FRACTURES

  The news plays on mute in Maxwell's penthouse, sixty stories above Star City's neon nightlife. The footage loops for the fifteenth time - a blur of blue energy spiraling through downtown, stopping a runaway train by simply... rewriting physics. The hero the media's calling "Starkid" hovers above the rescued passengers, reality warping around him like a cloak.

  "Jaron," Maxwell says, sliding a dossier across the glass table. "Last name unknown. Twenty-eight years old. Street artist before The Parallax Event. Now he's bending reality like it's made of warm taffy."

  I leaf through the file, my strings dancing with violent interest. "Another reality manipulator. Cosmic powers are getting common these days."

  "There's something about his quantum signature," Maxwell continues, studying the footage with analytical precision. "It's like nothing I've documented before. Yet somehow..." He glances at me, hesitant.

  "Somehow what?" My strings dance with impatience.

  "It resembles the energy I detected when studying your powers. Different, but with underlying similarities. As if..." he pauses, carefully selecting his words, "as if there's a connection."

  I watch the footage again. The way reality bends to this Starkid's will. The way he exists in multiple states simultaneously. Something about his movements, his presence, stirs ancient memories - whispers of powers I've witnessed before. Powers that remind me of Dresden.

  "We should monitor him," I say finally, revealing nothing of the suspicions forming in my mind. "This Starkid might be useful."

  "Useful for what exactly?" Maxwell asks, swirling expensive scotch in a crystal glass, eyes narrowed with curiosity.

  My strings cut idle patterns in the air, hungrier than ever. "For understanding what's happening to reality itself. Why stars keep disappearing. Why powers keep manifesting."

  "You think he knows something about the Event?"

  "I think it's time we had a conversation with Star City's newest hero."

  Maxwell raises his glass. "To scientific inquiry, then."

  My smile holds no warmth. "To cutting new strings."

  After all, gods are only gods until someone shows them how to fall.

  ******

  "This is your plan?" Dresden's voice cracks with barely contained rage. "Call in a favor while Mom is being tortured by those psychopaths?"

  Our underground sanctuary looks like a war zone. Scorch marks from electromagnetic discharge pattern the walls. Concrete craters from yesterday's battle with the twins. Blood—mine and Dresden's—has dried into abstract art on the floor.

  "It's not just any favor," I explain, keeping my voice level despite the fire in my veins. "Melek has resources we need. Information about the twins' new hideout. Tech that can counteract their temporal powers."

  "Tech?" Dresden laughs, the sound like broken glass. At twelve years old, his face shouldn't hold this much fury. This much pain. "You think tech will stop them after what they did? After they took Mom?"

  His quantum field expands slightly as he paces, frustration manifesting as ripples in local reality. "And who even is this Melek? How do we know he's still alive? You haven't seen him in what... sixty, seventy years?"

  I watch my son carefully, noting how objects near him shift slightly in and out of solidity. "Melek is alive. Some people are... difficult to kill."

  "How can you be so certain?" Dresden demands, stopping to face me directly.

  My strings dance with dark memory. "Because people like Melek and I... we tend to recognize each other's handiwork across time. The quantum fluctuations in Star City's Old District carry his signature. He's there. Watching. Waiting."

  "For what?"

  "For someone like me to make a mistake." My voice drops lower. "Or to finally learn something."

  "I think rushing in without a plan is suicide," I counter, trying not to notice how reality warps slightly around his trembling form. His quantum abilities have been growing more unstable by the hour. "The twins are more powerful than ever. Their new Fellowship has evolved beyond what we faced before."

  "So have I," Dresden whispers, and there's something in his voice that makes my strings bristle with warning.

  The boy in front of me shifts subtly, existing in multiple states at once. His quantum field flickers, showing glimpses of other versions of himself. Older versions. Angrier versions.

  "Dresden," I say carefully, "your powers are still developing. You don't have full control yet."

  "Control?" The air around him vibrates with possibility. "Mom is out there somewhere, being used as an incubator for whatever the twins want from her baby, and you're worried about control?"

  My strings respond to the threat, arcing between us like black lightning. The last remnants of Maelstrom's stolen power crackle along their length. "I'm worried about you getting yourself killed. About losing both of you."

  "You don't get it, do you?" Dresden's quantum field expands, making local reality hiccup. "Every second we waste, the twins get closer to whatever they're planning. Mom's been gone for twenty-seven hours. The baby could come any minute."

  I consider the options. The boy's not wrong - Scarlett could deliver at any moment. The child she carries might be the key to everything. The one who could access the spaces between spaces. The first of a genetic line that could eventually shatter the barriers between realities.

  But the twins have had a year to prepare. To gather powers we've never seen. To build defenses against exactly the kind of assault Dresden wants to launch.

  "Three hours," I say finally. "Give me three hours to contact Melek, get what we need. Then we go together."

  "Together?" Dresden's laugh holds no humor. "Like we're some kind of team? You've spent my entire life treating me like a weapon you're building, not a son. Now suddenly we're family?"

  The accusation stings because it carries truth. Twelve years of training him, pushing him, preparing him for what's coming. Twelve years of seeing him as Scarlett's genetic experiment, our insurance against the twins' plans. A weapon more than a child.

