This was stupid. All of it. The feeling was stupid. The situation was stupid.

And his grin—god, his grin—was the stupidest thing of all.

Ever since she'd run into that idiot, everything had started sliding sideways.

She knew she was Unraveling—threads slipping at the seams, the cracks spidering wider each time she pretended not to notice. But honestly? It wasn't that bad. She was holding it together. More or less. Doing well at it, too.

But then… then he had to smirk at her. Call her name in that way that dug under her skin and refused to leave.

Since then, everything had been falling apart.

And as if that wasn't enough, Jamal had taken to singing Usher in the goddamn shower. Every note was a reminder, every lyric another twist in her chest.

She wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or maybe both.

She shoved the bathroom door open so hard it banged against the tiled wall.

Jamal turned, soap clinging to his chest and locs, eyes wide. "Blood, you—"

"Can you shut the hell up?" she snapped.

He blinked. "Why?!"

"I'm trying to stay sane and—"

"Nah, nah, fuck that!" Jamal cut her off, pointing at her with the hand that wasn't holding the loofah. "You and fuckin' Skittles can 'refresh' or whatever the hell y'all do. I still gotta wipe my ass like a regular man."

"You're so annoying!"

"Bitch—"

Her aura flared instantly, golden fire sparking in the steam. "Don't call me a bitch!"

His own aura flared back without hesitation, natural and effortless. That only pissed her off more.

"My bad," he said, though his grin betrayed no regret. "But you burst in here. I ain't showered in a hot minute, blood—let me enjoy myself." He stared right at her, scrubbing his armpits like she wasn't glowing with dangerous heat.

She sighed, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. He was right. Her golden eyes looked tired in the haze of steam.

"So," he smirked, "you gonna hop in or what, shawty?"

Her nose wrinkled.

He made a face back at her. "What? I'm handsome! My momma said so."

"Sure…" She glanced down at the wet tiles instead of him.

"So you wanna hop in—"

"Bye, Jamal!" She slammed the door so hard it rattled.

From behind it, his voice carried, muffled through the wall. "Damn, she mad at me for singing? Crazy ass…" Then the singing started up again, and so did the Usher song.

Her chest felt hollow as she stalked across the hotel room, muttering curses under her breath. She wasn't acting like herself—she knew it. She felt like she'd just stumbled out of an argument with a toxic boyfriend, her head full of words she wanted to scream and equal parts desperate for him to grovel.

But those weren't her feelings. They didn't feel like hers at all.

She paced a crooked line around the bed, across the rug, past the mirrored wall. Her hands shook. Her reflection looked unfamiliar—her jaw clenched too tight, her shoulders hunched like a stranger's. She pressed her palms flat against her stomach, feeling the pulse, the pressure bottling up inside her.

The balcony doors yawned open at her push, cool air spilling in. She stepped outside and let her eyes roam over the alien cityscape.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

The city hung suspended over an endless pit, as though the world itself had been hollowed out. Massive platforms stacked like warehouse shelves stretched over the abyss, each holding clusters of curved, seamless buildings. Six colossal waterfalls plunged from unseen heights into the void below, their torrents catching the light until they looked like stars feeding a god's unquenchable thirst.

Bridges of milky, liquid light arched from platform to platform, their surfaces trembling with every footstep that passed over them. Once, this place had belonged to beings of pure element and machine—a civilization of fused elemental and cybernetic perfection. Now the platforms swarmed with refugees. Flesh and metal, beast and machine, spirits and shattered mortals—all crammed together, seeking safety.

Her throat tightened. All because of her.

"No." She shook her head sharply, gripping the cold banister. "Not me. Don't play that card."

This wasn't her doing. It was hers. Vari had made these choices. Vari had set these dominos falling.

She sighed and leaned further over the railing, golden eyes scanning the abyss as though it would answer her. But all she felt was the pulse in her gut, pressing upward like it wanted to burst through her ribs.

She should've been thinking about her selfishness, about what she'd risked, about the people whose lives were ruined.

But no. A damn man she didn't know—but remembered in nearly perfect, vivid detail—was all she could think about. His grin, his smirk, the way he called her name.

Her fingers curled tighter around the banister until her knuckles ached.

Was this what Vari had felt about Jafar? Was this obsession—this consuming focus—what drove her? She had never thought about it before. Vari never had a lover, not that anyone knew of. And it wasn't a secret that she, and several of the other Supreme Families, had aligned themselves with Jafar.

The thought curdled in her stomach.

And for the first time, she wondered if the same unraveling itch crawling under her skin had once lived in Vari, too.

"You about to puke?"

