My Infinite System.

Two months passed.

Not quickly. Not slowly. The way time moves when everyone is waiting for something and no one knows what.

Lucian threw himself into the search. Every morning, every night, every hour between. He stood in the garden or walked the walls or sat in the empty room Althea had given him, and he reached. He pushed his awareness across realities, across dimensions, across the gaps between what existed and what didn’t.

Cael helped.

The voice in his head had been quiet since the awakening, watching, learning the new shape of things. But when Lucian asked for assistance, Cael responded. Not with words, always with data. Streams of signatures, patterns, echoes. Things that felt familiar. Things that felt like her.

They followed those streams.

World after world. Reality after reality. Each time, the trail went cold. Each time, Lucian arrived somewhere new, scanned everything within reach, and found nothing.

Not nothing exactly. Traces. Residue. The feeling of someone having been there, recently, and then gone. Like footprints in sand before the wind erased them.

Lucian kept going.

---

Lucy cornered him on the thirty-seventh day.

She found him in the garden at dawn, sitting on the same stone bench, staring at the same sky. She sat beside him without asking.

”You’re not sleeping,” she said.

”I don’t sleep.”

”You know what I mean.” She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. She looked younger like that, smaller. Less like a legend and more like the sister he remembered. ”You’re not resting. You’re not eating. You’re not talking to anyone.”

”I talked to you yesterday.”

”You asked me if I remembered Evelyn. I said no. You left.”

Lucian was quiet.

Lucy sighed. ”I’m not saying this to make you feel bad. I’m saying it because I’m worried.”

”Don’t be.”

”Too late.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. She had dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there two months ago. Her silver hair was pulled back in a simple tie. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

”How’s Althea?” he asked.

Lucy’s expression softened. ”Good. She’s good. We’re... we’re figuring it out. It’s strange, you know? Having a daughter I didn’t raise. She’s so grown. So capable. She doesn’t need me.”

”She needs you.”

”Maybe.” Lucy smiled, small and sad. ”But she doesn’t know how to ask. And I don’t know how to give.”

Lucian nodded. He understood that better than he wanted to.

”Focus on her,” he said. ”On being her mother. Let me handle the rest.”

Lucy’s smile faded. ”That’s not fair to you.”

”Fair doesn’t matter.”

”It matters to me.”

He reached over and took her hand. Just held it. No power. No infinity. Just a brother holding his sister’s hand.

”I’ll find her,” he said. ”Evelyn. I’ll find her and bring her back. And when I do, we’ll all be together. The whole family.”

Lucy squeezed his hand. ”You promise?”

”I promise.”

She didn’t believe him. He could see it in her eyes. But she nodded anyway, because that’s what family did. They nodded when they didn’t believe, because believing was too hard and not believing was worse.

---

Marc didn’t wait.

He healed quickly—faster than anyone expected, faster than he should have. By the end of the first week, his arm was functional. By the end of the second, he was sparring with Silas in the courtyard, testing his limits.

By the end of the third week, he came to Lucian with a plan.

”You’re spread too thin,” Marc said. No preamble. No gentle lead-in. Just the facts.

Lucian looked up from the map he wasn’t really looking at. ”I’m fine.”

”You’re not fine. You’re hunting a ghost and chasing smoke, and while you’re doing that, the Outer Gods are regrouping.”

”They’re not the priority.”

”They’re everyone’s priority.” Marc crossed his arms. ”You said it yourself. The breach is still open. The seal is still weak. If we don’t do something, they’ll break through again. And next time, we might not have a Lucian to unmake them.”

Lucian set down the map. ”What do you want, Marc?”

”I want to help.” Marc’s voice was steady, stubborn. ”I’m not going to sit here and watch you burn yourself out on a search that might take years. Let me do something useful.”

”Like what?”

”Like taking father to the other worlds. The ones the Outer Gods are pressing against. We can reinforce the seals there. Slow them down. Buy you time.”

Lucian stared at his brother. ”You want to travel across realities with Alistair.”

”I want to do what needs to be done.” Marc didn’t flinch. ”He knows the void better than anyone. He knows the Outer Gods’ patterns, their habits, their weaknesses. Hate him all you want—I do too—but he’s useful.”

”And if he betrays you?”

”Then I’ll handle it.” Marc’s jaw tightened. ”I’m not weak, Lucian. I’m not Lucy, burning herself out for everyone else. I’m not you, carrying the weight of everything alone. I’m just... me. And me is enough.”

Lucian looked at his brother for a long moment.

