The light inside the bubble space pulsed, soft and steady, like a heart finding its rhythm.
Marisol didn't feel her body anymore.
Only heat and weightlessness.
Then—
A soft meow echoed through the stillness.
It cut through the haze like a needle through silk.
Her thoughts—once scattered and suspended—snapped into place. Her senses returned, not with panic, but clarity. She opened her eyes.
She wasn't standing on a floor. She was floating in the dark marrow between stars, surrounded by twisting roots and winding branches, each one pulsing with memory.
The meow came again, softer now.
She turned toward the sound.
The shadow-cat stepped out of the void, its crimson eyes calm and knowing.
Marisol didn't speak.
She reached out—gently—and lifted it into her arms, pondering on what this vast space was.
The moment their forms touched, her vision bloomed outward.
She saw it at last—Yggdrasil, vast and blinding, its branches threading through every timeline like veins of starlight. But beneath it, tangled deep in its labyrinth of roots and water… grew another. Smaller. Quiet. A tree born of shadows, watered by the pain of its fallen seeds and shadows. The Doom Tree. Still young, still looking for a voice—her voice. Not corruption… but to be united. To be one.
The roots hummed to life, their green light tunneling up through time itself, feeding off Yggdrasil.
Branches reached into lives she'd never known.
She wasn't just floating anymore.
She was descending—gently sinking into the tree's vast, endless web of timelines. Following its rings. Reaching into the roots of it all.
Her golden eyes reflected it all.
She saw her father—Emilio—laughing, ruffling her hair, his hand warm and alive.
Then—
The screech of tires.
The twisted wreck of metal.
The cold finality of his stillness in the wreckage outside Alien Jerky.
Marisol's hand trembled.
"No," she whispered.
The vision shifted.
Garrison stood at a toy store counter with Aiden, a pile of presents balanced awkwardly in his arms. His badge flashed under the fluorescent lights, but he didn't care.
"She deserves the world," he said to the cashier with a shy, almost embarrassed smile. "She deserves better than me."
Marisol's heart clenched painfully.
Another flash.
Garrison, tired, raising his gun with a shaking hand inside the apartment. He Fired.
Shadows bursting out of Carlos's shoulder before Garrison's eye fell hollow. His corpse fell, hitting the floor.
He was still trying to protect her, even to the end.
She gasped—stepping back—but there was nowhere left to go.
The visions wrapped around her like vines of light.
The cat squirmed slightly in her grip—its body tensing as Marisol's fingers clenched too tight. She gasped, loosening her hold immediately.
"Sorry," she whispered, trying to soothe it, her breath trembling. "It's okay. I didn't mean to—"
"Hey, sweetie," a familiar voice said gently behind her.
Marisol froze. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
She turned slowly—her breath caught in her throat.
Garrison stood beneath one of the glowing roots, soft light wrapping around him like a memory she'd locked away. The same easy smile. The same tired, kind eyes.
"You're not real," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied, voice warm with sadness. "But it looks like your heart needed someone to help you walk the last part of this."
She blinked hard, the cat now calm against her chest, its purring steady again.
"I'm not here to lead you," Garrison said, his gaze never leaving hers. "Just remind you what you already know."
Tears welled up in Marisol's eyes. Her voice caught in her throat.
A child's scream split the silence in the void—
Marisol reached out, gently brushing her fingers along the edge of a root. The space shimmered—then melted.
The vision took shape.
A little girl, no older than seven, huddled in the corner of a crumbling cabin beneath a sky choked with smoke and thunder. Her clothes were torn, her face streaked with ash and tears. Men shouted outside—boots thundered closer.
Her small hand reached for something dangling from the rafters. A necklace—beads and bone and string—something sacred, something loved.
Then her eyes glowed faintly red.
From behind her, a creature emerged—shadow-wrought, skeletal, trembling. A wolf with a skull for a face and sorrow in its howl.
It stood between her and the door.
The men burst in.
Gunfire rang out.
The shadow collapsed in a flicker of fading smoke.
Then they turned on the girl, dragging her away screaming by the hair.
Bam!
A rifle shot echoed through the empty cabin.
Marisol gasped. "They just... they just killed her."
Garrison stood at her side now, hands in his jacket pockets, his jaw tight. "Yeah."
Marisol turned to him, eyes wide. "She was one of us, wasn't she? A Dark Seed."
He nodded. "One that never got the chance to bloom."
"She summoned a guardian," Marisol said, her voice trembling. "It tried to protect her. I felt it. It was afraid."
