The Ones Who Twist Fate

"If I must burn the stars to win her back, then let them bleed golden."

It began with a string.

It was a silver thread, no thicker than one's hair strand, pulled taut between his soft yet rugged fingers invisible to the eyes of mortals, yet it was shimmering like moonlight to him. Auren was sitting in silence inside an ancient chamber buried deep beneath the ruins of the Forgotten Temple, he was tracing lines only he was able to see. They weaved across the stone floor, over dusty bones of dead gods and forgotten kings.

He had been at this exact moment before. Many times. Each time with a different plan.

But this time was… different.

This time… she had smiled.

It wasn't… at him. It wasn't for him. But the smile was real. It glowed.

And gods forgive him, he wanted to destroy it.

He closed his eyes. No, he thought. Not destroy. Just… bend. Just twist fate, ever so gently.

Auren steadied his breath and summoned the map of destiny, not of any lands or empires, but of moments. Threads that connect to people, conversations, and even mere glances. Just one small shift could ripple into eternity. A misplaced flower. A book dropped in the right garden. A merchant convinced to move stalls.

"I will not storm her life this time," he whispered under his breath. "I will haunt it."

He stood, his robes were brushing the carved floor with a hiss. With each step, the silver threads shifted. The world was beginning to rearrange itself to his design.

Across the city of Lysira, petals would fall late that morning. A merchant's stall would open five minutes early. A teacher would feel the urge to assign Eliane to a new partner for her magical healing lessons.

Auren had been gentle.

So far.

He watched from a rooftop as she walked the path towards the garden, she was alone, quiet, and with sunlight on her hair.

Every single one of her movements was burned into his memory already. The way she would touch the petals as if she was apologizing for plucking them. The tilt of her head with rhythm when listening to the humming birds. The laughter she gave to strangers.

She is still her. Even without the memories.

But even that thought was dangerous.

If she was still her… then what was he?

Is he just a monster made of grief? A god made of longing? Or just a man too ruined by his love to die?

Auren sat in shadow, watching her. Not interfering. Not yet.

But he had started to move the threads already.

She would find a music box later that night. The one that would play the tune from her dreams. The one he made from the last breath she took in their sixteenth life.

He whispered to the wind once again. Not a plea. Not a question. But a promise.

"You will remember me."

Even if he had to rewrite the stars.

Even if it cost him the sky.

Even if it destroyed the world she lived in.