Chapter 1

(In this chapter: mt/Fa, NonConsensual, Cream Pie, First, Petting)

1 Heisenberg

The sun hung low in the sky, sending twilight across the Power household. The suburban home stood bright with fresh cream paint, behind a lawn they paid someone else to manicure. The richest on a rich street, it looked suited to a family far better established than the young trio who had just bought it.

Wealthy, but normal. Mundane, even. If Heisenberg hadn’t already known what brought him here, he wouldn’t have thought to look for it.

The stranger appeared in the breath between instants. Tall and thin, he looked like a bespectacled scarecrow in his blue suit. He’d been sure of the blue; he’d come off enough like a Man in Black without dressing like one. He closed his eyes and checked the time. Yes; they would be home. He rapped on the door.

“One moment,” said Tahirah Power. She opened the door, a friendly smile already in place, reaching her dark eyes. She was a young woman, with beautifully smooth, clay-coloured skin. Even with a small child, her curly black hair and sundress were immaculate. “Are you from the real estate company? We noticed the lock was broken when we were moving in...” She noticed Heisenberg’s suit, and more than that, his eyes. “You’re not here about the fence, are you?”

Perceptive. He smiled. “My name is Heisenberg,” he said, “And I’m just here to talk.”

She hesitated. “Arthur, honey? We have a visitor.”

They drank tea together in the living room. Arthur Power was built broader than his wife, with a naturally ruddy face behind his full beard. Their three-year-old son sat in the room with them, quietly playing with blocks.

Arthur looked at him with more suspicion, while Tahirah watched quietly, deferring to her husband. The television and the clatter of the boy’s play served as background noise. The boy took more after Tahirah than Arthur, with that caramel-toned skin and his soft jaw. But the eyes were something different. The left was golden, while the right was a clear, silvery grey.

Heisenberg broke the silence. “Your son is a very special boy.”

Arthur folded his arms over his chest. “Flattery won’t get you as far as you’d think. What is your point?”

Talking directly just felt wrong. Too many years of careful, indirect habit. “You’ve heard of talents, I presume.”

“You mean those people like DN Alpha and One-Man Army?” Arthur asked. “The crime-fighting, the glowing eyes and flashy costumes, the incredible strength?”

Heisenberg’s lips tightened. “Something like that, yes.” Pedantry wouldn’t win him any favours.

“Of course,” Arthur said. “They’re on the news all the time. Barry Ellis says they’re the next step in human evolution.”

Heisenberg grimaced. “Barry Ellis is an idiot who shouldn’t be on the air.” Okay, maybe he could get away with a little pedantry. “Talents have nothing to do with genes, mutated or otherwise. Nothing to do with toxic waste or science experiments leaking into the drinking water. Certainly nothing to do with extraterrestrial abductions.” That hit all the main public theories. The ones that were completely wrong, anyway.

“And I suppose you’re an expert on it,” Arthur said, his tone dry like sandpaper.

“Yes,” Heisenberg said. “We very much are.”

His bluntness sent Arthur for a loop. Tahirah brushed past the first obvious question, and asked, “So you think Maximus is one of those talents?” With her voice so level, no way did it come as a surprise.

“Not yet,” Heisenberg said. “His power hasn’t manifested. But you’ve already seen it in his eyes, haven’t you? So much more like your sister’s eyes.”

“We don’t talk,” Tahirah said. It was more a statement of will than fact. “What exactly are you saying about our son?”

“Maximus has potential,” Heisenberg said. “More potential than I’ve ever seen. He’ll awaken to it sooner or later. With the right support, he could be the best of us.”

Arthur moved closer to the edge of his seat, angled to slightly block Heisenberg from his family. “And just who is ‘us’? Who do you work for?”

“I work with the Fellowship of Realmwalkers.” He set his cup down, saucer and all, atop the table. “We are a community, centred on shared talents, and how they can and should be used. We have a certain perspective on Space and Fate. As well as learn to use them, we work to protect them. To keep this world safe from the dangers of other realms, and vice versa. To guard time from those who would try to bend it to their own whims.”

“Realmwalkers,” Arthur repeated. “And you thought aliens sounded far-fetched.”

Of course. He’d have been disappointed if they hadn’t expected some proof. This would be simple enough, a parlour trick. He focused on his teacup.

