CHAPTER 389: CHAPTER 378: FRACTURED SOUL?

Atlas did not answer the voice that called him... brother.

The word hung in the silence like a blade — too sharp, too intimate to touch.

The others waited, weapons drawn, eyes searching the shifting dark.

But the ruins did not move.

Not yet.

The wind slid through the streets, carrying whispers that weren’t quite sound — fragments of laughter, broken syllables, the hum of electricity in a world that had forgotten power. Like memories of Christmas lacing through.

Claire stepped closer, her voice trembling despite herself.

"Atlas... what did they mean?"

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

The shadows beneath the tower lengthened, curling like roots across the ground. The lights within the structure pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat — each thrum louder, deeper, as if the city itself were syncing to him.

Merlin’s hand tightened on his staff. "This isn’t possession," he murmured. "It’s resonance. The world’s aligning with his mind...this world and him, their bond is getting stronger...."

"Or his guilt is..." Aurora said softly.

Her words hung there — and Atlas flinched.

He tried to speak, to deny it, but then the city moved.

Not a quake. Not a storm.

A shift.

The glass walls flexed, light bending through them like water. The ground rearranged itself, roads weaving into new paths.

Buildings unfolded, revealing hollow interiors where figures flickered into being — human silhouettes, clearer this time. Faces. Eyes. Smiles he remembered, and some he didn’t.

Eli cursed. "They’re multiplying."

"No," Atlas said hoarsely.

He knew the street again. The way it curved toward the station. The café with the chipped sign. The smell of wet concrete and burnt coffee.

It wasn’t hell or heaven.

It was home. Or what was left of it.

The static-people moved with purpose now — no longer repeating loops, but walking toward him.

Dozens. Then hundreds. Their voices layered, overlapping into a single question, and in the middle of them, his mother, the mother of his past life who didn’t cared, who didn’t loved. Only using him, guilt Tripping him...

"Why did.. you.. leave?"

He stumbled back. The question hit like a physical blow — each syllable burning behind his ribs.

"I didn’t—" he started, but the word caught in his throat.

The air shimmered. One of the figures stepped closer — a woman’s outline, luminous and blurred. Her voice was soft, unbearably familiar.

"You promised you’d stay," she said.

Atlas’s chest constricted. "No...you, you just wanted me for the money...for my insurance money..."

But part of him did.

A memory — a small apartment, laughter, the scent of rain. A name he couldn’t remember but still hurt to forget.

Lilith’s voice rose from nowhere and everywhere.

Not thunderous — almost tender.

"Memory is never lost, my son. It simply finds new forms to haunt you...you need to accept it go through it, and then you will grow ever more.."

Aurora looked around, eyes narrowing. "Again....Show yourself, witch."

Laughter rippled through the reflections — in puddles, in glass, in shards of metal. Everywhere Atlas looked, her face wove itself into the ruins.

"I already have," she whispered.

The tower brightened, its mirrored surface alive with movement.

Atlas’s reflection stared back — but not him.

Different versions. One smiled, one cried, one bled.

And in every reflection, Lilith’s hand rested on his shoulder.

"You are this place my son...it’s made of you...," she said. "Not with stone, but with memory. You gave it breath. You gave it grief."

"I ...I built nothing...these all, these all are just your tricks..," he said through his teeth.

"Then what are you standing on?"

He wanted to strike her, to burn her out of existence, but the truth rooted deep.

Every wall, every sound, every flicker of neon in the ruin — it remembered him.

Michael moved beside him, wings half-flared. "Prophet, this is manipulation.... Reject her."

"I’m... trying," Atlas whispered.

The ground beneath them trembled again — not with destruction, but with life.

Grass forced its way through cracks in the pavement, glowing faintly blue. Windows mended. Light flickered in dead signs. The city was rebuilding itself.

Merlin’s eyes widened, his mana eyes indicating more info.... "Be carefull...Reality’s restructuring around him."

Aurora turned to Atlas. "You need to stop it."

"I can’t."

He pressed his hands to his head — and for a moment, the world blurred.

He was somewhere else.

A train station. Crowded. Alive.

Screens flashed departure times. The smell of rain. Someone laughing beside him — a girl with short hair, holding a coffee cup.

"Don’t be late again," she said, smiling.

He blinked — and she was gone.

Back in the ruins, his breath came ragged.

Lilith’s voice coiled around him. "You remember now, don’t you? The first dream — the life you ran from."

"I didn’t run!"

"Then why did you wake?"

The accusation hit harder than any weapon.

Claire touched his arm. "Atlas—look at me."

He did — and in her eyes, he saw light. Real, unbroken light.

"You’re not what she says," she whispered. "You’re not her son. You’re you."

