Realitysis 25 01 06 Sawyer Cassidy Our Parents ... -

The attic window looked out onto the old oak tree in the backyard, the one their parents used to carve initials into when they were kids. Sawyer remembered the initials: , their grandparents. He ran his thumb over the bark, feeling the shallow groove they’d left decades ago. “What if the device wants us to be under the tree at exactly noon?”

The box had been a mystery. Its surface was a patchwork of rust and polished aluminum, with a single glass lens that looked like a tiny eye staring out at the world. Inside, it contained a notebook, a handful of strange, silver-wrapped cables, and a small, palm‑sized device that flickered faintly when the lights went out.

A pulse of light burst from the device, washing over the tree and the surrounding yard. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, the blue light coalesced into a thin, shimmering ribbon that rose from the ground and stretched into the sky, forming a doorway of translucent colors—like a curtain of northern lights caught in a midnight storm.

The aurora above the oak tree swirled brighter, painting the night sky with colors that seemed to pulse with possibility. In that moment, the siblings understood: the RealitySis was not just a machine; it was a reminder that every choice creates a new world, and that love—universal, unbreakable, unquantifiable—remains the true constant across them all. RealitySis 25 01 06 Sawyer Cassidy Our Parents ...

The reality shifted. Their father, a tall man with gentle eyes, entered the room, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. He set it down on the table, and the steam curled into a tiny hologram of a bluebird—a symbol the siblings recognized from the notebook’s margins.

The holographic map flickered, then dissolved into a cascade of light. The reality around them began to blur. The silver bark of the oak turned back to its ordinary brown, the violet sky faded into the gray clouds of Marrow Creek, and the shimmering doorway closed behind them. The siblings fell onto the cold snow, the RealitySis device still warm in their hands. The attic window was now just a window, the oak tree a plain oak, and the world around them was exactly as they’d left it—except for the silver disk in Cassidy’s pocket and the notebook, now filled with fresh pages of equations they didn’t understand but felt oddly familiar.

Cassidy clenched her fists. “Then what do we do? We can’t just go back and pretend nothing happened.” The attic window looked out onto the old

And somewhere, in a parallel branch where the storm project never happened, a version of their parents watched a faint signal on a screen, a tiny beacon flickering across the lattice of realities.

Their father’s voice was low, heavy with regret. “When the project went too far, the government wanted us to weaponize it. We refused. They tried to take us. In the chaos, we were forced to step through a portal—one we thought would be a temporary observation window. We ended up in a branch where we could keep working without interference. We couldn’t return without risking tearing the fabric of reality.”

The mother shook her head. “No. Not everything. The device can only open a doorway to a single branch at a time, and it requires a key —a moment that resonates deeply with you. That’s why today mattered. But you can’t stay here. The longer you remain in this branch, the more you risk destabilizing the whole lattice of realities.” “What if the device wants us to be

The mother placed a hand on Cassidy’s cheek. “We made a promise to you—to keep you safe, even if it meant we couldn’t be here. But we also wanted you to know there’s a version of us still out there. And that you have the power to choose your own path.”

“Cassidy… Sawyer… I… I don’t know how,” she whispered, reaching out. “You’ve been… dreaming about this.”

Sawyer felt a tug at his chest, a sensation like being pulled gently into a stream. Cassidy’s hand squeezed his, and together they stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the RealitySis. The world they entered was familiar, yet alien. The oak tree still stood, but its bark was silver, and the leaves shimmered with a metallic sheen. The sky was a deep violet, streaked with ribbons of gold. In the distance, a city rose—sleek towers of glass and steel, but the architecture was impossibly fluid, as if the buildings themselves breathed.

The siblings stood together, looking out over the snow‑blanketed yard, the oak tree standing sentinel. In the distance, the faint sound of a train whistle echoed, reminding them that time kept moving, that choices still had to be made.

The siblings stared at the map, their minds racing. “We could… we could see everything?” Sawyer asked.