Heisenberg’s own specialty was Fate; in particular, the branching of time. Every day, a thousand little decisions changed the face of the world. He could make any number of decisions just about that teacup. He could pull it left; could push it right; could just leave it alone. And it would remain uncertain until he made the decision – or, with his talent, for some time afterwards.

He did all three. He kept his hand steady, while other versions of him moved it both ways, before he let those branches join into one. The Powers gasped; from their perspective, he and a flash of yellow light suddenly made two more cups appear out of nowhere, each just as full as the first. So much more interesting a power than mere ‘incredible strength’.

That was enough to get them whispering between each other. Heisenberg waited and sipped his tea. At least, until they yanked that cup from his hand. He gave them a miffed look while they compared, and eventually relented. Every detail was right: the slight chip on the handle, the stain on the bottom. Heisenberg hadn’t even noticed them. Those cups, and Heisenberg, were the real thing.

The Powers returned to their seats, and gave Heisenberg back his tea. “Fine,” Arthur said. “But you didn’t come just to flatter us. What are you here for?”

“Maximus could be the greatest Realmwalker of all time and beyond,” Heisenberg said. “So yes, I have an interest in his development. I could tell you want to expect as his talent manifests, how to prepare him and yourselves, and I could return when he’s come of age. Or...”

Tahirah drew Maximus into her lap, hugging him as if to shield him. “Or what?”

“I could take him with me.” Heisenberg continued, even with how it made Tahirah flinch. “The Fellowship is, if anything, wealthier than yourselves. We know how to work a stock market. In our care, Maximus would never want for anything. But more than that, he could be raised among people like him. Titans like Einstein and Rosen, who know these talents better than anyone.” The sheer potential made him giddy. “He could know his talent almost from birth. Most don’t even manifest one until their teens or twenties, if they ever do. Do you realise who he could become?”

At some point, he’d stood up. Tahirah had shrunk back from him, while Arthur had moved forward, guarding the others. Perhaps he’d got a bit carried away.

But after a moment passed for it to sink in, Tahirah tugged her husband’s sleeve. They whispered to each other, and with a confused-looking Maximus as well. They were uncertain. Heisenberg could practically see the fence underneath them. If he picked his words carefully, he could guide the conversation either way. Take the boy, or leave him with them.

Heisenberg set down his tea, and made his choice.

2 Maximus

Twelve years later, Maximus Power awoke in bed. The blankets weighed him down, trapping him with his own heat. Air conditioning kept the rest of the room low, the better to make a cosy morning.

He rolled over and over to the bed’s edge and snagged his phone. A little past ten in the morning. Early for a Sunday. He’d been waking up earlier lately. Waking up didn’t mean getting up, though. He took his time with that, scrolling through his phone.

Aurelia had been posting about a new villain a few cities away, and decrying that Northbeach only had the Grimaldi mafia. So boring, she said. Norm and Georgia had invited him out to see a new Western that afternoon; Janey and Mandie were putting a group together for lunch at a new Chinese place. Eh, he’d decide later.

Especially since he heard his mother’s voice call from downstairs. “Max, breakfast is ready! And you have a visitor!”

Mom breakfast? As if he’d miss that. Max threw on a t-shirt and jeans and headed down.

The dining room was meant for entertaining. Abstract paintings added decoration to the cream walls. The rich, maroon carpet went well with the round, mahogany table, much bigger than the three of them needed. The usual spread across the table: sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, everything. But Max was more interested in the tasty dish who’d come to visit.

April Greene had been his babysitter years before, and she’d only got hotter since she’d hit university age. Blonde hair, like a waterfall of molten gold, fell to her waist. Bangs framed a girl-next-door kind of pretty face, with sky-blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, and a sweet smile.

Though her face could slow traffic, her body could cause a major pile-up. Almost six feet tall, and her slim legs took up more than their share. Heavy, proud tits matched the womanly breadth of her hips, with a wasp-thin waist and washboard-flat belly between. She’d packed it into a tight blue belly-top and short, pleated skirt, with white socks climbing to her thighs.

Max managed not to drool, nor openly stare. Thank God for peripheral vision. “April,” he said as he took a seat and his plate. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

She gave him a side-on hug, arm loose on his shoulders. “Between semesters now. And while I’m here for the holidays, wanted to at least come visit.”

