Between verses, Aiden's sword was cracking.
The High Canon was relentless, correcting the blade mid-swing, turning arcs into clichés, twisting foreshadowing into spoilers.
"You carry contradiction like a badge," the Canon sneered. "But I carry closure. And closure wins."
"No," Aiden said.
His voice shook—but not from fear.
From the weight of choice.
He let the Canon strike.
Let the pen stab through his shoulder, locking him in narrative stasis.
Then he whispered a word.
"Reopen."
The Sword of Becoming shattered.
But from its shards bloomed possibility.
Each fragment became a new path—each path a weapon forged from an idea never fully killed. Love that never had its chance. Regret never spoken aloud. A question never asked.
Aiden's body dissolved into all the versions of himself that had been possible.
Not to escape—
But to surround.
He became legion.
The Canon paused.
Just for a breath.
And it was enough.