"All shadows do," Garrison said quietly. "Even those not fortunate to become enforcers, were once beings too."
Marisol's fists clenched. "This isn't right. She didn't deserve that."
"No," Garrison agreed. "But that's fate. And destiny doesn't work on sense of morality."
Marisol looked down, the cat still nestled in her arms, purring faintly. Her voice dropped. "How many more like her?"
Garrison didn't answer right away. Then, gently: "Enough to create a forest of your siblings. But you're the first to ever reach this place."
She pulled away, bouncing into another timeline, its world bloomed before her.
Mulan stood alone on a blood-soaked battlefield, her sword dropped in the mud. Her enemies lay vanquished, but she knelt in silence, the weight of expectation crushing the breath from her lungs.
But she hadn't fought as herself.
Marisol stepped closer, squinting through the wavering light.
The illusion began to lift.
Mulan's form shimmered—and for a moment, she was a young man in peasant robes, face hardened with resolve. The villagers had followed him, trusted him. Because that was the face they needed. Not a daughter. A son. A soldier.
As the light settled again, her true face returned—strong, still, and beautiful. Exhausted, but undefeated.
"She changed herself," Marisol whispered, "just to protect them."
Garrison stood beside her, arms folded, gaze distant. "A lot of them did. Dark Seeds like her... strong ones. Clever. Brave. They didn't just fight for themselves. They fought to make the world better. Even when it hated them for it."
Marisol stroked the shadow-cat's silky back, grounding herself. "She was lovely," she murmured. "And powerful. How could she not be chosen?"
Garrison sighed. "Because this place doesn't choose based on worth. It waits. For the one that can survive the cost."
She glanced at him, frowning. "That's cruel."
"It is," he said simply. "The tree doesn't play fair. It watches. It waits. And it lets time grind everyone else down—until only one remains. Not because they were the best. Just because they were left."
The vision twisted.
The battlefield blurred into a village square.
Mulan stood in shame before her family—unmasked. Exposed. Her shoulders stiff, her jaw trembling as whispers rippled around her.
She bowed her head low.
Then turned.
And walked into the river.
The surface barely rippled.
Marisol sucked in a sharp breath, clutching the cat tighter against her chest. Its purring faded, the creature still as stone.
"She thought she'd failed them," she whispered. "So she ended her story herself."
Garrison didn't speak for a long moment.
Then: "It was always the plan."
Marisol turned to him, stunned. "What?"
"The Doom Tree…" Garrison's voice was low. Measured. "It was never meant to bloom easily. It wanted the strongest, the most stubborn. The ones who would keep walking even when everything broke."
He looked out across the river fading into darkness.
"Any one of them could have become it. But time, life, and grief are cruel. They burn out most flames before they ever take root."
Marisol stared after Mulan's fading form.
"Then why me?" she asked.
Garrison gave a small smile. "Because you're still standing."
Another.
Joan of Arc burned beneath a pitiless sky, her wrists bound to the charred stake, flames hungrily climbing her legs. Her lips moved in silent prayer, even as the crowd screamed for more—some in hatred, some in fear, none with mercy.
Marisol's breath caught. "No—not again, we have to stop this!"
She lunged forward, her grip tightening around the cat as the flames crackled louder in her ears.
Garrison's arm shot out, catching her shoulder firmly. "Marisol—don't. You can't."
"She's alive! We're here, we can help her!" Her voice cracked, panic blooming in her chest. "We can pull her out!"
Garrison's gaze softened, but his hold didn't loosen. "It's already happened. This root is memory, not a door."
"I don't care!" Her golden eyes welled, fury mixing with helplessness. "She doesn't deserve to burn!"
The fire roared louder.
And then—
Joan's eyes opened.
Despite the heat, despite the agony—she turned. Not toward the jeering crowd. But toward Marisol.
Their eyes met through the veil of smoke and time.
And Joan smiled.
A soft, serene thing. Not of pain. But peace.
She mouthed the words—thank you.
Then the fire claimed her completely, lifting into the heavens like a final hymn.
Marisol trembled, her knees giving out as she sank to the unseen floor of the memory. The cat curled tighter in her arms, purring softly.
Garrison crouched beside her, his voice low.
"What is it? Do you think she wants you to avenge her?"
"Of course, She knew I was here…"
He nodded. "You weren't just watching. You bore witness. And for her, that was enough."
Garrison closed his eyes in understanding. Marisol took a beat to consider his words before the world blurred again.
"Lets continue. There's so much more you need to see."
The world darkened for them as they descended into the dark abyss of the unknown.