He wanted to believe it. But the tower disagreed.

From its peak, light cascaded downward — a spiral of gold and crimson. The air hummed like a living pulse. And deep within, a sound began: slow, rhythmic, like a heart beating beneath the earth.

Merlin’s staff shook. "Something’s awakening below."

Michael drew his sword. "We descend."

The ground split open before them — steps forming from black glass, spiraling into the tower’s foundation.

Atlas led the way, though his hands trembled.

The others followed — descending into the echoing dark.

The stairway ended in a vast chamber bathed in blue light.

At its center stood a sphere of crystal — suspended, breathing. Inside it, something moved.

Aurora stepped closer. "Is that—?"

Atlas knew before she finished.

It was him.

Or rather — his first body.

Pale. Sleeping. Perfectly still.

Merlin whispered, "The source of this city, of this mana... of your existence. This is where you began?"

Lilith’s laughter trembled through the chamber. "You thought you escaped me, little echo. But you are not the dreamer. You are the dream."

The realization tore through him.

He wasn’t the original. He was the memory that survived the death of the first.

The world outside wasn’t rebelling — it was calling him home.

Claire’s voice broke. "Atlas—no—"

He stepped closer to the crystal. The light reflected a thousand versions of his face, each whispering fragments of his own thoughts back at him.

One word rose above them all.

Remember.

His hand touched the glass — and pain flooded through him.

Visions tore open: the apocalypse of his first world, the moment Lilith reached out to him, the spark that remade him in hell’s image.

He saw it all — and with it, something deeper.

The first dream.

The moment he wished for freedom.

And the cost it took.

He staggered back, clutching his chest. The shard of glass he’d picked up earlier — the Glass Heart — glowed through his palm, pulsing in rhythm with his real heart.

Aurora called out, "Atlas! Let go! It’s all just illusions.... she’s trying to get in your head.."

But he couldn’t. The city’s pulse was his own now.

Above them, the tower groaned, glass walls folding inward like ribs closing around a heart. The chamber shook.

The air itself spoke — thousands of voices rising as one.

"then dream us back into existence...."

The city began to rebuild — not as ruins, but as memory incarnate.

Static figures turned solid. Streets regained color. Skies rippled into false blue.

And Atlas stood in the center, caught between being and remembering.

Claire reached for him, desperate. "Atlas, come back!"

He turned, eyes glowing faintly. "I don’t know if I can."

The light consumed him — rising, swirling, merging with the pulse of the tower.

And then — silence.

The city stood whole again, glimmering beneath a false dawn.

But no one moved.

Where Atlas had stood, only the Glass Heart remained — beating faintly in the dust.

Lilith’s voice came one last time, soft as breath.

"Finally.... he’s whole...."

The tower’s light faded to black.

And in that darkness, something stirred again.

A heartbeat.

Slow. Relentless.

Waiting.

At first, there was nothing.

Then — sound.

Rain. The delicate percussion of droplets on glass.

Atlas opened his eyes.

He was in a bed. A normal bed. White sheets. A hum of electricity in the walls.

A ceiling fan turned lazily above him.

For a long moment, he lay there, breathing — waiting for the pain, for the screaming, for the world that never stayed still.

But nothing came.

Only peace.

The window beside him glowed with city light — the real kind. Neon, headlights, the faint pulse of life outside.

It was... home.

He sat up slowly. His chest didn’t ache. His hands weren’t bloody. His body felt whole — too whole.

The alarm clock on the desk blinked 07:32 A.M.

Its chime was soft. Familiar.

He’d heard it once before, years ago, in another life.

The world had restarted.

"Morning, Atlas."

The voice came from the kitchen — warm, bright, alive.

He froze.

That voice — he’d heard it in dreams, in the ruins, in dying echoes.

"Lara?"

She turned the corner, smiling. Her hair was shorter, a faint scar on her temple. She wore his shirt, holding two mugs of coffee.

"You okay?" she asked, setting one in front of him. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

He didn’t answer. His throat was tight. He reached out — hesitated — then touched her hand.

Warm. Real.

No static. No flicker.

He nearly collapsed right there.

"Hey," she said softly, worried now. "You’re trembling."

He laughed. He couldn’t stop himself. "You’re here. You’re alive."

Lara tilted her head. "You say that like you thought I wasn’t."

Atlas looked around. The apartment — the same one from his memories — was perfect. Down to the cracked tile near the window. Down to the photo on the wall: him, Claire, Eli, Lara — all smiling.

It hurt to look at.

He touched the frame. "How long... how long have we been here?"

She laughed. "You’re asking weird questions again."

The world felt real.

Too real.

He ate breakfast, went outside, saw people.