“Aw, you get holidays already?” He devoured his breakfast between sentences. Growth and baseball built an appetite. “I’ve still got weeks yet.”

“Oh, well then.” She tousled his hair, grinning. “I thought we’d catch up, but if it’d distract from your studies, maybe I should go.” Her voice took a light, teasing lilt.

He grimaced and fixed his hair, but grinned at her. “Not on your life, April.” He thought about the invites, but he could hang out with his peers anytime. “Yeah, let’s catch up. I need to hit the mall anyway, so, head there for the afternoon?” He’d already cleared his plate. He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mom, we’re going out for a while.”

3 Planck

Elsewhere, Max Planck woke up in a room still dark. He checked the time, not with a clock, but with his talent and a moment of thought. 5:27 am. Late by his standards, but still before the suns would rise. He closed his eyes and strained his ears, listening for any sign of anyone sharing the Citadel today.

Silence. The grand master clock’s ticking echoed through halls and rooms empty of people. Alone again, then.

He pushed through the lethargy to sit up and hang his legs over the side of the bed. Exercise first, that would wake him up. As he stood, he visualised, just like Rosen had taught him. He imagined the grounds outside: the colours in the sky, the chill of the air. He imagined in such detail, he could almost feel the grass under his feet.

Then, after a single step, he did feel it. One teleport took him outside. Behind him stood the Citadel itself: a sprawling, Gothic-styled castle in grey stone and dark wood. It stood on a grassy island floating in space, with bridges connecting it to other islands. One was a beach surrounding a lake; one was a series of gardens; one held nothing but an elaborate hedge maze. In the dark before the dawn, the stars showed starkly against the black. They cast every colour of the stellar rainbow, and pillars of light connected them to paint constellations across the sky. Planck liked the Eagle, its wings spread wide. A few star-lines even detailed the edges of its flight feather.

He ran in his circuit around the Citadel, the grass and earth cushioning his steps. The first lap got his heart racing and chased the sleep from his eyes. The second lap put him in his stride and got him ready for the day. That came less from exertion, and more from watching the six suns rise. They lifted themselves out of the abyss beneath the island, flaring into light as they came level with the horizon. Their individual colours showed the full elemental spectrum: silver, gold, bronze, blue, green, and red. They orbited one another in a celestial dance.

The end of his circuit brought him near one of the windows into the kitchen. There, a pinned-up note caught his eye. Heisenberg’s handwriting, so precise it looked printed, and characteristically short and to the point. ‘Planck, don’t forget to restock the binder stones.’

Planck pinched the bridge of his nose. Heisenberg wasn’t even present, but he knew exactly where to leave his nagging notes.

Better get to work. Next, he teleported to the workshop: a wide space at the base of one tower. Across from Schrodinger’s electronics tools, Planck had a corner of his own, set up for his enchanting.

Small items like those weren’t a challenge. It was an exact, careful recipe – especially engraving the runic phrases in the stones – but it still just followed a recipe. He felt like the baker’s apprentice, tasked with making the plain bread for everyone else’s breakfast. Well, if they asked for bread, he’d go ahead and make scones and buns, too. He mixed some fresh vials of healing paste; he built another few stasis containers and charged them with magic. That would keep the other Realmwalkers supplied for a while.

The other Realmwalkers. With a pang, he wondered where they were, how they were. He teleported to a familiar place: their map of the multiverse.

Set into one stone wall of the great hall, lines of differently-coloured metal pointed in all directions, representing the many timelines out in pan-dimensional space. They ran parallel, branched, converged, and bent back in on themselves. Gemstones, each representing a Realmwalker, gleamed in different settings on those lines. Planck’s stone, quartz with yellow and white flaws swirling through it, rested alone within a circle of gold at the map’s centre. Just one gem, dull and black, stayed apart from the lines. Its setting sat near the floor, easily overlooked.

Planck’s eyes swept the map, taking in the others. Schrodinger’s white-glowing onyx, at an intersection between two converging lines. Einstein’s topaz, shimmering to match the unsteady glow of the chrome line he was set onto. Rosen’s diamond, travelling along a purple line that looked almost like a seismograph for all its back-and-forth bends. Heisenberg’s amber, shifting from one line to another as he checked in on those out in the field.

