It was time for my plans to blossom. Three years before the end of the world, and every second counted.

  I stood at the window of my office, watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues of amber and gold. The irony wasn’t lost on me, such beauty in a world with an expiration date. Shaking the thought away, I returned to my desk where a notepad contained my hastily scribbled notes.

  Allies. Resources. Training.

  One person couldn’t save humanity, no matter how much foreknowledge they possessed. I needed a trusted team with complementary skills, working in concert toward our shared survival. The weight of this responsibility pressed against my chest, threatening to crush me beneath its enormity.

  “Spider’s Calm,” I whispered, realizing I know longer needed the vocal component. It reassured me, however.

  Cool relief washed over me as the familiar sensation spread through my veins, dulling the storm of emotions that threatened to break my concentration. With that clarity, I could approach our impending doom with the cold precision of a surgeon.

  I turned my attention to the small potted plant on my desk. Focusing on the circulation of energy within me, I sought that nascent power, that subtle current Lilith had assured me existed, even without The System interface.

  At first, there was nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat. Then, like ice water trickling beneath my skin, I felt it; a small stream of energy responding to my will. My fingertips tingled as I coaxed the power forward, my mind shaping the mental image of what I wished to create.

  Fine purple threads, nearly invisible in their thinness, emerged from my fingertips. They were weaker than in the previous timeline, but undeniably real. I manipulated them to lift a pencil from the desk, marveling at how responsive they were to my thoughts.

  The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The System wasn’t the source of our power, it was merely the interface… the training wheels. Mana had always existed, flowing through our world since time immemorial. We had simply forgotten how to harness it.

  I released the threads, feeling a subtle drain on my body. Not nearly as taxing as it had been post-Fall, but noticeable. I would need to build my capacity through regular practice.

  The familiar aroma of coffee drifted from the kitchen, breaking my concentration. With a smile, I followed the scent, finding the French press already prepared. In the previous timeline, coffee had become more valuable than gold; luxury beyond reach for most survivors. People had killed for less.

  I poured the dark liquid into my mug, adding precisely two and a half sugars. The first sip was… transcendent! A cascade of flavors I had been denied for years flooded my senses. I closed my eyes, savoring each note of the rich dark blend.

  “God, that’s good,” I whispered, allowing myself this small indulgence before returning to the task at hand.

  After bidding farewell to Aurora and the children, sending them off to their daily routines, I settled at my computer. With the remainder of our savings, I placed strategic investments across multiple sectors, focusing on companies I knew would survive and thrive through the coming economic downturns.

  There was an odd sense of inevitability watching the confirmation emails arrive. In the previous timeline, these same investments would have saved countless lives! If I had only possessed the foresight then.

  Spider’s Calm was working like magic as I watched my mind and body move through calculations. The Intelligence stat still held; it seemed. Most of the information that I barely remembered viewing now came to me with ease.

  With the financial groundwork laid, I turned my attention back to mana manipulation. If we could use it for combat and enhanced physical abilities, perhaps we could also use it to accelerate learning. The faster we can prepare, the better our chances of survival.

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  I closed my eyes and assumed the lotus position on the floor.

  Visualizing my mana as a cool blue light circulating through my brain, I contemplated the theory of it all. Under the effects of the skill, I allowed my mind to think on its nature.

  In my first life after The Fall, using abilities had come with a subtle guidance, similar to muscle memory. Without that guidance, I would need to develop a deeper understanding of mana’s fundamental nature.

  Understanding, Construction, Manifestation, and Mental Image. These four principles had guided my use of mana in the previous timeline. Now, they would be the foundation of my teaching methodology.

  I focused on my mana circulation while simultaneously reaching for a book I’d placed nearby. The moment I tried to channel mana through my frontal lobe while reading, a sharp, icy pain lanced through my skull. Nausea rose in my throat, and I barely made it to the wastebasket before emptying the contents of my stomach.

  Despite the setback, I persevered. Each attempt brought marginally better results. By the third hour, I could maintain the mana circulation for nearly five minutes before the discomfort became unbearable.

  To test the effectiveness of my experiment, I created a series of complex questions about the material I’d studied. When I could answer them all without hesitation, I knew I had succeeded. The migraine that followed was a small price to pay for such a breakthrough.

  A tired smile crept across my face. With this capability, I could level the playing field. Knowledge was power, and I could now absorb it at an accelerated rate, then share it with my family.

  I thought of each of my children, their unique aptitudes and interests. Xavier’s fascination with efficiency, Margo’s innate connection to plant life, Maeve’s analytical mind, and Nadia’s determined spirit. Each would need specialized training tailored to their natural inclinations.

  With renewed focus, I turned my attention to a skill that would prove crucial to our survival: Memory Pocket. In the previous timeline, this ability had allowed me to store and transfer memories, providing critical information to our fighters about enemy weaknesses and tactics. If I could recreate it now, I could restore my family's memories without relying on The System.

  Again, I took a deep breath and centered myself. As I circulated mana through my body, I focused on the structure of memory itself, the way neurons fire, the way experiences imprint themselves on our consciousness. I recalled how the skill had manifested in the past: a dense cluster of coalesced mana, capable of containing and preserving complete memories.

  The effort felt like trying to gather fog with my bare hands at first. My mana scattered and dissipated with each attempt, refusing to coalesce into the necessary form. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I pushed harder, straining against invisible limits.

  After an hour of frustrating attempts, I changed my approach. Rather than trying to force the mana to conform, I visualized a specific memory; the moment Aurora and I first met. I held the image in my mind with perfect clarity: her curly blonde hair catching the sunlight as she jogged past my bench in the park, the way she had smiled when she caught me feeding the birds.

  The mana responded, swirling and condensing until a small purple sphere pulsed above my palm. Within its translucent surface, I could see fragments of that memory playing like a movie in miniature.

  "It worked," I whispered, hardly believing my success.

  My next test will be more complex. I gathered my memories of Aurora's life after The Fall; her bravery as a healer on the front lines, her unwavering dedication to our children, the moment she... I swallowed hard as the final memory surfaced. Even now, after all this time, the pain of losing her remained razor-sharp.

  I meticulously compiled these memories, weaving them together with my own experiences of the apocalypse. The resulting memory bubble grew larger, its surface rippling with the weight of an entire timeline of experiences. This would be my gift to Aurora, the truth she deserved to know, no matter how painful.

  The mental strain of maintaining the construct made my vision blur. Creating and sustaining such a complex memory structure demanded far more mana than my current reserves could comfortably provide. But I had succeeded in recreating the skill that would be instrumental in our preparations.

  The memory bubble pulsed gently above my palm, containing everything Aurora would need to understand our desperate situation. I couldn't wait another day. Tonight, when she returned home, I would offer her a choice: to learn about our future through my words alone or to experience the memories of her alternate self, firsthand. Either way, I would no longer face this burden alone.

  As I carefully preserved the memory construct, setting it aside in a shielded corner of my consciousness where it would remain stable until needed, I glanced out the window. Dawn had turned to noon by the time I finally ceased my experiments. My body ached with exhaustion and my emotions started to creep back in, as my stomach started to rumble.

  There was hope, not just for survival, but perhaps even for victory.

  I contemplated the monumental task ahead. Training my family, gathering resources, establishing a secure compound, forming alliances, all while keeping our activities hidden from the powers that governed this world. It was daunting, perhaps impossible.

  But impossible odds were nothing new to me. I had watched the world end once. I wouldn't stand by and let it happen again.