She turned. Crisper leaned against the doorframe, hoodie pulled over her head, joggers tucked into sneakers. No effort to hide her Outlander status—why would she bother now?

Destiny exhaled through her nose. "I wish this was just a stomach ache."

Crisper's lips curled in a sly smile. "Still thinking about that Blood Prince, huh?"

"Please don't—"

"She sure as hell is!"

Both women turned. Jamal stood in the hallway, towel sagging, socks mismatched, his locs tied up in a bun. He jabbed a finger at her like he was handing down a sentence.

"Her ass was tweaking earlier. And about a man? D, I expected better. Real shit."

"Shut up!" Destiny snapped, throwing her hands up. "I don't want to act like this! It's—" Her voice cracked, then shifted into something sharper, almost lyrical, like her words were tearing themselves free without permission. "It's like there's a storm inside me that I can't chart, can't command. My body's my own, but every thought feels borrowed—every breath tastes like someone else's obsession. And I don't know where I end and where she begins."

Silence fell for a beat. Then Jamal barked out a laugh, shaking his head. Crisper covered her mouth, chuckling with him.

"Man," Jamal wheezed, "you funny as shit blood."

"Fuck this!" Destiny roared, aura flashing. She shoved past Crisper, shoulder checking the door as she stormed down the hall.

Jamal stepped like he might block her path, arms half-spread—but she flickered and vanished, teleporting past him without a glance.

From behind her came his voice, echoing down the corridor. "That's so petty!"

She didn't care. She needed out. Needed air. Needed distance from their laughter.

——————

"You didn't have to be an ass."

"She didn't have to be so sensitive," Jamal shot back, shutting the fridge with his foot and cracking open a drink. "Shawty been trippin' these past few days."

Crisper sighed, sinking into the couch. The city had been almost peaceful, for once—lights glowing soft over curved buildings, the hum of bridges pulsing like veins—but Destiny hadn't been herself since that encounter. Every other breath out of her mouth was about the Blood Prince, about Jafar, about things half-remembered and denied in the same sentence. One minute her aura blazing, the next she swore nothing had happened at all.

Crisper rubbed her temples. Man, these Jujisn were weird.

"So what we gonna do?" Jamal asked, leaning against the counter. "Shawty gotta tighten up."

"We let her get it all out," Crisper said slowly. "And when she finally settles… maybe then. I don't know. What do you think?"

"Beats me, shit. We got no weed, no liq. Don't know how else you cure a heartbreak."

"A heartbreak from somebody you've never even met is insane behavior."

"Well, apparently she exists twice and shit." Jamal shrugged. "Either way, on some real shit—if we gonna keep this team together, we gotta find her problem and settle it."

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"What if it means killing the Blood Prince?"

"Call that brotha by his name. Ain't it like… Jafar or something?"

"Jafar is a king," Crisper corrected.

"And I'm Jamal, a blood." He spread his arms, grinning. "Plenty of kings out here."

"No, he's the King." Crisper waved her hands wide for emphasis. "King of Requiem."

"King of what this place called again?"

"Requiem," she repeated, exasperated. "And no, there are four Kings. The Four Kings of Ruin. Apparently the Jujisn—"

"I hate that word. Just say J."

"Fine. J is apparently Jafar's double. Like how—"

"Blood, I ain't dumb."

She narrowed her eyes. "Interrupt me again and no Switch."

He glared but held his tongue.

"Well," Jamal muttered after a beat, "let's hit Center City."

"Maybe we should be more worried."

"You can do that. I'm gonna hit Center City and get some bitches."

Crisper gave him a flat, deadpan stare.

"What?" Jamal lifted his hands. "I finally got clean clothes and a shower. On god, I'm gonna go out. Maybe they got something to smoke out there too."

"What if what's happening to her is important?"

"She'll come to us when she ready," Jamal said, dismissive. "Some people need space. She bouta spazz out and chill out. She won't hear nothing we say till she figures her own issues out."

"…Oh," Crisper murmured, unsure.

"Yuh!" Jamal grinned, pulling on his hoodie. "So stop frettin'. Put some cute shit on, let's enjoy the night."

Crisper hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Sure. Why not? If we're gonna die, might as well have fun."

"Exactly." Jamal smirked. "That's how life was back on 1300. Don't see how it's any different now."

She sighed, "Is there even a Center City?"

"Shit. We bout to find out."

——————

Destiny wandered through the city, hood pulled low, shorts brushing against her legs as she blended into the restless flow of people. Around her, the air buzzed with desperation and survival. Merchants haggled with refugees over chipped datapads and half-charged batteries, children tugged at their mothers' sleeves for food they couldn't afford, and augmented workers with scorched prosthetics shuffled in from the outer sectors.

