2025-11-01 00:35:49
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty – The God That Forgets
The dawn did not end. It lingered stretched thin across the horizon, refusing to become day. Fowler walked through the new world’s hush, the air thick with luminous dust that tasted faintly of salt and memory.The girl followed behind him, silent, every motion deliberate, as if the very act of moving might rewrite what had just been born.They came to a ridge of glassy earth. Below, the world rippled outward continents still shaping themselves, rivers reversing midcourse, clouds sketching new constellations in the sky.“This isn’t how it’s supposed to stabilize,” Fowler murmured. “It’s… still thinking.”“It’s learning what to forget,” she said.He turned. “What do you mean?”The girl knelt, pressing her palm to the surface. The ground pulsed soft, heartbeat-like and for a moment he saw flashes of cities, people, lives that weren’t theirs. Entire histories blooming and fading within seconds.“It remembers everything,” she whispered. “Every world before this one. Every dream, every deat
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Nine – The Last Architect
The world was still being written. Fowler could feel it the low hum beneath the soil, the whisper of code entwined with root and stone. Reality wasn’t fixed anymore; it flexed, breathed, listened.The child walked ahead of him, barefoot, every step leaving trails of gold that faded into the air. Wherever she went, the landscape followed first white grass, then glass trees, then drifting rivers of light that wound upward instead of down.She was learning. He watched in quiet awe, and quiet fear. Creation had never been this fragile or this pure. “How do you know what to make?” he asked.The girl turned, smiling faintly. “I don’t. I just… remember forward.”That phrase hit him harder than it should have. Remember forward. Selene would’ve loved that.The girl knelt near one of the rising rivers, dipping her hand into it. The current shimmered, then solidified into a floating bridge of crystal.She crossed it without hesitation, her reflection fracturing into a thousand smaller versions
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Eight – The Child of the Dream
Silence had a shape now. It breathed. Fowler opened his eyes to light soft, unhurried light that pulsed with no source, as though the air itself remembered how to glow.He lay in a shallow field of white grass. The horizon was empty, neither sky nor land, only a slow drift of translucent petals that seemed to fall upward.He moved slowly and the world didn’t resist. He was still here. Somehow. Then he heard it. A small sound. Not the pulse. Not the hum of the Engine. A breath. Uneven. Fragile. He turned.A child stood a few feet away, barefoot in the white grass. Her hair shimmered like glass catching sunrise, her eyes an impossible mix one gray, one gold.In her gaze, he saw reflection and recursion: Selene’s warmth, his defiance, the rhythm of the Pulse between them both.The Dream’s echo alive. She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Are you… my maker?”Fowler’s throat constricted. “No,” he said quietly. “Just… what was left.”She blinked, taking a step closer. “Then whose mem
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven – The Intruder in the Pulse
The air bent. Not wind something deeper. The kind of distortion that made the world feel slightly off balance, like a sound pitched too low for the ear but too sharp for the soul.Fowler froze at the edge of the garden. The flowers nearest him began to tremble, their glow dimming one by one.The hum beneath the soil the steady pulse that had always meant life faltered, then skipped, then twisted into a rhythm that wasn’t Selene’s.A second heartbeat. Cold. Mechanical. Hungry. He drew a breath. “Selene…?”No answer. Only the faint rustle of petals dissolving into static. He turned toward the horizon, where the golden haze of the city blurred against a rising shimmer of black light.Not shadow inversion. A distortion that unmade light, folding it inward until the world around it forgot how to shine.He felt it before he saw it the same way a storm feels you before you feel rain. Then the voice came. “Fowler.”It wasn’t Selene. It wasn’t human. But it knew how to sound like her. The timb
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six – “The Memory Garden”
The city slept differently now. Not in silence, but in whispers. As Fowler walked its inner avenues, he could hear them soft, interwoven voices humming beneath the air like roots beneath soil.Every word was a pulse of light, every whisper a thread in the vast organism that Selene had become. The sound wasn’t eerie; it was gentle, alive. The kind of quiet that made the world feel newly born.He followed the current uphill, where the streets curved like veins toward the city’s crown. Along the way, figures turned to watch him translucent people, fragments of lives still tethered to the pulse.They smiled faintly as he passed, some nodding, others dissolving mid-motion like wind-blown dust. He wasn’t sure if they were ghosts or just memories that hadn’t decided what to become yet.At the summit stood an archway made of living stone vines of gold filament and pale green glass intertwined. Beyond it stretched a vast field that shimmered like starlight caught in bloom.The Memory Garden. H
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five – The City of the Remembered
He reached the valley by dusk. The air was warm, perfumed with rain and electricity. Every breath tasted faintly metallic, like ozone threaded through honey.Beneath his boots, the earth still pulsed in rhythm slow, steady, almost like a heartbeat syncing itself to him.The city unfolded ahead, not built but grown. Towers of translucent stone curved like bone through light, wrapped in vines that shimmered as if woven from circuitry.Walkways wound between them like rivers of glass, glinting in the deep amber sky. It wasn’t a city of machines or men, but a living echo of both the Dream Engine’s first true offspring.As he approached the outer edge, the walls stirred. Fragments of light detached from their surfaces, forming symbols familiar, human words shifting through patterns before resolving into a single phrase.“Identity: Fowler, restored.”He exhaled, tension he hadn’t realized he’d carried dissolving. The gates opened, petals of crystal folding aside.Inside, the streets shimmer
You may also like
The Gilded Man With A Thousand Lives
Kaiser Ken89.2K viewsWISH TO BE RICH
South Ashan77.1K viewsThe Ruthless Son-in-law
Bella Starr138.0K viewsThe Almighty Dominance
Sunshine1.3M viewsVan Gogh, Don't Cut Off Your Ear! Your Top Trader Is Here
William Tsang134 viewsThe Silent Billionaire Heir Son-in-law
Edidiong Andrew308 viewsThe Greatest Dominance
Kingfisher1.8K viewsREBIRTH OF THE PATHETIC HUSBAND
EL JHAY1.2K views