  But somewhere along the way, that changed. Somewhere between teaching him to fight and watching him grow, he became something else. Something I never expected to value more than power itself.

  "You're my son," I say, the words unfamiliar in my mouth. "We do this together or not at all."

  Dresden's quantum field fluctuates, his form blurring between states. "Three hours is too long."

  "It's necessary."

  "No." His power builds like a pressure cooker about to blow. "It's control. It's you pulling strings again. And I'm done being your puppet."

  I take a step toward him, my strings suddenly still. "There's something you need to know about Melek. About me. Something I've never told anyone."

  The unexpected shift in tone makes Dresden pause, quantum field settling slightly. "What?"

  "My ability—my real ability—isn't just taking powers from others." The words feel strange leaving my mouth after keeping this secret for so long. "I can share them too. Transfer them. Give what I've stolen to someone else."

  Dresden's eyes narrow with suspicion. "Then why haven't you ever—"

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Because it comes with a cost," I interrupt. "A connection. A vulnerability I can't afford. But Melek... he was different."

  "Different how?"

  My strings dance with ancient memories. "He was the closest thing I had to a friend. Before Aahan found me, before I became what I am, Melek and I were just two street kids trying to survive in Star City."

  Dresden's quantum field stabilizes further, curiosity momentarily overriding his rage. "You never told me about any of this."

  "There are many things I've kept from you." I move to the wall, where a hairline crack runs from floor to ceiling—damage from yesterday's battle. "Melek saved my life when we were twelve. A gang that controlled our territory tried to make an example of me. He stepped in. Took a knife meant for my throat."

  My strings trace the crack in the wall, sealing it with precision born of centuries of practice. "We survived together after that. While I became obsessed with power, with abilities, Melek turned to technology. Science. Built things decades ahead of their time."

  "What happened?" Dresden asks, genuinely engaged now despite himself.

  "After I defeated Chronos, after I took his power, I returned to Star City. Found Melek dying of radiation poisoning from one of his experiments. Terminal. Days to live." My voice grows quieter. "That's when I discovered I could transfer the abilities I'd stolen. I gave him a fragment of Chronos's immortality. Saved his life."

  Understanding dawns in Dresden's eyes. "And he owes you."

  "He swore he would help me whenever I asked. Whatever I needed." I meet my son's gaze directly. "In sixty years, I've never asked. Until now."

  Dresden processes this revelation, the implications settling in. "If you can transfer powers... why not give me some of yours? Make me strong enough to take on the twins directly?"

  "Because it would kill you," I reply bluntly. "Your quantum abilities are still developing. Adding stolen powers to the mix would shatter your molecular structure. Your mother and I tested this extensively before you were born."

  He frowns. "Mom knew about this ability?"

  "It's why she sought me out initially. Her probability manipulation allowed her to calculate genetic outcomes with perfect precision. She knew our child would have abilities beyond anything either of us could manifest alone." I hesitate. "But she also knew the dangers of premature power transfer."

  The truth hangs in the air between us—one more revelation in a lifetime of secrets.

  "Three hours," I say again. "Give me three hours to get what we need from Melek. Then we'll save your mother together. The right way."

  For a moment, I think he's considering it. Then his expression hardens.

  "You've had twelve years to be honest with me," he says, power building again. "I'm done waiting."

  The attack comes without warning. Dresden splits into seventeen quantum versions of himself, each one moving at a different temporal rate. The first punch catches me in the jaw, breaking bone and expectations simultaneously.

  Pain explodes like a supernova behind my eyes. I taste blood and surprise, feel teeth loosening in their sockets. My strings react automatically, lashing out in a web of death and hunger. But they pass through empty space as Dresden exists everywhere and nowhere at once.

  "Too slow, old man," all seventeen versions taunt in quantum harmony.

  I unleash everything I have left. Lightning arcs between my strings, turning the air into an electric web of death. The last remnants of Torque's power try to pin down Dresden's quantum fluctuations. The fading echoes of Veil's illusions attempt to confuse his perceptions.

  One string catches something solid—a version of Dresden moving a microsecond slower than the others. He howls as black lightning courses through him, momentarily disrupting his quantum field. I press the advantage, wrapping more strings around this temporarily solid version of my son.

  "Got you," I snarl, tightening my grip.

  Dresden smiles through the pain. "No. I got you."

  The version I've caught dissolves into quantum particles—a decoy. The real attack comes from behind as three Dresdens simultaneously drive their fists into my spine. Vertebrae crack. Nerve endings scream. My legs go numb as I crash into the wall hard enough to leave a body-shaped impression in reinforced concrete.

  "You taught me that move," the Dresdens say, circling me like quantum wolves. "Always have a sacrificial piece."

  I roll to my feet, ignoring the grinding sensation in my spine as accelerated healing struggles to reconnect shattered bone. My strings lash out in patterns designed to counter multiple opponents—figure eights, spirals, criss-crossing webs that leave no angle uncovered.

  Dresden phases through most, but not all. A string catches his ankle, another his wrist. Black lightning dances up both connections. His quantum field flickers as pain disrupts his concentration.