She forced herself to watch them. Focus on this. Not him.

The Blood Prince didn't belong in her head. These people did. Their lives had been gutted, broken, and still they moved forward. If they could keep walking, so could she.

She tried. God, she tried.

But as the crowd thickened, the pressure inside her chest built. Her pulse raced, her aura prickling against her skin until it felt suffocating. So she did what came naturally—she moved.

One step onto a wall, a twist, a vault over a narrow ledge. Her body remembered before her thoughts could catch up. She cut away from the street and took to the platforms, bounding up fire escapes, scaling glass facades, landing in crouches that sent shocks through her legs. Soon she was above the noise, running along the seam where seamless curved buildings met the abyss.

Her breathing slowed into rhythm. The city opened beneath her: shelves stacked into infinity, waterfalls spilling starlight into the pit, bridges of milky liquid gleaming as though they'd been spun from a god's veins. For a moment, it almost drowned out the noise in her head.

She thought about Vari—about what it meant to be unraveling under the weight of her choices. Vari had gambled everything, reshaped lives like clay, and didn't flinch at the cost. Mortality was a line she treated like a suggestion, and Destiny couldn't decide if she admired it, feared it, or hated it.

Did she even care about the morality of it all? Did it matter? Her hands ached on the cold metal railing she vaulted over, but her mind kept slipping. Every shadow stretched long enough to look like him. Every pulse of her aura carried his damn name.

She landed on a rooftop, chest heaving, and glared at the endless pit below.

Why can't I let this go?

The city didn't answer. It only stared back.

Her feet pounded the curved rooftops, the sound swallowed by the rushing of the waterfalls. Each leap carried her further from the streets, but not from her thoughts.

Vari was a force of nature. A concept, not a person. That's what she told herself as the wind stung her cheeks. A being like that couldn't be judged by mortal standards, not even by the measures of Rankers. Her choices weren't "right" or "wrong"—they simply were, inevitabilities given form.

But even as she tried to accept that, the counterarguments rose like weeds. Force of nature or not, Vari chose. She could have spared, she could have shown restraint. She didn't. And if she didn't… why should I excuse it?

Her chest tightened. The heat of the pulse welled up again, buzzing along her nerves like her body wanted to peel itself apart. This wasn't just madness—it felt like a trial. The Unraveling is the test, in itself of itself. If I can master this, it'll be the first thing I've done outside of Vari's shadow.

She skidded to a halt on a glassy platform and threw her head back.

"I NEED A DAMN DIRECTION!" she roared.

Her voice echoed into the abyss, carried by the endless drop. A cluster of natives nearby—metal-limbed merchants with glowing eyes—flinched back at her outburst, staring as though she'd lost her mind.

Maybe she had.

Destiny bent forward, palms braced on her knees, gasping. "I can't keep this up," she whispered. Then louder, as if repeating it would make it true: "I can't."

She straightened, aura flickering hot and cold around her, and forced herself to breathe. Focus. Learn. Adapt. That was the mantra, the ladder to Vari's level. Anything else—fear, obsession, distraction—would only drag her down.

She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms.

"That's what I need," she said, quieter now. "That's the only thing I can afford."

And still, behind it all, the grin lingered in her head.

She slowed her run, chest rising and falling as the city stretched beneath her. The rooftops, the glowing bridges, the endless pit—it all blurred until only her thoughts remained.

She hadn't joined the others for a reason. Maybe it was foolish, maybe reckless. But was it really stupid? No. Not if this solitude bore fruit. Not if it helped her carve out who she was, not just what she'd inherited. Finding her center mattered more than anything.

Destiny wrapped her arms around herself and let the thought turn over, sharp and slow. Being a different person while still clinging to who you are… that's the test, isn't it? She wasn't necessarily against Vari's choices; in fact, she wanted to understand them. Vari was poison—intoxicating poison. Beautiful. Powerful. A schemer who wrapped entire worlds in her webs.

And Destiny? She was proud. Bold. Beautiful and powerful in her own right. She didn't slither, she struck. She was more headstrong, less willing to wait for the perfect moment.

They weren't opposites. Not really. And that thought fascinated her.

What if her own traits—her pride, her impulsive boldness, her refusal to bend—what if those could sharpen into Vari's cunning someday? What if the line between them wasn't a wall, but a path?

She exhaled slowly, and the bubbling pressure inside her eased. The feeling that had threatened to tear her apart steadied, like a storm seen behind glass. Interesting, she thought. Maybe I can keep this Unraveling down after all.

