DN - Transition

Dreadnought reaches up to his chest, and his fingers seem to sink right into his breastbone. He pulls a fizzing white ball of light out of his chest, and holds it out for me.

“Take it.”

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton. I reach out with a shaking hand and touch the—

—a billion, trillion suns roaring silently in the night

—becoming light, scalding everywhere

—spilling out inside of me as

—a lattice of light and heat, blinding glare against the black

—but more than that

—twisted up out of potential and into being

—the pain is everywhere, filling me

Everything. I see everything. From the biggest galaxy to the smallest atom. I understand it all. And I can change—

—the part of the Universe that is me

—wrap it around

—folds in on itself

—unravels, reweaves

—tightens up into a new

—bones bending, my ligaments melted

—begins to fade

—What was clear is

—no! No, please!

—I’m not done yet!

—grab and heave

—shove back the darkness

—fight

—almost, pull—

I slam back into myself with a gasp. My hips ache. My chest burns. My skin feels tight and wrong. My throat, my guts, my legs. Everything feels different. I’m lying on the filthy ground next to Dreadnought, and the world is spinning. I sit up, and when I move my clothes seem to pull on me in ways they haven’t done before.

Dreadnought lies perfectly still. I pat his cheek, but he doesn’t respond.

“Dreadnought. Dreadnought! Wake up!”

I stop, and listen to myself.

I have a girl’s voice.

- Dreadnought, Chapter 1