Li Tian awoke to a world that felt wrong, though superficially nothing had changed.
The ceiling above him leaned at an imperceptible angle. The walls shimmered faintly, as if they were breathing. His bandaged hand throbbed, the subtle warmth within it alive, almost sentient. Red sparks flickered between his fingers when he flexed, tiny and erratic, resisting control. He closed his eyes, hoping for silence, but the whispers had returned overnight, louder and more impatient than ever:
"Deviation persists… interference detected… correction imminent… probability rising…"
He gritted his teeth and swung his legs out of bed, feet touching the floor with a jolt that made him flinch. Each step toward the window made the floorboards vibrate lightly, as if reacting to his presence. The city outside looked normal — cars moved predictably, pedestrians walked in casual patterns, birds flapped through a cloudless sky — yet Li Tian could feel the undercurrent, the subtle distortion beneath the surface.
It was there, in the way the air felt heavier, denser. In the imperceptible bending of lines along the buildings. In the soft, insistent hum that reverberated through his skull whenever he tried to move freely.
He swallowed. The memory of the scar in the sky, the floating shards of yesterday, and the red sparks that had danced from his hand came back to him in vivid flashes. He could not ignore it. He could not act normally.
By midday, Li Tian had made a decision. He needed to test himself — not recklessly, but to understand.
He made his way to the rooftop of the apartment building, the same place where he had first seen the scar in the sky. Every step up the narrow stairwell felt like walking through water; reality tugged at him, pulling his balance slightly, forcing him to adjust constantly. The hum in his head grew louder with each floor, building tension like a storm about to break.
When he reached the rooftop, the scar in the sky was faintly visible again, a thin black line stretching across the blue expanse. It pulsed almost imperceptibly, like a heartbeat. Li Tian's stomach churned at the sight.
He raised his hands, flexing them experimentally. Red sparks appeared again, dancing across his palms and fingertips. They flickered, responding to his will — hesitant, chaotic, unpredictable.
He reached toward a small rock near the railing. It lifted slightly, wobbling in midair, suspended by his consciousness alone. Li Tian's eyes widened in awe and fear. The effort was draining. His head throbbed, his vision wavered. A part of his memory momentarily blanked: the exact date of yesterday's math test vanished from his mind for a heartbeat.
"Do not overreach."
The voice was clearer this time, firm, authoritative. Not malicious, but impossibly vast.
Li Tian staggered back, nearly falling. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to anchor himself. The floating rock tumbled to the floor, landing with a dull thud. His pulse raced. This was no ordinary exhaustion — it was the cost, the price of meddling with reality itself.
"Li Tian."
The voice startled him. Lin Yao stepped from the stairwell, her umbrella still folded at her side despite the cloudless sky. Her calm expression unsettled him; there was no fear, no judgment, only certainty.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," she said. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked to his hands. "Your control is unstable."
"I'm… trying," Li Tian said, voice trembling. "I don't understand what's happening to me."
Lin Yao approached cautiously, stopping a few meters away. "Then I'll explain what I can. But you need to know the truth is dangerous. The world is… fragile. And you are bending it in ways it was never meant to bend."
Li Tian nodded, unsure if he wanted the full truth. He did know that remaining ignorant no longer felt like an option.
She held out her hand. A tiny shard of black crystal hovered above her palm, spinning gently, humming faintly. Red sparks from Li Tian's hand reacted instantly, flickering violently toward it.
"The world does not like you," she said softly. "Every action you take disturbs its rules. Every interference is noticed. Every spark… comes with a cost."
Li Tian stared at the shard. "Cost?"
Lin Yao hesitated. "Sanity, memory, sometimes even your existence itself. The more you meddle, the more the world seeks to correct you. You feel it already, don't you?"
He thought of yesterday — the trembling wall, the floating cup, the scar in the sky, the flashes of something beyond reality — and nodded slowly.
"And yet," she continued, "you cannot ignore it. That fracture is dangerous. It is not merely the system or the Keepers. Something else is stirring below reality… fragments of the Old Gods."
Li Tian's pulse quickened. He had no idea what the Old Gods were, or why fragments of them would matter. But he felt a shiver run through his body.
"They are not awake," Lin Yao said, "but they are listening. And the more you act, the more attention you draw to yourself."
Li Tian's first real test came unexpectedly.
A pigeon landed near the railing. Instinctively, he raised his hand slightly. The air between him and the bird shimmered. The pigeon froze, mid-step, wings trembling as though caught in invisible threads.
Li Tian's heart raced. He had never intended to manipulate life — only objects, only matter. Yet the energy coursing through him reached out, touching what it could, obeying instinct.
"Stop!" Lin Yao shouted. Her voice snapped him back. "Or it will take more than your sanity next time."
He released his hand. The pigeon fell gently to the ground, unharmed, but its small eyes reflected confusion. The red sparks disappeared from his palms immediately.
Li Tian staggered backward, trembling. His mind was hazy; fragments of memory skipped. He tried to recall yesterday's lunch — the menu, his friends' faces — and failed for a brief, terrifying moment.
The system was already correcting him.
Later, in the apartment, Li Tian sat at his desk. He attempted to record everything in his notebook: the scar, the whispers, the sparks, Lin Yao's warning.
But the words resisted him. Letters shifted, rearranged themselves into nonsensical patterns. Sentences looped or vanished entirely. He slammed the notebook shut. Reality itself was pushing back.
Lin Yao observed silently from the doorway. "The world is punishing you," she said. "But it is also giving you a chance. That chance will vanish if you hesitate too long."
Li Tian looked up at her, desperate. "Then… what do I do?"
She let the shard rise higher, spinning in midair, casting fractured shadows across the room. "Learn to touch the fractures carefully. Every action matters. Every spark has a consequence. The Old Gods are stirring. And the Keepers… they are watching."
Li Tian swallowed hard. The scar in the sky, the floating shard, the whispers, and Lin Yao's warning pressed on him like an invisible weight. He did not yet understand the full scope of the Old Gods, the Keepers, or the system's response. But he understood one undeniable truth:
The world had already begun its reckoning.
And he was standing at the center of it.