Kael opened his eyes to the shifting light.
The ceiling above him shimmered between rusted metal and a night sky of fractured constellations. For a moment he thought he was dreaming—one of those surreal flashes of the future. But the cold under his back, the low hum in the walls, and the ache in his ribs were all too real.
He sat up slowly. The corners of the room pulsed faintly—not with electricity, but as if time itself were breathing.
A crooked clock stood opposite him. Its hands ticked backward, while the seconds at its base marched on normally. A single window set into the wall offered shifting views: gray skies, then neon stars, depending on where Kael stood.
For two days he'd stayed here, absorbing Aya's story, wrestling with the weight of it. Now, something told him to move.
He rose, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the corridor.
The base felt alive.
Stone walls gave way to panes of glass, then to tracks of old train steel laced with humming wires. Lights flickered unpredictably. Hallways looped and curved as if cobbled together from half-forgotten timelines.
In one corridor a figure walked upside down across the ceiling. In another, a child held a metal sphere suspended in midair. Time pockets everywhere—each one a fragment of someone's lost moment.
Kael paused at a wall that rippled like disturbed water. A voice cracked through the distortion: "New guy."
Elrik emerged, part-transparent, his face glitching like a broken broadcast. "Thought you'd be gone by now."
Kael managed a shrug. "Still here."
Elrik grinned, then vanished through the wall.
He wandered until he reached a workshop cluttered with tools and drone parts. A tall woman with mechanical arms looked up.
"You lost?" she asked.
"Just… wandering."
She smirked. "Then you're halfway to surviving."
She introduced herself as Jessa—mechanic, medic, inventor. As she worked, she filled Kael in: mealtimes, scanner cycles, and the base's shaky longevity. "Time bends here," she said. "But we've learned to bend better."
Kael nodded, then sensed another presence.
Kura blocked the doorway, arms crossed.
"You've had your quiet," he said. "Now it's time for something else."
"What's your problem?" Kael challenged.
"Unknowns," Kura replied. "You're the biggest one."
Before Kael could respond, Aya appeared.
"That's enough," she said, stepping between them.
Kura's eyes flicked to her. "He's not ready."
"He has to be," Aya replied. "Training starts now."
They walked down a corridor that seemed to loop onto itself twice before straightening into a sealed chamber—The Loop Chamber. The circular room had no corners, its walls shimmering like heat haze.
"This is a localized time fracture," Aya explained. "Every sixty seconds it resets—unless you synchronize with its rhythm."
She tapped a silver disc on her wrist. The air thickened, the lights dimmed to violet, and an unseen hum filled the space.
"You're on your own," she said, fading behind a transparent field. "Break the loop, or stay trapped."
Kael stood in the center, ankle-deep in uncertainty. He inhaled, recalling Aya's lessons: the feel bend. Don't fight it. But every attempt felt like breathing underwater. Time dragged him under, then spat him out.
Cycle one… two… three…
He grew frustrated. The same blade of moment cut deeper each time.
"I am focusing!" he shouted.
No response but the loop's merciless repeat.
Hours slipped by as the loop blurred into a single, agonizing moment. Kael's muscles burned. His mind rattled with memories:
His mother's final breath in a sterile room.
His father's back as he walked away forever.
Aya's quiet promise: "You're a piece I didn't see coming."
He dropped to his knees, vision swimming. "I'm not nothing," he muttered. "I'm not just… lost."
He forced himself up, fists trembling. This time, he didn't push. He closed his eyes and listened. He let the ache in his chest guide him, not anger.
Time paused.
The violet haze flattened. The hum died. For the first time, the loop held.
Aya's voice filtered through the barrier: "…you did it."
Kael opened his eyes to silence. He turned, blinking.
"How?" he asked.
Aya stepped back into the room, cautious relief in her gaze. "You synchronized with the fracture."
"But I didn't even—"
"Time doesn't yield to force," she said. "It yields to truth. You stopped fighting."
She tossed him a flask. "You've earned water."
Kael took a grateful sip and sat on the platform's edge. Aya joined him. They sat in quiet understanding.
Finally, she asked, "What were you thinking when it stabilized?"
Kael stared at the cracked watch in his hand. "My mom."
Aya nodded, as though she knew that pain. "Surviving isn't about strength. It's about remembering who you are."
She produced a similar watch from her pocket—her sister's. "I lost more than time," Aya whispered. "They erased my family."
Kael handed it back. "No wonder you fight them."
"We all have our ghosts," Aya said softly.
A distant thrum cut through the calm. Both tensed.
"No one's scheduled this sector," Aya said, rising.
Kael felt a vibration in his bones. "Is it the Time Authorities?"
She shook her head. "They don't move like that."
They slipped out the side exit. The junction corridor lights flickered—amber, then red, then static.
The walls trembled.
Aya drew her shock staff. Kael's breath caught as the temperature plunged.
"if not the Time authorities , then who ?" Kael questioned