Looking at them, knowing them all by name, Planck almost felt connected. Even though he only stood there in front of a map, while they actually went out and took action.

He pushed those thoughts away. What could he do next? He shouldn’t push himself with more enchanting. He could hit the library and study. He could get into some more physical training—

Clattering interrupted his line of thinking. It came from the kitchen, followed by a voice. A woman’s voice, with the short, sharp cadence of someone swearing to herself. He smiled with recognition even before he looked back to the map. After he’d stopped paying attention, a ruby had come to join his quartz. He visualised the kitchen, and in a moment he was there.

The Citadel’s kitchen was just more than big enough for two to comfortably use at the same time. The cabinets were dark hardwood, while the surfaces were pale stone veined with purple. Normally, it was an ostentatious sight.

The greasy smoke and frantic Realmwalker made it a bit less impressive.

Chekhov, at twenty-four, was one of the closest Realmwalkers to Planck’s own age. Auburn hair curled in ringlets about her creamy-skinned, beautiful face. A red, masquerade mask accentuated her blue eyes. She had the short, light figure of an acrobat, and the costume to match: bright red spandex with bands of gold, forming a sleeveless top and long pants. Around her hips, a black leather belt carried a heavy handgun in its holster. Even aside from baring the toned shape of her arms, the costume’s tight fit did little to hide her fit figure. That sight had been making Planck ache for years, even for the long spans when he could only imagine it.

She didn’t use the same curse twice in a row, treating her frustration as an exercise in creativity. She grabbed a white rod from the wall and thumbed a button. A stream of white foam shot out, ice crystals forming at the edges; she sprayed it over the smoking pans on the stove, choking off the fire.

“—fuck, damn, lawyer, trochee.” She sighed. When she saw Planck, at first she jumped, but she recovered and folded her arms over her (pert, rounded) chest. “Planck! What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with Schrodinger.”

“Tensions started getting high in the Sky-Borne Lands, so he sent me back early,” Planck said. “And you just got in from Universe Rust?”

“Thought I’d slip in early and try to make some breakfast,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the mess. “... try to.”

“Hey,” Planck said, stepping around her. “Chin up, okay?”

Chekhov pouted. “That’s my line.”

The tail end of her speech sounded lower and slower, her voice coming in slow motion. Planck had turned on the other half of his talent. As it accelerated him, it gave him a sense of his body lightening, as if he could float on air. Clean-up took only a few seconds. As he slid back into real-time, he already had pancakes cooking. A new batch – Chekhov’s had been much too watery. That’s one thing he’d been forgetting all morning: breakfast.

Though she grumbled, he got her to sit down and wait. He soon served the pancakes, along with some blueberry sauce left over from the last time he’d made them. She took a bite. After a brief delay, her eyes widened with awe like she was watching a sunrise. “Mmph. Where did you learn to make this?” She didn’t seem to care that her mouth was still full.

“Came up with it myself,” he said. “After some trial and error. All part of learning to take care of myself, I guess.”

As soon as Chekhov swallowed one mouthful, she pushed the next in. “Heisenberg’s been pushing the self-reliance?”

Planck shook his head. “Just a natural consequence. Realmwalkers are a busy bunch. It can be just me and the library for ... months at a time.”

Chekhov scooted her chair closer to his. “Chin up, okay? You have me here now, so let’s make the most of it.” She squeezed his arm, an idle kind of affection. “What do you want to do?”

Reflex leaned him into her touch. A smile ghosted across his face. “Train,” he said. “But first, some stories. You tell the best stories.”

Chekhov grinned. “You’re damn right I do. Come on, let’s talk outside.”

4 Maximus

Max and April stopped for lunch at a noodle joint, a rustic place with small, tight tables and fake paper lanterns. Max was glad to take a seat; both April’s bags and his own were weighing him down. More the latter than the former, he admitted. New games, new albums, new clothes, a new bat. The credit card could handle it, but the weight added up.

April still carried her own handbag, and had only got some new clothes, darker than her usual style. Was she going into a goth phase? He wouldn’t mind seeing that.

He stirred his tea while he talked. “Yeah, Aurelia and I are still topping our classes. Though, not like any of the tests have been hard this year.” He took a sip. “So how about you? What’s your major, again?”

