Multiversal Livestreaming System : I Can Copy My Viewers Skills

Some nights I dream of days I haven't lived, and wake mourning things I haven't lost.

Sometimes it's worse.

Sometimes I dream of the days where the world burns in ways no one else can see—

Where the wind smells like ash and the sky splits like wet paper.

I watch the moon fall from the sky...

I watch my mother forget my name...

I watch myself run from something I will never outrun...

And always, I wake with my breath caught in my throat, heart racing from a pain that hasn't yet happened.

The sound of tapping stirred Leila awake.

It wasn't loud... more like fingers drumming on a glass pane from the inside.

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly.

Shadows moved like smoke across her vision.

The place she lay in was quiet, but something pressed at the edges of her thoughts...

Then came the whisper... a gentle, sharp, and unmistakably young voice.

"The dangerous man...."

Said the boy.

"The one we cannot foresee..."

Leila stiffened, barely whispering.

It was the whimchild... one of the two voices of Fate that she could hear...

"Who?"

Another voice came, soft and steady... older, heavier with resignation.

"The man draped in crimson..."

The Threadmother, the second voice of fate said.

"You have to go against him..."

Leila sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

Neither answered.

Instead, her mind broke open like paper beneath rain.

Visions surged in... a storm of futures not yet lived.

Fire spilled across the land...

The air itself seemed to burn with intention.

Then... she saw Adam.

Standing alone in the center of a broken battlefield.

His presence cracked the world around him.

Fate trembled in his wake.

She saw his blade clash with a blue-eyed man, Elaric, calm and unshaken—

But only for a moment.

The vision snapped.

Adam collapsed on the ground.

No... he was falling.

Not from weakness.

From something else... as though something went wrong...

Leila gasped, clutching her chest.

"Was that real?"

She asked the dark.

"Is it going to happen?"

The boy's voice drifted closer, soft and curious, like he was leaning over her shoulder.

"We don't know...."

He said.

The silence that followed was not empty.

Then, the woman's voice returned, lower now... calm, but weighted with unease.

"He is the only variable that moves beyond the given permanence. He walks outside the pattern.... His future is a door we cannot open."

A breath of laughter followed as the Whimchild spoke.

"We've tried to thread him into the tapestry a hundred times..."

He said, as if sharing a secret he didn't fully understand.

Threadmother answered slowly, her tone laced with reluctant awe.

"But he slips the weave..."

"He breaks the pattern..."

Whimchild murmured, shifting as though he were pacing through the shadows.

"And bends the loom every time."

Leila pressed both palms to her temples, heart thudding.

"Then why show me? If you don't know what happens... why make me see it?"

Threadmother's voice grew quieter, reverent.

"Because you are the witness. And he is the question."

Whimchild gave a breathless laugh, like it thrilled him.

"And questions are so much more fun than answers."

Threadmother spoke again, a soft warning.

"But dangerous."

Whimchild whispered right after, voice filled with a childish delight.

"Deliciously so."

Leila's throat tightened.

"Stop speaking so complicatedly... who... no, what exactly is Adam?"

Neither answered right away.

Then, like a needle slipping into cloth, Threadmother's voice returned.

"He is not written."

Whimchild's voice dropped to a whisper, both excited and afraid.

"Which means he can unwrite others."

Leila shivered.

Not from cold but from the knowledge that the two voices of fate was imparting upon her as they spoke.

She looked down at her trembling hands.

"Then I don't want to go against him..."

Threadmother didn't hesitate.

"But you will."

Whimchild's feet dangled somewhere above her, unseen.

She could feel the grin in his voice.

"And maybe you'll even win. But if you lose…"

He giggled faintly.

"…we won't know what happens either."

The silence returned, deeper now.

As if even the dark held its breath.

Leila turned her face away from the light.

"…He's not evil."

She said in hesitance.

"He's trying to save people."

"We know."

Threadmother murmured, sorrow threading through her voice.

"And that is what makes him truly dangerous."

Before she could process it, the world spun again.

Another vision formed.

Slower this time and more deliberate.

It was a scene Leila knew too well.

She had seen it countless times in dreams, flashes, and sleepless nights.

The vision that felt like a scar stitched into her soul.