Marc was older than him. Not by much, but by enough. He’d always been the steady one, the reliable one, the one who didn’t complain or break or ask for more than he was given. He’d lost children to their father’s cruelty. He’d lost friends to the war. He’d lost years to the reset.

And here he was, offering to walk into the darkness again.

”Fine,” Lucian said. ”Take him. Take Silas too if he’ll go.”

”He’ll go.”

”Then go. But if anything happens—”

”I’ll call you.” Marc almost smiled. ”You’re not the only one who can reach across realities anymore. I’ve been practicing.”

Lucian didn’t smile back, but something in his chest eased. Just a little.

---

They left the next morning.

Marc, Alistair, and Silas. Three figures standing in the courtyard as the sun rose, packs on their backs, faces set. Lucy hugged each of them. Althea shook Marc’s hand formally, then surprised him with a quick embrace. Reia and Vyn nodded from the doorway, too tired for more.

Lucian stood apart.

Alistair approached him last. He didn’t speak. He just looked at his son, and something passed between them—not forgiveness, not acceptance, but acknowledgment. They were both doing what they had to do.

Then they were gone.

A ripple in the air, a shift in the light, and the courtyard was empty.

Lucy stood beside Lucian, watching the space where they’d been. ”Do you think they’ll be okay?”

”I don’t know.”

”That’s honest.”

”I’m trying.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. ”I’ll hold things here. Althea’s people. The keep. The seal. You go find her.”

He nodded.

Then he left too.

---

The search took him everywhere.

Cael guided him through the cracks between worlds, following signatures that flickered and faded like candle flames in the wind. Each time, Lucian arrived somewhere new. Each time, he reached out with his awareness, scanning for anything that felt like Evelyn.

Nothing.

Traces, yes. Echoes. The memory of a memory.

But never her.

He visited worlds that were dying and worlds that were being born. He stood in cities made of crystal and forests where the trees sang. He walked through battlefields where armies had clashed over nothing, and through libraries where knowledge had been preserved for millennia.

No Evelyn.

Cael’s voice, when it came, was calm. Analytical.

The signature is consistent with her pattern. But it’s always old. Always behind. Like following a star that already burned out.

”Then we go faster,” Lucian said.

Speed doesn’t help if the trail is cold.

”Then we go smarter.”

But smarter didn’t help either.

---

The world he landed in was strange.

Not in the way of monsters or magic or impossible geometry. Strange in the way of rules. The physics here bent differently. The energy that flowed through everything wasn’t Qi—it was something else. Something softer. More flexible.

People here called it magic.

Lucian stood in a field of tall grass, watching the sun set over a distant city. Spires rose against the orange sky. Lights flickered in windows. The air smelled of smoke and flowers and something sweet he couldn’t name.

This is the last trace, Cael said. After this, the trail ends.

”I know.”

Do you want to search the city?

”Yes.”

He walked.

The city was alive in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Markets spilled into streets. Children ran between adults’ legs. Old women sat on doorsteps, laughing at jokes he couldn’t hear. Couples held hands. Dogs barked. Bells rang.

Normal life.

People who had no idea that gods walked among them, that realities were cracking, that someone named Evelyn had been erased from existence.

Lucian moved through them like a ghost. He didn’t need to eat or sleep or speak. He just... searched.

He reached out with his awareness, sweeping the city block by block, building by building, face by face.

Nothing.

He found traces of magic—old spells, new enchantments, the residue of rituals performed centuries ago. He found places where the veil between worlds was thin, where something had pushed through and left marks. He found a library with books that wrote themselves, a fountain that granted wishes it couldn’t keep, a tower where time moved backward.

But no Evelyn.

He stood in the center of the city as night fell, stars appearing overhead, and felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Defeat.

Not the dramatic kind. Not the kind that comes with screaming or breaking things.

Just a quiet, heavy exhaustion.

We can keep looking, Cael offered.

”We’ve been looking for two months.”

Two months is nothing.

”It’s everything.” Lucian sat on the edge of a fountain, listening to the water. ”She’s not here. She’s not anywhere I’ve been. Every trail is cold. Every signature is old. It’s like she’s already gone and I’m just... following the memory of her.”

Then what do you want to do?

Lucian looked up at the unfamiliar stars.

”I want to go home,” he said. ”But home doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

He stayed there for a long time, sitting on the fountain’s edge, watching the city live without him.

And somewhere, in the space between worlds, a woman named Evelyn opened her eyes for the first time in two months.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t know how she got there.

But she knew one thing.

Someone was looking for her.

She could feel it.