  "And you should remember this lesson," I growl, pulling him off balance. "Never celebrate until your opponent stays down."

  I slam him into the floor hard enough to crater concrete. His quantum duplicates waver, several disappearing as his focus breaks. But instead of yielding, Dresden's eyes flash with something new—not just fury, but calculation.

  He twists his captured wrist, somehow inverting the string's energy. The black lightning reverses direction, flowing back up my own connection. Pain lances through my arm, my stolen powers rebounding against me.

  "Mom taught me that one," Dresden gasps, blood trickling from his nose. "String theory works both ways."

  I release him, surprised and—though I'd never admit it—impressed. Scarlett had clearly been teaching him more than I realized.

  The momentary distraction costs me. Dresden's quantum field explodes outward, splitting him into thirty versions now, each one moving in perfect coordination. They attack from all sides, each punch individually manageable but overwhelming in aggregate.

  Ribs crack under the assault. My jaw, barely healed from the first hit, shatters again. Internal organs rupture as quantum-enhanced fists bypass conventional defenses. My strings struggle to track targets that exist in multiple states simultaneously.

  I drop to one knee, black lightning flickering weakly along my connections. Dresden stands over me, his quantum duplicates converging into a single form trailing afterimages like phantom limbs.

  "You once told me that real power is about adapting," he says, chest heaving with exertion. "About evolving beyond your limitations."

  Blood drips from my chin, pooling on the cracked floor. My strings dance with diminished fury, weakened but not defeated. "And you're proving me right."

  I launch a desperate counterattack, pouring everything into a single strike. My primary string—the first I ever created, the one connected directly to my core—strikes with the combined power of every ability I've stolen. Maelstrom's lightning, Torque's force, Veil's dimensional distortion, and a flash of Chronos's temporal manipulation.

  The blast catches Dresden square in the chest. His quantum field ruptures, afterimages scattering like startled birds. He flies backward, crashing through three interior walls before coming to rest in a heap of broken drywall and bent rebar.

  I struggle to my feet, spitting teeth and blood. Stolen powers flicker dangerously low after that all-out attack. My strings tremble with exhaustion, barely maintaining cohesion.

  For a moment, I think it's over. That paternal instinct won out over tactical necessity, that I pulled my punch enough to incapacitate without causing permanent damage.

  Then the rubble shifts. Dresden rises, quantum field fluctuating wildly around him. Blood streaks his face, but his eyes burn with renewed purpose. This is no longer about rage—it's about determination.

  "You've been holding back on me my whole life," he says, voice eerily calm as reality begins to warp around him. "Training me, but never pushing me to my full potential. Afraid I might become too powerful."

  The air shimmers around Dresden as his quantum abilities shift into something new. Not just existing in multiple states—actively rewriting the rules of what states can exist.

  "Dresden," I warn, "whatever you're doing, stop. You don't understand the consequences."

  But Dresden...

  Dresden shows me something new.

  His quantum field doesn't just split him into multiple versions. It begins altering local reality itself. The concrete beneath us softens like clay.. The very air becomes thick as molasses, slowing my strings to a crawl.

  Reality manipulation. Not quantum existence. Actual, fundamental control over what is and isn't real.

  "When did you learn to do this?" I gasp, watching as he reshapes physics without effort.

  The concrete swallows my feet, hardening instantly. My strings struggle against air that's become solid as steel. Dresden stands before me, all seventeen versions collapsing into one impossibly powerful whole.

  "Mom's been teaching me," he says quietly. "While you were busy playing puppet master with politicians and power brokers, she showed me what our powers could really do together. How quantum manipulation and probability fields could affect reality itself."

  Understanding hits like quantum uncertainty. Scarlett wasn't just carrying our second child - she was preparing our first for something bigger. Teaching him abilities beyond what I thought possible.

  "The twins will kill you," I warn, straining against concrete restraints. "They're not just powerful - they're experienced. They've had decades to master their abilities."

  "Maybe." Dresden's face hardens, looking older than his twelve years. His hand passes through solid matter as if it's not even there. "But I'm done waiting. Done being a pawn in everyone's game."

  He turns to walk away. Energy swirling around him.

  "Dresden, wait-"

  "Goodbye, Dad." His voice softens, just for a moment. "I'll bring her home."

  Reality fractures around him like breaking glass. The air splits open, showing glimpses of somewhere else. Somewhen else. The quantum cube in his hand pulses with possibility, with patterns that hurt to look at.

  With the last trace of Torque's power, I break free of the concrete trap. My strings surge forward, trying to reach him before he vanishes. "You don't understand what you're walking into!"

  Dresden steps into the fracture. Just before reality seals behind him, he looks back. "Neither do they."

  The concrete releases me as his power fades. I collapse to my knees, surrounded by the remnants of our battle. My strings dance with violent frustration, with helpless rage. Both my son and his mother, gone. The twins one step closer to whatever they're planning. To whatever the Unweaving is really about.

  Three centuries of stealing power, of breaking rules, of controlling everything - and now I control nothing. Not even my own family.

  Time to call in that favor. Time to find Melek.

  I still have strings to pull. Old ones. Dangerous ones.