“Pre-med,” April said. “You’d be shocked how many classmates try the ‘anatomy homework’ line on me.”

He coughed. “Lot of guys trying to get you naked?”

“And girls,” she said. And grinned at the flush it put on his cheeks. “Aah, you’re growing up. But, to be serious. It’s good. Grades could be better, but it’s got me thinking about curative and preventative, you know?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Don’t think I do know. What do you mean?” He ignored a commotion behind him, keeping his attention on April.

April looked past his shoulder, towards the counter. She sighed. “I mean stuff like that,” she said.

Max looked over. The owner, a little old Japanese man in green, was arguing with two men. Both had slicked-back hair, pinstriped suits, and though they were inside, dark glasses.

“Grimaldi,” Max said, his voice hushed. “Those guys are from the Grimaldi mafia, aren’t they?” Not just talents, but bad guys, right there. Still, if they just minded their own business, they’d be fine, right?

“Yeah,” April said, flatly. “Shaking him up for protection money, looks like. They’ll throw some weight around. If he’s lucky, it’ll just be some bruises. Any doctor could treat him, but it’ll just keep happening. That’s what I mean. Preventative.”

Max shook his head. “Isn’t that what talents are for?”

“Talents aren’t the only heroes, you know.” She stood up. “I need to hit the bath– watch out!“

Max first noticed April’s incredible chest shoved into his face. Then he realised she’d tackled him to the ground. A table smashed through where they’d just been.

“Dammit,” April whispered, digging through her handbag. “No time. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She took out a black, pointed hat. As she put it on, she said, “Night, fall.”

Bronze light rushed from the hat and crawled over her whole body. In its wake, she changed. Blonde hair turned midnight black; tanned skin paled to moonlight. Her outfit changed into a tiny, tight black dress with flattering patches of mesh, paired with long black boots and gloves. Even her makeup changed, with her soft lips painted black, and heavy eyeliner behind her domino mask. Put together with the array of bottles and wands on her belt, it looked like a Halloween ‘sexy witch’ costume.

He knew that look. He’d seen her on the news, on the net, but he’d never imagined he’d already seen her in person.

The superheroine Lady Noctis pushed him down by his shoulder. “Stay down,” she said. “Time to do some preventing.”

Max stayed behind their upturned table to watch. Lady Noctis vaulted over with a shout. As one Grimaldi turned, her wand’s blast of blue force sent him flying. A chair rose from the ground to intercept the next. It shattered into wooden splinters, and flung itself at Lady Noctis.

She dived, but still cursed at a glancing blow that grazed her shoulder. She stayed behind another table, firing her wand blind. It kept the psychokinetic back, but no more. The stalemate lasted what felt like forever, but couldn’t have been more than a minute. Max’s head throbbed, a headache building behind his left eye.

Then he heard a cry of pain. The other Grimaldi had got hold of Lady Noctis, gripping her by the hair and wrist. His glasses smashed, Max could see his blood-shot, brown eyes. “You little bitch.” Brown faded to glowing blue, and Noctis gasped with pain as her wrist sizzled. Her wand fell from her hand. “Pretty far from home, aren’t you, Noctis? Let me show you how things work in Northbeach.”

Two on one just wasn’t fair. Dammit, where were Adonis or Valkyrie when you needed them? Max’s left eye felt like it was on fire. The scene before him seemed to slow to a stop. Why wasn’t anything happening? What were they waiting for?

Wait. Time hadn’t seemed to stop. Max looked around himself at the frozen scene. Time had stopped.

Well. It didn’t have to be two on one after all.

5 Lady Noctis

Lady Noctis pushed through the haze of heat and pain. She was without her wand, but she lined up her stiletto heel, ready to stomp.

She didn’t need to. Something blew past her, knocking the goon off. She recovered her feet first. Even with her wrist screaming at her, she grabbed her ice wand and gave the pyro a good, thick layer. That’d keep him on the ground. That dealt with, she looked up to see who’d helped her.

Her heart stopped when she saw him. Maximus Power, that little boy she’d used to look after on weekends. He’d grown – still not very tall, but with the muscle of someone who knew his way around a sport. He wore his black hair thick but short, out of his way. And in that moment, he stood with that new bat in his hand, and a blazing, yellow light streaming from his left eye.