There she stood... Leila, not as she was now, but odder, stronger...

Confident in posture, calm in expression as she faced something immense.

A threat not born of man or beast, but of inevitability.

She raised her hand.

She challenged it.

And then—

She fell.

Collapsed beneath a force that could not be reasoned with.

Her body cracked the stone beneath her.

Her breath left her...

A silence heavier than death followed.

The motherly voice of Fate returned, this time just behind her ear.

"You're going to fail… and you're going to die."

It wasn't cruel.

It was grief... spoken gently, like a lullaby for the end.

But the child's voice came again.

Brighter and sharper.

Its tone poked at her chest, like fingers against bruised ribs.

"Will you?"

A pause.

The room sat in silence, lit only by the soft blue glow of her vision lamp...

The one that flickered whenever she woke from a dream she hadn't lived yet.

Leila rubbed her eyes.

Then came the voices again.

The boy spoke first.

"You looked pretty when you fell, you know."

His voice was bright and breathless as a childish laugh followed as though mocking her.

Leila shut her eyes.

"Please don't make me watch it again… I don't want to see it anymore..."

The next voice was slow, low, and ancient... the kind that made air feel heavier.

"We do not make you."

Said the Threadmother, steady as stone.

"You were born into this knowing. You looked before you could speak."

"Because you showed me..."

Leila snapped as her shoulders trembled.

"You taught me how to see and then cursed me for seeing it..."

The silence afterward circled her like water climbing up her ankles.

"You call it a curse..."

Threadmother murmured, her tone like the closing of a casket.

"But we called it mercy."

Her presence pressed down like unseen hands.

"It is written. You will stand. You will fall. And then you will die..."

A low whistle came next, followed by the boy's voice again, lilting and amused.

"But what if she doesn't fall this time? What if she jumps somewhere else?"

"Hope does not untie the knot."

Threadmother's voice did not change its tone.

"But knots come undone all the time..."

The boy said, cheerful.

"You just don't like when they do."

Leila blinked at the air, her voice quieter now.

"You argue like I'm not here..."

The boy laughed again.

"Oh, but you're our favorite argument."

She gave a breathy laugh.

"I don't want to be."

"Want is a fragile thing..."

Threadmother said.

"It does not matter."

"But what if it did?"

The boy asked, tilting his voice like it might tip the future.

A sigh drifted from the Threadmother's side.

Leila curled her knees to her chest, head resting between her arms.

"Why do you show me everything I can't change?"

"Because you are meant to witness..."

Threadmother said.

"Witnesses do not interfere. They remember."

"But maybe she could interfere..."

The boy offered, hopping from one word to the next.

"What's the harm in trying?"

"The harm is failure."

Threadmother replied.

"The harm is worsening what must already hurt."

"Or maybe..."

The boy mused.

"She'll change it just a little.... one move, and then it all falls into pieces like dominos.."

Leila looked up at nothing.

"Do you believe that?"

There was a pause.

The boy's answer came softer.

"Sometimes I do. Sometimes I pretend to."

"We do not pretend."

Threadmother said.

"We are. What must happen will."

"But isn't that so boring?"

The boy huffed.

Leila rose again, slow this time.

Her legs didn't feel like hers.

"You call me the witness, but I never chose this."

"Choice is the illusion of those who do not see."

Said the Threadmother.

"You see."

"Maybe too much." freewebnøvel.coɱ

The boy whispered.

"Maybe not enough..."

She turned toward the corner where their voices always seemed closest.

"So what now?"

Her voice cracked again.

"You just keep showing me deaths I can't stop? Friends I can't save?"

"That is your gift."

Threadmother said.

"And your curse."

The boy added.

"But maybe… maybe you could do something small."

"She cannot."

"She might."

Leila shut her eyes again.

"I want to be wrong. Just once. Please."

"You won't be..."

Threadmother answered.

"...But wouldn't it be beautiful if you were?"

The boy murmured.

Leila didn't answer.

She sat again, legs folding beneath her, the floor pressing cold against her skin.

Her eyes stared through the swamp like she could see through time if she just stopped blinking.

Maybe the worst part wasn't the visions.

Maybe it was knowing that no matter how far she looked…

No one ever stood beside her in the end.