CHAPTER 95: YEVDI, OF THE UNSEEN PAGE

"Why am I prone to wake up in a strange foreign realm...?"

Kivas hovered above a sea with no motion.

The surface reflected nothing. Not the sky, not herself. Not even her own shadow. She glanced up—above her, the sky didn’t split, nor did it swirl in chaos. It simply existed in contradiction.

On one side, the horizon burned gold beneath a rising sun. On the other, a pale moon traced silver reflections against an unlit firmament.

Night and day, stitched together along a silent seam with no boundary in between.

Between both celestial truths, there stood a single figure on the water aside from Kivas herself.

The woman was still, planted on the void-like sea with ease. Her white clothing clung to her form with deliberate grace—sleeves swaying like they breathed by the strange winds that barely created a current on the still sea.

Her hair flowed down in perfectly straight strands the color of ripe plum. Two horns curved backward from her skull before curling upward in a sharp, controlled arch.

Her presence didn’t press against Kivas like a deity, nor did it shrink like a hidden watcher. It simply remained, watching her with a gaze unbroken, as though she had waited far longer than she should have.

Kivas floated closer, arms loosely crossed, keeping her distance.

"...Where am I?" she asked.

The woman blinked, once. Her lips stayed pressed together, as though she was barely restraining something.

Kivas tilted her head. "Hey. I asked a question. Who are you? What is this place?"

Still no answer. But her cheeks began to twitch. Her arms stiffened like she was gripping a scream. Her breath shortened.

Kivas narrowed her eyes. "You’re either hiding something, or you’re going to burst—"

"I CAN’T HOLD IT ANY LONGER YOU’RE JUST SO CUTE—!"

The scream came not from fear, but rapture. The woman lunged forward, tackling Kivas with outstretched arms, squeezing her into a forceful hug with all the restraint of a thunderbolt dressed in velvet.

"You’re even cuter in person! Look at your cheeks! Look at your confused face! Oh stars above, how did I get so lucky seeing you this adorable!"

Kivas’ arms were pinned. Her forehead crumpled. Her pride strained not to manifest the grimace she was dying to suppress.

"...You done?" she muttered.

The woman clung tighter. "Never. Not until I commit this exact texture of your skin to memory."

Kivas exhaled as if summoning the full power of patience from her lungs. "And you are?"

The woman released her just enough to grab Kivas’ cheeks and squish them.

"Your wife."

Kivas blinked. Her brain took several seconds to process the words.

"Wife?"

"Yes!" the woman chirped, all too proud of herself.

Kivas stared blankly. "Could you elaborate?"

The woman’s posture froze. Her eyes darted left, then right. She opened her mouth to respond, then paused again, clearly rethinking her entire strategy. "I might’ve... gotten ahead of myself. Just a smidge."

"You ran across the whole track back and forth, what did you mean by smidge..." Kivas crossed her arms again. "Start with the prologue first."

The woman straightened her posture with a cough, then placed one hand delicately over her chest. "My name is Yevdi. I am—technically speaking—your future wife. Emphasis on the future!

Kivas’ gaze sharpened, but her voice remained neutral. It was as if she was barely surprised.

"If you’re from the future, why are you here?"

Yevdi’s face shifted from delight to seriousness. "Because right now, you’re undergoing an Apotheosis process so severe, it could compromise a significant part of who you are. Even if your body returns, your individuality might not. Not all of it, anyway. And if you lose that, you in the future will fail something very important that you could not change its outcome without changing the past."

Kivas raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I can’t say." Yevdi held up a finger in protest before Kivas could interrupt. "If I did, it might change what actually happens as in the entirety of the event! The outcome could be worse. Or the entire event might shift into something wildly unpredictable. And I’m not here to play roulette with timelines. Like someone would suggest..."

Yevdi said the last sentence in a very small yet agitated tone.

It was heard regardless.

Kivas pointed at her with a mild frown. "Then isn’t telling me there is a major future event already enough to alter the future?"

Yevdi beamed. "Nope! Not really. Vague comments like mine barely cause ripples. Timelines tolerate abstract knowledge well enough. It’s like whispering to a sleeping cat—it won’t wake up unless you poke it directly."

