multi-dimentional librarian

"son dinner's ready" his mother voice from the kitchen.

The mundane pronouncement sliced through the charged air like a dull knife, instantly shattering the cosmic weight of their conversation. Liam flinched, not just from the sound, but from the abrupt, almost violent juxtaposition of a multiverse-shattering revelation and the comforting, utterly normal call to dinner.

Clara, who had just managed to utter her belief, blinked slowly, her wide eyes refocusing from the infinite tapestry of realities to the faded floral wallpaper behind Liam. The sheer absurdity of the situation seemed to hit her then, a faint, almost hysterical bubble of air escaping her lips.

A moment later, the kitchen door swung open, revealing Liam's mother, Carol. She was a woman of sturdy build and practical disposition, her apron dusted with flour, a faint aroma of garlic and roasting chicken wafting in with her. Her cheerful, slightly tired smile faltered as she took in the tableau: Liam standing rigid, eyes still alight with intense conviction, and Clara, pale as a ghost, slumped on the sofa, looking as if she'd just seen one.

"Everything alright here?" Carol asked, her brow furrowing with concern. "Clara, dear, you look like you've seen a ghost. And Liam, why are you standing there like you're about to give a TED Talk?" She gestured vaguely at his dramatic posture. "Dinner's on the table. Chicken, your favorite."

Liam cleared his throat, suddenly finding his voice had lost its prophetic authority. "Uh, yeah, Mom. Everything's... fine. Just, uh, having a deep conversation." He shot a desperate, pleading look at Clara, silently begging her to play along.

Clara managed a weak, wobbly smile, her face still a shade too ghastly. "Yes, aunt. Just... quite a conversation." Her gaze flickered back to Liam, a fresh wave of disbelief washing over her as she recalled his recent pronouncements about parallel realities and energy currents, all punctuated by the clatter of cutlery from the kitchen.

Carol, ever practical, seemed to dismiss their odd demeanor as typical young-adult angst. "Well, come on then. Wouldn't want it to get cold. Liam, help Clara up."

Liam stepped forward, offering Clara a hand. Her fingers were still cold and slightly clammy as she took it, her grip surprisingly weak. He pulled her gently to her feet, their eyes meeting for a brief, loaded moment. The shared secret, the terrifying truth of what he'd said and what she now believed, hung unspoken between them, a silent pact forged minutes ago, now suddenly forced into the backdrop of domestic normalcy.

As they slowly shuffled towards the kitchen, the scent of dinner now competing with the lingering scent of rain and adrenaline on Clara's clothes, Liam could still feel Kairus's presence. The entity was silent, but Liam imagined a sort of cosmic amusement emanating from it. This, too, is part of your path, Liam, he seemed to hear,yet ke kept quiet the whole time, not scared that liam might just blurt out the truth.

Clara cast one last fleeting look back at the dimly lit living room, as if expecting the shimmering threads of the energy liam talked about or echoes of other realities to still be visible, now that she knew what to look for. But there was only the familiar clutter, and the faint, unsettling echo of a future that had almost been hers. The world hadn't just splintered; it had just called them to dinner. And somehow, the sheer knowledge of knkowing that they are multiverses that holds people who looks like them yet are living a different lifestyle, made it all even more surreal.