Unknown Voices 3
Meanwhile, Back on Planet (Earth)
The room was dark, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. A gentle breeze stirred them slightly, shifting the patterns of light across the walls. The city outside hummed quietly, distant and detached from the slumbering girl within.
Rachel lay sprawled across her bed, completely buried beneath layers of soft, oversized blankets, her face half-smushed against a pillow. One arm dangled off the edge of the bed, the other was tangled somewhere beneath the covers. A soft, incoherent murmur escaped her lips as she lazily rolled onto her side, seeking warmth, oblivious to the fact that she had just barely escaped complete cosmic erasure.
No alarms blaring.
No divine voices booming into her soul.
No existential dread creeping in.
Just the steady rhythm of her breathing.
A peaceful night. A quiet room.
And absolutely no clue that a council of eldritch, reality-warping, incomprehensible beings had just spent an eternity debating whether she should continue existing or be wiped out of all time and memory like an unwanted typo in an ancient, all-powerful manuscript.
Somewhere, in the depths of the unknowable abyss, across the endless folds of space and dimensions beyond mortal comprehension, a formless entity slammed its appendage (or whatever it had) against the very fabric of the Void.
The sound was like the collapse of entire galaxies, an explosion of frustrated energy that sent ripples through the endless dark.
> "Unbelievable!"
Its voice was a choir of dying stars, a wail of collapsing cosmic structures, the violent howl of space itself devouring its own echoes.
> "The LESSER BEING sleeps peacefully, while we just wasted an entire cycle debating whether or not to ERASE HER FROM EXISTENCE!"
The Void shuddered with the sheer force of its indignation.
Another entity, older than time, infinitely done with everything that had ever existed, let out a slow, tired sigh—a sound that reverberated through dimensions, echoing like the fading breath of a dying nebula.
> "I swear on the bones of the First Creation, if she steps out of line even once, I'm pressing DELETE. No discussion next time. No debate."
> "Just—"
The entity made a sound—an incomprehensible vibration of pure cosmic irritation. If one were to somehow translate it into mortal understanding, it would resemble the aggressive clicking of a keyboard's backspace key.
A third entity, the one who had actually argued in Rachel's favor, let out a deep, rolling chuckle—a sound like a million shifting realities folding into one another, collapsing, rebirthing, cycling through time in infinite loops.
> "Fate moves in strange ways," it mused, watching through the endless threads of reality as Rachel, in her sleep, kicked her blanket off in a fit of restlessness, only to immediately grab it back and burrow deeper.
A moment of silence followed.
> "Perhaps this one will be… interesting to observe."
The others were less convinced.
> "Interesting? Or a catastrophe waiting to happen?" one voice muttered, its tone filled with deep suspicion, like the hum of an approaching supernova.
> "Either way, we wasted far too much time on this," another grumbled, its voice vibrating with the weight of collapsing dimensions. "We have actual important matters to discuss— the reality fracture in Nebula #9871, and oh, I don't know, the ongoing cosmic war?"
The council let out a collective sigh, a symphony of cosmic resignation, their vast, unknowable forms shifting as they turned their attention back to other matters of universal importance.
The judgment had been passed. The decision had been made.
Rachel Ardent was allowed to live.
For now.
---
Back in Her Bedroom…
Rachel mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep, a quiet, half-conscious string of words that made absolutely no sense to anyone but her dreaming mind.
Her brow furrowed.
Her lips parted slightly—
And then—
She snorted.
A loud, completely ungraceful snort.
The kind of snort that could completely destroy any illusion of elegance or mystery.
Still deep in slumber, she rolled over, her blanket twisting around her legs in a tangled mess. A deep sigh left her lips as she muttered drowsily, voice thick with sleep—
"…Five more minutes…"
And then, without a care in the world, she grabbed her pillow and shoved it over her head.
Blissfully. Completely. Unaware.
That she had barely avoided absolute annihilation at the hands of entities so powerful, so far beyond comprehension, that even the mightiest of lesser gods would tremble before them.
These were not mere deities, bound by faith or worship. No, these were the architects of existence itself, the keepers of forgotten laws, the nameless forces that had witnessed the rise and fall of divine pantheons across countless cycles of creation and ruin.
To them, the fall of a god was no more significant than the dimming of a distant star—a passing flicker in the infinite dark.
And yet, despite all their power, despite their dominion over laws older than time itself—
They had spent an eternity arguing about a mortal girl.
And that, more than anything, was what truly infuriated them.
Somewhere, in the distant reaches of the cosmos, the entity who had argued for her erasure let out a long, frustrated groan—a sound so vast and aggrieved that it sent tremors through multiple dimensions.
> "She better not screw this up."
Its formless presence vibrated, folding and unfolding through layers of reality, already regretting its loss in the debate.
> "I swear to the Abyss, if she messes with the fabric of reality even once—"
It didn't finish the sentence. There was no need.
The threat hung there, silent, absolute.
But Rachel?
Rachel just shifted in her sleep again, hugging her pillow tighter as if it were a shield from the worries of the world.
Because cosmic horrors?
Universal balance?
All of that could wait.
Right now, Rachel was busy enjoying her nap.
And for the moment—just for the moment—the universe let her be.