Kivas remained unimpressed. "How do I know you’re not bluffing?"

Yevdi grinned wider. "You don’t. But I came prepared."

She touched her chest lightly.

The air cracked. A wave pulsed across the realm, invisible but real. Kivas felt it—a sting down her spine like the echo of a thunderclap without sound.

Her eyes widened.

There it was. A Genesis Core. Fully matured. Its presence burned with radiant calm and sovereign finality. More stable than the one Samael had.

It was deeper in presence, like an extremely refined gemstone.

Kivas instinctively stepped back. "You—how?"

Yevdi dropped her hand and exhaled softly. "That’s for another time. What matters is, I didn’t interfere with your timeline. I didn’t interact with anyone but you. I haven’t even touched the current iteration of your existence!

"All I did was isolate the parts of you that could no longer be salvaged and diverted the rest into a conscious will. That essence is the one trying to reach Oizys!"

Yevdi then went on a whole lore dump about how her plan succeeded and that Oizys had already moved into the Fateline that was influencing Kivas, going there, and disconnecting it in the most efficient and assured manner.

Her way of talking was very upbeat and casual, which help a lot at trying to digest the information that was given.

Kivas noticed that it was similar yet a very contradictory contrast with Samael who talks and wants to talk a lot but speaks in a very intelligent and occasionally theatrical manner.

"And what happens next?" Kivas asked.

"Nothing for now," Yevdi said, clasping her hands behind her back. "I’ve already done what I came to do. Your individuality will remain mostly intact when you return!"

"...Mostly?"

"The core essence is preserved," Yevdi clarified. "A few pieces were too deeply fused with the Apotheosis process to extract. But I turned them into the messenger I told you about!"

Kivas nodded slowly. "You’re very careful with your steps."

Yevdi smiled wistfully. "When you’re dealing with you, you don’t get many chances to mess up. You’re a complicated partner."

Kivas glanced at her thoughtfully. "So... if your job’s done, why are we still here?"

Yevdi’s smile softened. "Because I want to stay. Just a little longer. This moment... means a lot to me."

Kivas could feel the weight behind her words.

This wasn’t just admiration. This wasn’t fanatical devotion or some dramatic rescue mission from a lovestruck future spouse. It was something else.

A reunion backwards in time.

Kivas folded her arms again. "I’m guessing meeting me here means something important to you."

Yevdi nodded once.

Kivas took a step closer, studying her carefully. "So then... tell me."

Yevdi’s posture straightened slightly, caught off guard.

"I just... have so many things that I want to thank you and express to you... but can’t for the obvious reason." Yevdi relaxed again. "Regardless, I just really, really, really want to talk with you! Not to mention, you should have some questions, no?" Yevdi teased. "I can answer them if they happen to not affect the future beyond my intention!"

"What is it like?" Kivas asked. "Our relationship. In the future where we’re partners."

Yevdi’s gaze drifted upward, to that stitched seam in the sky where day bled into night, and her voice came quieter—tender, patient, as if unwrapping a memory too cherished to handle in haste.

"It’s warm," she said. "I know that sounds simple, but that’s the truth. Our relationship... it’s steady in ways I never thought I could have...

"I’ve always been surrounded by complex things—calculations, catastrophes, divinations, and danger. But with you... it felt like being at the center of a soft star. There was gravity. There was light. And somehow, I was always pulled gently into your orbit."

Kivas blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. "That’s... poetic."

"It’s just real," Yevdi smiled, brushing back a strand of her plum-colored hair. "We laugh a lot. You take care of me without making it feel like charity. You let me take care of you without acting like it’s a debt to repay. I was happy every day. Not because every day was perfect—but because we lived through it together."

Kivas rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. "That’s a lot to take in. I’m glad to hear I make you happy, but... I also have someone I love now. Here. In this timeline."

Kivas felt like she was caught cheating now that she heard how lovey dovey she and Yevdi were in that timeline, where in this, Kivas’ heart was already for another woman.

Yevdi’s smile didn’t falter. "I know."

"...You know?"

