect light.

  “It’s sweet what you’re doing,” she’d said, gesturing to the birds flocking around his feet.

  “They’re just breadcrumbs,” he’d replied, flustered by her attention. “Leftovers from my sandwich.”

  “Still sweet,” she’d insisted, sitting beside him. “I’m Aurora.” She held out her hand in greeting.

  “Alexander.” He said with an impish smile.

  The memory shifted to their wedding day, the birth of their children, and beautifully loud moments at their kitchen table. Twenty-five years of love and life compressed into a montage of joy.

  Then came The Fall. Her hands instinctively clenched at her sides. The memory of that dinner in July, the blue notification, the panic that followed; the world truly had ended.

  Aurora had chosen the Cleric class without hesitation.

  “A healer, naturally,” she murmured, watching a heron glide across the lake. “What else?”

  Healers were always running toward the damage after it was done, piecing together what remained of the broken. Her hands had been perpetually stained with blood in that timeline, her heart heavy with the knowledge that no matter how many she saved, there were always more beyond her reach.

  The worst part was how her emotions affected her healing abilities. The stronger she felt for someone, the more powerful her magic became. It had made her a target for manipulation, with everyone suddenly wanting to be her closest friend. Including Joshua.

  Aurora frowned, thinking of the man who would become their greatest adversary. Alexander believed Joshua had wanted her as a trophy, a possession to validate his growing power. But Aurora understood something her husband missed, Joshua hadn’t wanted a lover; he’d wanted a mother.

  She’d seen it in his eyes, that desperate need for approval, for care. The same look she’d seen in frightened children separated from their parents during the chaos. Joshua’s fixation had been born from abandonment, not desire.

  That insight wasn’t something she’d shared with Alexander. Her husband’s analytical mind dissected problems differently, seeing patterns and strategies where she saw wounds and healing. It’s why they balanced each other so perfectly.

  A fish jumped in the lake, momentarily distracting her from her thoughts. Aurora grinned, remembering how Margo had tried to domesticate a school of them in the last timeline, insisting they recognized her voice. They probably had, given her innate connection to all living things.

  Aurora stepped closer to the water, letting it lap at her toes. In the reflection, she caught a glimpse of a golden light flickering in her eyes. It happened more often now, especially when she thinks of her family. The healer’s magic that had once been accessible only through The System’s interface was now a constant presence beneath her skin, waiting to be shaped by will alone.

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  Last night, while Alexander slept, she’d managed to conjure a sphere of golden light that hovered above her palm for nearly five minutes before dissipating. The week before, she’d mended a cut on Nadia’s arm almost without thinking, her fingers trailing warmth that knit the skin together seamlessly.

  “I’m getting stronger,” she whispered to the lake. “But is it enough?”

  Alexander was already leaps ahead of the rest of them, his abilities manifesting with frightening precision. She’d caught him practicing with his threads one night, manipulating dozens simultaneously with his left while reading a book on his tablet with the right. The casual display of power had sent a chill down her spine, not from fear but from recognition.

  He was changing more with each passing day.

  Aurora had started keeping a journal of the subtle shifts in her husband’s personality. The moments when his voice took on that particular cadence, when his eyes grew distant, when his decisions became clinical rather than compassionate. The journal was hidden beneath the false bottom of her jewelry box, a secret record of a metamorphosis she wasn’t sure even he recognized.

  She’d been tempted to confront him about it, to ask if he could feel the changes happening within him. But each time the words formed on her lips; she swallowed them back. What if naming the transformation accelerated it? What if acknowledging it gave it more power?

  She’d taken to nicknaming the personality… Threads.

  “I’ll have to be his light,” Aurora said decisively, looking toward the setting sun. “So he can always find his way home.”

  The training sessions with the family had shown remarkable progress. Alexander had implemented his Skill Book ability to accelerate their learning curve exponentially. Even now, his knowledge was being transferred directly into their minds, bypassing years of conventional study.

  Aurora had been focusing on medical manuals and nursing classes, absorbing techniques for suturing, bone setting, and trauma care that would have taken years to master in the old world. She’d enrolled in meditation and yoga classes too, determined to bring her emotions under control so they wouldn’t compromise her abilities during crisis.

  Maeve was deep into advanced calculus and spatial mathematics, her teleportation abilities requiring precise calculations to avoid fatal errors. “This isn’t the movies,” Alexander had warned. “One wrong move and you’re stuck inside concrete… or worse.”

  Xavier threw himself into his studies of light and its properties, attending classes with Maeve where their fields overlapped. Each night at dinner, he’d present new theories for manipulating photons, his eyes shining with enthusiasm that reminded Aurora so much of Alexander in the early days of their marriage.

  The addition of Rose to their circle had been unexpected but welcome. The memory-sharing had been difficult to witness, especially seeing the girl’s shock at recalling her own death. But having Rose back had given Xavier renewed purpose, especially after learning of her cryptic message delivered to him as he died. She hadn’t recalled anything of the sort.

  “Add it to the list.” Alexander had said, causing the room to laugh.

  Nadia focused primarily on Jiu-jitsu, her understanding of gravity and force growing with each practice session. Her local teacher called her a prodigy, unaware that she had years of combat experience stored in her thirteen-year-old body. Aurora watched a practice session last week, amazed as her daughter seemed to become immovable during certain holds, manipulating gravity itself to stand firm. Xavier aptly called her a cheater, starting another war.

  Then there was Margo, her plant ability growing stronger almost daily. She’d transformed their garden into an Eden of fruit and vegetables, each infused with subtle mana that left everyone feeling refreshed and strengthened after eating. Aurora had suggested involving her mother Sarah in the gardening once the compound was complete, creating a self-sufficient food system that could support them all through The Fall.

  A flash of gold caught Aurora’s attention, and she looked down to see her hands glowing softly. The light pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, trailing golden tendrils that spiraled around her wrists before fading. Each time it happened, the glow lasted longer, grew stronger.

  In the last timeline, her healing magic had been potent but limited to direct touch. Now, she was beginning to sense something more; an aura that could extend beyond her body, that could strengthen and protect those around her. The potential of it made her skin tingle with anticipation.

  Aurora had been experimenting in private, trying to shape the golden light into different forms. So far, she’d managed a shield-like barrier that lasted nearly thirty seconds and a narrow beam that cauterized a small cut on her finger. But she sensed there was more, much more, if she could just understand how to access it.

  “Interchangeable auras,” she murmured, the concept taking shape in her mind. Protection, enhancement, healing; all channeled through the same golden light but shaped by different intentions. A suite of abilities she could swap between as needed, adapting to whatever threat they faced.

  Her phone chimed with a text from the hubby. She read it quickly and frowned, slipping the device back into her pocket. Time to head home. Something had happened, something that had accelerated his timeline.

  Aurora took one last look at the peaceful lake before heading to her car. As she slid behind the wheel, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes flashed golden, like distant lightning in blue skies.

  In the previous timeline, he had slowly withdrawn from everyone, retreating into cold calculation as loss after loss stripped away his humanity. Aurora had watched helplessly as the man she loved disappeared behind a mask of ruthless efficiency.

  Not this time.

  This time, she would be his anchor, his compass. She would remind him of why they were fighting, of the humanity worth preserving. She would be the golden light to his purple shadows, the warmth to his calculation, the heart to his mind.

  She chuckled, knowing the kids would call her sappy. As she started the car, country music filled the speakers. Aurora cranked the volume, letting her curls whip in the breeze as she sang loudly, defiantly, a declaration of life and joy in the face of approaching apocalypse.

  Let them come. The Evans family would be ready.