One moment, Scarlett was in the real world, about to do something very brave and very stupid. The next, she was… nowhere.

There was no up or down, no light or dark. It was a place of everything and nothing all at once. She didn't have a body, no hands or feet, just her thoughts. It felt strange, like being a ghost, but she wasn't scared. She had a job to do.

In this endless space, there was a storm. It was a beautiful, wild storm of colors and light, a chaotic mess of energy. This was what was left of Ryan.

It was his power, his feelings, his very soul, but it had no shape. It was a song without a tune. Scarlett knew her job was to give the song its words, to give the storm a center.

She floated closer to the storm of light. It was warm and felt like him, but it was also wild and dangerous. It needed a guide. It needed an anchor.

"Okay, Ryan," she thought, her voice a silent echo in the void. "Let's put you back together. No funny business."

She reached out with her mind, searching for something she knew, something solid in all this chaos. She was looking for a beginning. After a moment, she found it. It was a thin, golden thread of light, glowing warmly in the storm. It was a memory.

She carefully pulled on the thread.

The memory bloomed around her. She was back on a cold, metal ship, years ago. It was their first real mission together. She had been nervous, though she would never have admitted it.

He had reached out and taken her hand. She felt the memory not just as a sight, but as a feeling. The warmth of his skin, the firm and gentle grip of his hand. It was a simple touch that said, "I'm here. We're in this together."

That memory was the first knot. It was the cornerstone. The wild storm of his soul seemed to calm just a little, drawn to this single, solid point of connection.

"Good," she thought. "That's one piece. Now for the rest."

She began to work like a weaver at a great loom made of light. She was building the tapestry of his soul, one memory at a time.

She found a thread of pure silver, strong and bright like steel. She pulled it, and the memory of him standing against the Schism Prophet filled her mind.

He had been outmatched, facing a monster of belief, but he didn't back down. Scarlett remembered the powerful pride she felt watching him, a feeling that made her want to fight the whole universe for him. She wove that thread of strength and courage into the growing shape.

Next, she found a thread that was warm and soft, the color of sunlight. She pulled it, and suddenly she was in the mess hall of the "Odyssey." Ryan was laughing. He was telling a terrible joke, something about a space pirate and a three-legged alien chicken.

No one else was laughing at the joke, but they were laughing because he was. He had just tried to eat a noodle too quickly and was now coughing, his face red. Scarlett remembered thinking, "He can shape reality with his mind, but noodles are his true weakness."

A small smile touched her mind-form. She carefully wove that thread of simple, goofy joy into the tapestry. It was just as important as the thread of courage.

She kept working, her mind moving faster and faster.

She found a thread as bright and sharp as a star. It was the memory of the god Games, the roar of the crowd, and the quiet pride she felt as he moved with deadly grace.

She found a deep blue thread, a quiet memory of them standing on the bridge, just looking out at the stars, not needing to speak.

Each memory, filled with her own feelings about it—her pride, her amusement, her loyalty, her love—became another thread. The formless storm of light was slowly taking shape.

A leg here, an arm there. The blurry outline of a face began to appear. He was becoming real again, built from all the moments they had shared.

But then, something strange happened. The process began to work both ways.

As she wove his memories, his feelings began to flow back into her. She suddenly felt a wave of pure wonder, a feeling of looking at something beautiful and incredibly complex, like a map of the stars. It was not her feeling. It was Ryan's awe for Emma's brilliant mind.

Then came a feeling of deep, steady respect and trust, like a captain has for his best engineer. It was his admiration for Zara's genius.

She felt a gentle, protective warmth, a quiet fire that wanted to keep everyone safe. It was his feeling for Seraphina, for Ilsa, for all of them. She felt his love for each of them, from his own point of view. She saw them through his eyes.

And in that moment, something inside her shifted. Any small, leftover bit of jealousy she ever had, any feeling of rivalry, was washed away. It was replaced by a deep, powerful love for her entire family. They were all part of him, and now, they were all part of her, too.

But the work was not easy. The great powers that made up his new being, the Axioms, did not want to be tamed. They were fundamental forces of the universe, and they did not care for memories or love.

A cold, gray fog began to creep in at the edges of her work. It was the Axiom of Absence, the power of nothingness. It tried to erase the memories she was weaving. It touched the memory of his laugh in the mess hall, and the bright, happy color began to fade.

"Oh no, you don't," Scarlett thought fiercely. She grabbed the memory with her mind and held on tight, pouring her own will into it, remembering the sound of his laugh, the silly look on his face. The gray fog pulled back, unable to erase a memory she held onto so fiercely.

Then, a heavy weight pressed down on her, a feeling of deep cold that tried to stop her. It was the Axiom of Stillness. A silent voice whispered in her mind that this was pointless, that all things end, that she should just stop and let peace take over. Her mental hands felt like they were moving through thick ice.

But Scarlett was stubborn. "Peace is boring," she shot back at the feeling. She pushed against the cold, her will a burning fire. She was a fighter. She would not stop. She would not be still.

She was in a silent war, fighting not with blades, but with love. She was building a man out of memories while fighting back against the very concepts of nothingness and endings.

The shape of light before her was almost complete. It looked like him. It felt like him. But it was not yet whole. She could see the threads of his courage, his joy, and his quiet strength. She could feel his love for their family woven deep inside.

Tired but determined, Scarlett reached into the storm of light one more time, searching for another thread, another piece to make him whole. The fight was not over, but she was winning.

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