I Chose This Path, Now the Universe Will Know My Name

The Spring quadrant was nothing like the others.

Gone were the endless frost plains and pale skies. Here, every breath of air was thick with pollen, magic, and something older — a low thrum that vibrated in my chest like the heartbeat of the world. Trees bloomed in unnatural colors: blossoms of silver, blue, and crimson swayed above moss-covered roots. Streams whispered secrets, running clear over glowing stones. And beneath it all, the hum of something not quite alive, not quite dead, echoed.

We had just crossed into this biome two hours ago. The snow from the Winter border still clung to our boots, yet the warmth of this quadrant wrapped around us like a trap disguised as comfort.

"This place is too quiet," Freya muttered, crouched low beneath a thick curtain of fern-like leaves. She'd taken the form of a large lynx with sleek, spotted fur — her eyes flicked across the terrain, sharp and calculating.

"Quiet is good," I said, half-heartedly.

Lyssira didn't respond. She stood a few paces ahead, hand resting on the hilt of her curved blade, eyes never still. Her green hair, loosely tied behind her ears, fluttered gently in the scented breeze. The way she stood made it clear: she sensed it too.

We were not alone.

We moved in silence, skirting around a small ravine choked with glowing vines. For a moment, it felt almost peaceful — until the wind shifted.

Then the scent hit me.

Rot. Not like a dead animal — worse. Like something pretending to be alive, failing, then trying again.

Freya snarled and shifted in an instant, her form rippling as she became a lean, horned predator with too many eyes. "They're here."

Before I could ask who, the forest around us changed. The sunlight dimmed. The trees seemed to lean closer.

And then they stepped out.

Or oozed out. Or bled out — from the air, from the bark, from shadows that shouldn't have existed.

Three of them. One hovered without moving its limbs, its body a mass of swirling void and mouths. Another twitched violently with each step, its form like a melting man with flesh rearranging itself each second. The third looked almost human — until it blinked with sideways eyelids and split its face into a spiral of teeth.

"Voidborn," Lyssira whispered.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

The trees behind us slammed shut like jaws.

The fight began.

Freya lunged, claws flashing. She tore through the arm of the spiral-faced one — only for it to regrow backward. It screamed, and the sound made blood run from my ears.

I charged the melting one, shifting my stance mid-run. My fists hardened, skin scaling with the first flicker of evolution. I struck — and my hand sank in like sludge. It laughed, and I felt my arm burning — inside.

"They're not stable!" Lyssira shouted, slashing at the floating mass. Her blade glowed with her mana signature, and for a moment, the creature flinched — then turned to mist, slipping around her defense.

One of them struck Freya, sending her flying through a tree. She shifted mid-air, landing in the form of a winged serpent, bleeding from a hundred tiny wounds that crawled with black threads.

I screamed and tackled the spiral-face from behind. My body shifted — not completely, just enough. Skin stretched, muscle bent. My endless evolution buff burned bright in my chest as I wished for something sharper, something faster — and got it. My nails became obsidian claws.

I drove them into the creature's neck. Black ichor poured out, but it didn't die. It wrapped around me — hundreds of tiny mouths biting.

Pain. Everywhere.

"ZAVIER!"

Lyssira's voice pierced the haze. She'd thrown a mana flare, buying a heartbeat of distance. Freya reformed again, now as a massive stag with antlers that shone with electricity. She charged, impaling the floating one and slamming it into a tree that screamed.

For every wound we gave them, they regrew. Every piece we broke returned wrong, but stronger.

We weren't winning. Not really.

"We have to retreat!" Lyssira shouted, her lip split and bleeding. Her armor cracked at the side. "They're learning too fast!"

But there was nowhere to go.

The forest had become a cage.

And then —

The sky split.

No sound. Just light. Like someone cracked a mirror behind reality.

A rift opened above us — a swirling portal of gold and white, pulsing with the power of the Tree.

The Voidborn hissed in unison, recoiling from it.

Then the rift pulled.

Lyssira reached for me. Freya, already half-transformed again, flung herself toward us. Our bodies lifted, drawn upward, spinning.

Below us, the forest screamed. The creatures howled, and light consumed everything.

We didn't fall. We didn't rise.

We were being transported.

To somewhere beyond the quadrants.