Threads of Fate Across Universes

"It's nice to know my grandson has someone in his life. You can be there for him, unlike us, who can't." 

"Grandson? Are you talking about Elio? But I thought his entire family was dead. How are you here?" 

"Ah young man—clearly, you don't know our clan very well" the words of the old man hung heavy in the air. "We were at the top of the food chain, the ones who handled things that no one else could. The Multiverse is vast; it's more than you can imagine. There are those things, the ones you call 'Walkers' here, but out there, in the deeper realms, they're much bigger... much worse." 

The old man's smile twisted into something that felt more like a warning than an invitation. "But you'll learn soon enough. As my grandson's soulmate, it'll be your job to deal with these things, too." 

Shane's heart raced. The concept of battling beings from the Multiverse felt unreal, almost incomprehensible. Yes, he knew he had to become stronger, but how could he ever be strong enough to face… those things? 

"I can understand being his soulmate, but why does that mean I have to fight these things you're talking about?" Shane's voice trembled, despite his best effort to sound firm. "I'm not strong enough. I don't think I'll ever be. And if you think I can, then you've got the wrong person." 

The old man's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as though he could see right through Shane. There was a flicker of disappointment there, but also something else—something deeper, more ancient. It was like he had seen this fear before. 

Elise's grandfather let out a sigh. "You seriously underestimate us if you think we can't take a mortal and turn him into a god. Do you understand what soulmates are?" He stepped closer, his voice low but intense. "They are grounders. Vessels. Conduits. Soulmates are meant to connect, to ground each other in a way that the universe can't. They keep each other centered." 

Shane swallowed hard. There was something hypnotic in the old man's words, something that resonated deep within him, but also made him want to recoil. He had heard of soulmates—people who were supposed to be perfect for each other—but this was beyond anything he had imagined. 

"You read in the notebook about the seer's prophecies regarding our little Ampelio. Do you know what he could become? His mother was injected with every serum we created while she was pregnant with him, already making him the most impressive genius to ever walk this earth. But genius alone wasn't enough to hold the power he was born with. Nature had to bind him, ground him in some way, because he had too much power for any vessel to contain. So, nature created his soulmates, perfect in every way, to connect to him. To grow with him. To share his power. It has only happened a couple of times through the ages but those who have had one have been the greatest there ever will be" 

Shane stood still, processing the weight of what the old man was saying. "Wait... so, he has that much power? So much that he has 13 soulmates?" His mind raced. "That's incredible... He must be one of the strongest beings ever." 

At this, the old man's eyes widened in disbelief. He let out a sharp laugh—more of a cackle, really—that echoed in the room. 

"13?" He laughed hysterically, the sound growing more erratic, as though the very thought of it was too much for him to contain. His eyes darted around the room, wide with madness. "13 soulmates? No, boy. You don't understand what this means—our clan will rise again! It will burn everything that dares to stand above it. The Pantheons will fall. Their believers will rot, and their allies will be crushed beneath our heels. We were right to put our faith in him. He will be the greatest!" 

The words reverberated in Shane's skull like a bell ringing in an empty chamber. The sheer force of it made his chest tighten. The man's fevered shouting echoed in his mind, and it felt as though the walls themselves were closing in. Desperately, Shane covered his ears, but the shouting only grew louder. 

Only when the old man noticed the figure in the doorway did his ranting stop. 

Shane turned slowly. His heart skipped. There, in the doorway, stood Carl—all four foot six of him. His eyes were wide with confusion, but there was something darker there too, a deep concern that made Shane's stomach twist. Carl seeing Shane hunched over hands over his ears watches with concern. He couldn't hear the old man's voice and could only see Shane's pain 

Carl stepped forward, his footsteps hesitant, like he was too afraid to confront the worry in his heart. He reached Shane's side, his hands trembling slightly as he gently pushed Shane toward the bed. "You can't keep doing this. You've been up all day. You're obviously ill. Why are you still up? Please… don't get sick. Please." 

Shane felt the weight of Carl's words more than he wanted to admit. The concern in Carl's eyes mirrored a deeper pain—one that Shane had only glimpsed before. It was the same pain that haunted Carl when he'd last talked about his father. The last he had seen of his dad had been hurt, lying in a hospital bed, and Carl had never gotten the chance to say goodbye. Shane realized, with a sharp pang in his chest, that Carl was terrified of losing him in the same way. 

Shane raised a hand and placed it on Carl's head, ruffling his dark brown hair gently. The gesture was more for him than Carl, a way to ground himself, to reassure himself. "Don't worry, Carl," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "I'm not going anywhere. You'll have to drag me out and shoot me first. There's no way I'm leaving you. And there's no way you can make me." 

Carl smiled faintly, but the worry never left his eyes. He tucked Shane into bed, then, without another word, removed his shoes and crawled in beside him. He curled up against Shane's side, his breathing steady but soft. In moments, Carl was snoring, a sound that might have been comforting if it wasn't tangled with the memories of nightmares Shane had heard him talk about. 

Carl was still a kid in so many ways—his worries were raw and unpolished, but they were real. 

Shane wanted to move, to get up, to figure out how he could change everything. But as he shifted in bed, Carl groaned in his sleep, and Shane lay back down, exhausted. 

His body ached with the weight of the day, the weight of his thoughts. But in the quiet darkness, the soft snoring of Carl beside him, Shane thought he heard a whisper—"What a great dad you'd make. You'd be an amazing father to your children." The words felt like a jolt to his system, like an electric shock that sent his heart racing. 

What does that even mean? he thought, confusion clouding his mind as he finally closed his eyes.