“Fuck’s sake, two of them?” said the remaining Grimaldi. A few chairs rattled, then flung themselves forward.

Max moved as a blur. A golden trail hung in the air as he weaved, unscathed, between the tables, and finished off with his bat crossing the man’s stomach. At those speeds, she was surprised the bat didn’t break. It still dazed the criminal long enough for her to turn him facing the wall, and lock him down with a layer of ice.

The sting in her wrist was catching up with her. “Call the police,” she told the owner. Even with the burning pain, she spared a moment to share a smile with him.

In the commotion, she slid into the bathroom. One of her healing salves fixed up the scratch on her shoulder, and that damn handprint burn on her wrist. Once she’d got rid of those identifying injuries, she pulled off her hat with a murmur of, “Sun, rise.”

The reverse transformation washed over her like a cold tickle, leaving her shivering as she slid the hat back into her bag. April took Max’s wrist as she walked past him. “Come on. We’re heading home.”

6 Planck

Planck and Chekhov sat on the grass at the edge of the main island. The six suns had risen, orbiting one another in a celestial dance. Their six colours showed the full elemental spectrum: silver, gold, bronze, blue, green, and red. Together, they lit the full surrounds. Behind them stood the Citadel itself, a sprawling, Gothic-styled castle in grey stone and dark wood. It stood on a grassy island floating in space, with bridges connecting to other islands. One was a beach surrounding a pond; one was a series of gardens; one held nothing but an elaborate hedge maze.

They faced outwards, towards the sky. Even with the suns up, the stars were so close, Planck could see their swirling coronae, their lights casting every colour of the stellar rainbow. Pillars of light connected them, painting constellations across the sky. Planck liked the Eagle, its wings spread wide. A few star-lines even detailed the edges of its flight feathers.

Chekhov stood on her hands while she talked. Stretching and balancing helped her focus, even while it threatened to distract Planck. She chewed her tongue while she decided on the story. “Scarlett the War Witch,” she eventually said.

Planck perked up. That was his favourite.

Chekhov grinned at the look on his face. “When we last left our heroine, her mother had been captured by the devious sorceror-prince.”

Planck nodded. “Sealed into a giant crystal, leeching her magic for his own use. The prism pris–”

Chekhov poked him with a toe, cutting him off. “Nope. I never agreed to that name.” She stretched her legs out straight again, waving them back and forth while she spoke. “The only way to free her was to gather the keys of the stars. She would start with the key of the forest, in the Azure Woods. She’d slipped away from the sorceror-prince’s wardens, and she made her way south through the Echo Pass.”

The recap done, she launched into the story proper. “The sun hung low behind her, setting in the north as she galloped along the cobbled roads. It coloured the grey stone vivid orange, and threw her shadow leagues ahead of her. The mountains rose on either side, as sheer and straight as a sunbeam at high noon.

“Echo Pass lived up to its name. Her horse’s hooves echoed all around, sounding like an army travelled abreast with her. The cacophony almost drowned out the sound of those who did follow her. But just under the hoofbeats, she heard the twang of a bow.

“She drew Talon, the smaller of her swords, and swatted the arrow out of the air. Now that she knew what to listen for, she could hear them. Other horses came up behind her, spreading out to come around her flanks. Huge, black chargers – the only creatures that could hold the men upon them, all garbed in ebon plate, with twisted antlers rising from their brows. The sorceror-prince’s demonic servitors. She dug in her heels and pushed her horse harder, faster, keeping her eyes dead ahead.

“So she saw her next enemy when he arrived. Marak himself, the leader and worst among them, rose up from her own shadow. He made even his subordinates seem tiny. His armour was void-black, sucking away the sunlight. Through the lines of his helmet, she could only see the glow of his blue eyes, and the set of his thin lips. As he drew his wicked, curved blade, it crackled with lightning, sky-fire tamed by Marak’s own hand. He seemed to look straight through her. The look sent chills down Scarlett’s spine.”

That description reminded Planck of Heisenberg. Which reminded him of something else. “Oh, dammit,” he said.

Chekhov blinked. “What?”

Planck hopped to his feet. “Heisenberg. He wanted me to come to his office this morning, for a talk.” He checked the time. “Oh good, I’m not late yet. Hold that thought?”