The city looked alive in a way that shouldn't have been possible.

From a distance, it shimmered like morning dew caught on glass—towers built from white stone and light, bridges of translucent metal bending gracefully over the river that ran like liquid gold through its center. Yet beneath the beauty, Kael felt something familiar: that quiet hum of instability, the pulse of time still trying to remember its rhythm.

Jorah squinted at the skyline. "Please tell me that's not floating."

Eira shaded her eyes. "It is floating."

Jorah sighed. "Of course it is. Because gravity's just a suggestion now."

Kael smirked faintly. "At least it's not on fire."

"Yet," Jorah muttered.

The path ahead wound through tall silvergrass that whispered as they passed, the blades leaning subtly away from Kael. Time recognized him, even here. He tried not to think about what that meant.

When they reached the gates, they found them open—and unguarded.

Eira frowned. "No guards? No barriers?"

Kael ran his fingers across the archway. The stone vibrated faintly under his touch. "Maybe this world hasn't decided what it needs protection from."

"Or maybe it knows it can't stop you," Jorah said dryly. "Which is honestly fair."

They stepped inside.

The streets were immaculate—too immaculate. The air smelled faintly of ozone and something sweet, like flowers that didn't quite exist yet. People moved through the city with serene smiles, their clothes woven from faintly glowing threads. They acknowledged the trio with polite nods but no real curiosity.

Eira leaned closer to Kael. "Something's wrong. They're… quiet."

"Too quiet," Jorah added. "Like 'Stepford cult' quiet."

Kael's eyes swept the streets. "No markets. No noise. No chaos." He frowned. "This isn't a city. It's a memory of one."

A child ran past them suddenly, laughing—and for a heartbeat, the world flickered. The laughter echoed three times, slightly out of sync, like overlapping recordings. The child froze mid-step, then resumed running as though nothing happened.

Eira's hand went to her dagger. "That wasn't normal."

"Nothing here is," Kael said softly.

They continued deeper into the city until they reached the plaza—a wide open square dominated by a massive crystal obelisk. Its surface rippled like water, reflecting not the sky above but something else entirely: a different world. One where the city was burning.

Kael stepped closer. His reflection was there again—but not the same as before. This Kael wore no armor, no crown. He looked peaceful. Ordinary. Human.

For a moment, Kael couldn't breathe.

Jorah's voice broke the silence. "That… uh, doesn't look like you're about to stab anyone. Improvement?"

Kael didn't answer. He reached out—and the reflection reached back. The glass rippled at their fingertips.

Suddenly, the obelisk pulsed with light, and the world tilted.

They were no longer in the plaza.

The three of them stood in the same city—but empty. The towers were cracked, the sky red with dusk. Ghostly echoes of the citizens moved around them, repeating fragments of their lives like broken clockwork.

Eira spun around. "Kael, what did you do?"

He blinked, trying to steady his vision. "I think the city's showing us… itself. Past? Future? Both?"

"Love that for us," Jorah said, unsheathing his sword. "Ten out of ten tourist attraction. Would die again."

As they moved through the spectral city, they noticed writing scrawled across walls and statues—ancient runes Kael recognized but couldn't immediately translate.

Until he looked closer.

They were his words. His handwriting. Notes from another timeline.

Eira caught his arm. "Kael. What is that?"

He traced one of the inscriptions with a gloved hand. "They're warnings," he said softly. "From me. From another me."

"Warnings about what?"

He hesitated, then read aloud.

"Do not trust the sky."

Jorah looked up instantly. "Yeah, okay, that's comforting."

The sky above the ghost-city shimmered—and then cracked like glass. Behind it, gears moved. Massive, grinding, celestial gears.

"Please tell me that's metaphorical," Jorah muttered.

"It's not," Kael said grimly.

Pieces of the fake sky began to fall, each fragment hitting the ground with a sound like breaking bells. The air vibrated. The echo-citizens vanished one by one, dissolving into mist.

Eira gritted her teeth. "Kael, do something!"

He raised the Chrono Blade. "Working on it!"

The blade thrummed, responding instantly. Threads of blue light shot outward, anchoring into the broken skyline. Kael focused, forcing the world to steady—but the strain hit him hard. Blood dripped from his nose as he growled, "Come on, hold!"

Eira grabbed his arm to steady him. "You're pushing too hard—"

"Not enough," he hissed through his teeth.

The gears slowed. The cracks mended, sealing like healed wounds. The false sky dimmed back into its illusion of calm blue. The city exhaled.

And then it was whole again.

Kael staggered, breathing hard. Eira caught him before he fell.

Jorah sheathed his sword, muttering, "One day, you'll fix something without bleeding all over it. I believe in you."

Kael chuckled weakly. "You'd get bored if I did."

Eira brushed a hand over his shoulder. "You okay?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just… dizzy." He looked up at the now-still obelisk. "That wasn't just a vision. This place—this world—isn't a clean slate. It's made of fragments."

Eira frowned. "Fragments of what?"

Kael met her eyes. "Of every reality that collapsed before this one."

For a long, quiet moment, none of them spoke.

Then Jorah broke the silence. "So basically, we're walking through a recycling bin full of universes. Fantastic."

Kael smirked faintly. "That's one way to put it."

They exited the plaza as the sun began to dip low, casting long shadows across the white streets. The people around them resumed their serene routines, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded.

As they reached the edge of the city, Eira glanced back. "Do you think they know?"

Kael followed her gaze. "Maybe on some level," he said. "But ignorance might be the only thing keeping this place stable."

Jorah sighed. "So we don't tell them the sky's made of clock parts?"

Kael smiled faintly. "Exactly."

They walked until the city lights glowed behind them, shimmering like distant stars. The world ahead stretched open—uncharted, wild, full of possibility.

Kael looked up one last time at the horizon. "If this really is a world born from every choice we never made…"

Eira arched an eyebrow. "Then?"

He grinned. "Let's make some new ones."

Jorah groaned. "Oh no. You're smiling again. That means trouble."

Kael's laughter echoed across the field, light and unburdened. For the first time in a long while, it didn't sound bitter.

The past was gone. The future was unwritten.

And time—finally—was theirs to play with.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.