The same faces he remembered — the café owner, the old man feeding birds, the student with headphones.

No one noticed him staring.

No one noticed the way the light bent wrong at the edges of his vision.

But he noticed.

A man bumped his shoulder. Atlas turned — and for a second, the man’s face flickered. Static.

Then it was fine again.

The illusion was good — perfect, almost — but the cracks were there.

He whispered to himself, "This isn’t real...."

A voice answered from nowhere.

{{{{{Then stop pretending you want it to be.}}}}}}

The guide.

It was still with him.

’Where am I?’ he thought.

{{{{{Inside your own echo. The city you rebuilt decided to keep you....Lilith, she’s playing games that even she can’t comprehend...using you...}}}}}}

’And the others?’

{{{{{They’re outside. Trying to wake you.}}}}}}

Atlas clenched his fists. "Then help me get out."

{{{{{Why? You asked for this once — peace, normalcy, a second chance.}}}}}}

He froze.

{{{{{You said, ’I just want to go home.’}}}}}}

Meanwhile, outside the dream, the tower was shaking.

The city’s restored beauty was cracking again — facades peeling, light fading.

Merlin stood at the base of the black spire, sweat running down his brow. "He’s sealed within the core illusion. It’s feeding off his stability — if he accepts it, it becomes permanent."

"Then we break him out!" Eli shouted, drawing her blade.

Aurora shook her head. "If we break the structure too fast, his consciousness could shatter. We need him to choose to wake."

Michael’s wings snapped open, scattering ash. "Then we go in."

Merlin frowned. "That’s suicide."

Michael looked at him coldly. "I’ve been dead before."

Inside the dream, Atlas found himself walking streets he’d walked a thousand times before — but they were too quiet.

He passed the bookstore where he’d met Claire. It was open again.

Inside, she was there — sorting books, smiling.

She looked up. "Hey, stranger."

He stopped. "Claire?"

"Who else?"

He took a shaky step toward her. "You’re supposed to be—"

"What?" She smiled wider. "Supposed to be what?"

The light around her glitched. Her hands blurred.

Atlas blinked, and for an instant, he saw Lilith’s face overlay hers.

He stumbled back.

"You’re....not her," he whispered.

The figure tilted her head. The smile didn’t fade — it just stretched.

Then it spoke in Lilith’s voice:

"She’s a dream, and so are you. You could stay here forever, my son. Isn’t this what you wanted...stay here, be one with all your lost souls and you will finally be whole...?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I’m done being a puppet."

The air rippled — and Lilith stepped out from behind the counter, perfect and terrible, her eyes galaxies of living fire.

"Puppet?," she said, "you were my son, killed and crashed into many pieces....many souls, scattered around the multiverse....you need to heal my child... "

"No...i don’t want it...butn it, burn this cage...," he snarled.

Her smile was sad. "You think I built it?"

The floor trembled. The world rippled like water.

Outside, Aurora screamed. "The dream is collapsing!"

The tower blazed with crimson light, bolts of energy crackling up its sides.

Michael raised his sword, wings blazing gold.

"Now! Anchor me!"

Merlin slammed his staff into the ground, runes exploding outward in a circle of light. "You’ll only have moments before the dream rejects you!"

Michael’s voice was steady. "Moments are enough, God almighty made me, I have faith in him more than my self...."

He vanished into the light.

Inside, thunder cracked — but it wasn’t weather.

It was Michael, falling like a comet.

He crashed into the dream-world street, carving a crater in the asphalt.

Atlas staggered back, shielding his eyes. "Michael—?"

The angel stood, smoke rising from his armor. "Prophet. You need to wake up."

Atlas laughed weakly. "You don’t belong here."

"Neither do you."

Lilith watched from the shadows, amused. "Ah, the loyal hound arrives... followers of a dead god ..."

Michael’s blade ignited, searing white. "Back away from him, Empress."

"Or what?" she purred. "You’ll kill me? In his dream? He made this place — not I. Every brick, every memory, every bit, brick by brick..."

Atlas shouted, "Enough!"

The entire city froze mid-motion. Cars, birds, even the rain halted in midair.

He breathed hard, energy sparking under his skin. "I’m ending this."

Lilith tilted her head, eyes soft. "You can’t end what you are....you can try, but.."

Then she was gone.

The silence after her departure was worse than noise.

Michael approached slowly. "You see now, don’t you? This world is your own grief made solid..an old trick used by her, I have fallen here as well...I know, I know it all feels natural..good."

Atlas’s hands shook. "It feels so real."

"That’s the danger," Michael said. "Even gods can drown in what they wish for."

Atlas looked up, jaw tight. "Then.. Then let me just burn it."