She sank onto the edge of the platform, legs dangling into the open air, and tilted her face upward. Two moons hung in the dark like watchful eyes, their light spilling silver across the abyss. The city noises below softened into a low hum.

The night was peaceful.

Sadness lingered in it—woven through the voices of the displaced, the quiet prayers of those who had lost everything. But even with that sorrow pressing around her, Destiny felt something rare.

Clarity.

She smiled, small but real, and drew in a long breath that filled her lungs with cold air and steadiness. For the first time since she had seen his grin, she thought maybe—just maybe—she could keep her balance.

After nearly an hour, she stood up, rubbing her palms against her thighs. The moons had shifted in the sky; her pulse had slowed. She felt clearer. Better. It was time to go back and apologize to Jamal and Crisper. She hadn't been the best team leader—and yes, self-proclaimed leader or not, she owed them more than mood swings and shouting.

A pulse of aura rolled off her in a gold ripple to locate them. The echo came back almost immediately, but something else tugged at her senses—fast, sharp, and focused. This intent was aimed straight at her.

She sighed, the pressure in her chest sparking to life again. "Great, great, great. Of course. Of course."

Golden daggers flickered into her palms with a thought, their edges humming. She stared into the direction of the disturbance—and then he appeared.

From the sky, draped in black, cape snapping in the wind. Brown eyes veined with crimson glow locked on her from under a hood, red lines pulsing under each eye. A Sith Lord wannabe, she thought dryly.

He descended slow, floating like Snyder's Superman. She flicked the daggers at him. He caught all but one—dodging it by a hair's breadth.

"So when you said 'come earn you,' you really just wanted a fight? I was—"

"Leave me alone."

"Huh?"

She pointed at him, golden eyes bright. "Leave. Me. Alone! I'm on the verge of my own breakthrough and I don't need you—"

"We do need each other." He landed with a soft thud, rubbing the back of his neck, exhaling… He wasn't sure what to do. His plan was… kinda just pop up and hope everything worked out.

"You just thought showing up would make everything work out, huh?"

"Get out my head, blondie."

"Stop talking like you know me! I don't know you! And frankly—"

"That's the thing." His voice tightened. "We obviously have history that—"

"No we don't!"

He sighed. "God, you're difficult. Look, Destiny—"

"Oh, now it's Destiny? But before you had no problem—"

"Can you shut the fuck up! I'm try—"

"You. Came. To. Me!" she yelled. "You always come to me and expect me to help you!"

He stared. She stared back. Her anger and desire tangled like live wires. She wanted to punch him, wanted to hug him. Damn it, not this again.

"Relax," he said softly. "Don't let the Unraveling—"

"You know about—?"

"We gotta stop cutting each other off." He sighed and sat down on the roof, cape folding around him. "Look. I'm not here to fight. I'm here because something's compelling me to you. I think we can help each other. I don't know what tension or beef we've got, but…" He pressed a hand to his chest. She felt his aura flicker—he was holding back his own Unraveling. "I'm willing to overlook it. And get to know each other… again."

She stared at him.

"I'm not Jafar," he said quietly. "I'm North." He extended a hand. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience I caused you. But if you're willing… maybe we can start over." He chuckled nervously. "Fuck, this is weird."

Her lips twitched. She laughed too. It was odd—being this tense, this close to losing herself—and yet feeling a strange comfort at his sincerity.

She walked over and sat in front of him, heartbeat hammering. His hand was still extended.

"Idiot," she murmured. "Isn't your arm tired?"

"You know," he said, "when trying to tame wild animals you must—"

She punched his arm.

"Ow."

"Get over it."

She sighed, silver hair falling into her face. "I get what you mean, though."

She looked at him properly. He wasn't Jafar. Holding him to the standard of a man she'd never met wasn't fair, and he wasn't treating her like Vari either. Jafar and Vari had their own twisted thing. Destiny and North were meeting for the first time…. Second time….. If she was willing to give Jamal and Crisper a chance, she could extend the same curiosity to this Sith-looking idiot. Besides, he was right—whatever this was between them needed sorting out.

She took his hand. It was warm, rough, and lingered longer than she expected.

Then the roof tilted. The sky twisted. Before either of them could react, the platform beneath their feet turned to light. The world blinked out and they were swallowed into a stream of swirling timelines and collapsing paradoxes. It wasn't summoning them—not exactly. It was remembering them, drawing them back.

Destiny's heart stuttered as the light rushed around them. North's smile flickered, breaking through the distortion.

"You tricked me!" she yelled, reaching for him.

But the words were lost as the timeline folded over, and together they were swept into a reality that wasn't theirs.

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