"Of course!"

Kivas hesitated. Her heart twisted with guilt she hadn’t prepared to feel. "I was worried about that. Like I was... caught cheating on the spot."

That made Yevdi laugh. She clutched her sides like the sound nearly winded her. "Oh stars, no. You should know something about the future—you, in the timeline I’m from, you don’t exactly believe in monogamy."

Kivas raised both eyebrows. "Come again?"

Yevdi gave her a teasing glance, full of affection. "Let’s just say... you have a lot of wives."

There was a pause.

"If I were drinking," Kivas said slowly, "I would’ve spat it all out just now."

Yevdi beamed. "That tracks."

"How many are we talking here?" Kivas asked, suspiciously narrowing her eyes. "What’s the number?"

"I can’t say," Yevdi replied with a sly shrug. "Telling you might cause changes in the future. Knowing specifics could skew your choices. Besides, it’s not a competition."

Kivas groaned. "It feels like a competition."

"It isn’t. Trust me—everyone knew exactly what they signed up for."

"Well, I guess now I know that I’m somewhat a high-valued partner, if I somehow have more than one life partner."

"Most of your wives live a great life too!"

"Now you’re just stroking my ego." Kivas folded her arms and looked aside. "Still, you looked at me—this version of me—and thought I was adorable. What is with that?"

Kivas found it weird that Yevdi somehow got a very strong reaction in their first meeting outside of longing and familiarty.

Yevdi’s expression softened into something brighter than nostalgia—something like reverence. "Simple! My Kivas are just so different from the ones I’m currently looking at."

"How different?"

Yevdi stepped closer, her voice growing gentler. "You were taller. Not just in height. Though, you’re actually taller in height, like really tall!"

"I get it, I’ll get taller." Kivas chuckled. "What else?"

"You carried yourself like someone who had seen the worst and made peace with it. You were mature, to put it simply, not because you lost your spark, but because you finally understood your worth.

"You were someone that other people found peace around, most definitely."

Kivas stared, mouth slightly ajar. "That doesn’t sound like me."

"It will be you," Yevdi replied, smiling. "Or, at least the you that I experienced. You gave love to each of your partners in a different way, never neglecting anyone, always paying attention to what made them feel seen~"

Kivas swallowed thickly. "What about Samael and Oizys? Were they... part of this?"

"They were more than part of it," Yevdi confirmed, a hint of pride in her tone. "They’re your wives too. The most capable and the most loyal out of all of us. You should’ve seen the way they argued over who got to organize your birthday—akh!"

Seeing that reaction, Kivas felt like something bad had just happened.

Regardless, Yevdi didn’t react so terribly from that slip up, so Kivas felt at ease once again.

To live so long to the point that your birthday is celebrated in Fathomi, Kivas could never imagine nor envision this before Yevdi told her.

Kivas looked at her with sheer disbelief. "Samael... organizing my birthday? I found that hilarious."

"She had a spreadsheet."

Kivas exhaled with a slow, weary amusement. "Right, she probably will."

The two of them talked more. About trivial things. About nothing important. About food. About how Vaingall looked in the spring. About whether Divine Constructs could technically grow in height.

There was no pressure in their voices, only the ease of presence, of existing alongside someone who had already learned how to cherish silence and fill it when needed. Kivas hadn’t laughed this much in weeks. Maybe months.

But slowly, something shifted.

Kivas noticed it in the way Yevdi’s eyes lingered longer in the sky.

The way her smile, still present, began to falter at the edges.

"You’re sad," Kivas said suddenly.

Yevdi turned, startled by the observation.

"You’re hiding it well," Kivas added. "But it’s there. Why?"

Yevdi didn’t answer at first.

Then, quietly, "Because... when I leave you, my timeline ends."

Kivas’ breath caught in the sharpness of that statement.

"The moment I altered the past by interacting with you like this," Yevdi said, voice thin and brave, "my world lost its anchor. The future won’t branch toward the position where my current anchor happens. That means... the version of the world I lived in, the one where we built our history together... it won’t happen. It’ll disappear entirely. Like a page erased from a book that still goes on without it."