It hit me the moment I stepped back into my apartment.
The wind outside had a bite to it, sharper than I remembered. Winter had truly settled in, blanketing everything in silence and cold. It felt poetic somehow—like the universe was setting the mood for what I was about to discover.
I tossed my hoodie on the couch and paced across the room, slippers squeaking with each step like they were mocking my growing anxiety. I didn't need tea. I didn't need rest. I needed answers.
And I knew exactly where to start.
I fumbled for my phone and hit the speed dial.
One ring.
Two rings.
"Shiwei?" Horace answered, voice thick with sleep and confusion. "What time is it? What's going on?"
"Come to my place. Bring Yue."
A pause. I could hear the sheets rustling on his end. "Wait, are you okay? What happened?"
"I'll explain when you get here. Just come. Please."
I didn't say much more. I didn't have to. The silence did the heavy lifting. Horace must've felt the tension through the line, because his reply came quick, steady:
"We're on our way."
When I hung up, I just stood there. My hand lowered slowly as I turned to look out the window. Snowflakes drifted down like tiny pieces of a broken glass, dancing in the wind. It used to be warmer. Back when I first descended into this world, there was warmth in the air, life in the wind. Now? Everything just felt colder.
Maybe that was the point.
I looked around my room like I was searching for something. And then it came to me—not a sudden memory, but something deeper. Something buried. Something I'd almost forgotten.
The symbol.
The mark that every Time Warden carries.
I rushed into my room, yanked open the drawer buried beneath layers of nostalgia and unfolded clothes I should've washed last week. I dug past an old hoodie, some mismatched socks, a bag of candy I definitely forgot about, and finally found it.
The robe.
And tucked carefully inside the inner lining, like it had been waiting all this time, was my Hourglass.
My breath hitched.
The Hourglass was a simple thing, really. Elegant. Smooth. Crafted from a glass that shimmered faintly like starlight. And inside it? The sand that governed my powers—the very essence of my link to time.
It was nearly empty.
I sat down hard on the floor, legs folded like a child being told their favorite show just got cancelled. My fingers tightened around the Hourglass as I held it up, watching the last grains swirl slowly into the bottom chamber.
I smiled bitterly.
Of course it was almost empty. Of course I'd used it all up. Who knew time manipulation would be this expensive? And here I was, spending it like a spoiled kid at a candy store. One rewind for a burnt dish. Two for a slipped mop bucket. Three for the hundred tiny cracks I refused to let her see.
I was having fun.
God, I was actually having fun.
Maybe that's why I forgot. Maybe that's why I stopped checking. Because for once, I was living. I was laughing. I was... happy.
A knock on the door snapped me out of it.
I already knew who it was.
When I opened the door, there stood Horace and Yue, bundled in thick coats, faces drawn tight with concern. Yue looked half-asleep and fully worried. Horace had that same stoic look, though I could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the slight redness in his eyes.
"Hey," I said, offering a crooked smile. "Come in. I was just about to make us some tea. Or, you know, cry into a pillow. Depends on the vibe." I joked, but the seriousness on their faces remained as is.
We all sat down in the living room. No one said anything at first. The air was thick—thicker than the soup I once ruined because I misread the recipe and added salt instead of sugar.
"You know," I started, my voice a little lower, "every power comes with a price. That's how it's always been."
They looked at me, not interrupting. Just waiting.
"Back in your past lives," I said, turning to Horace, "you could leap through time, right? But every leap shaved off your lifespan. Piece by piece."
Horace's jaw tightened.
"And you," I looked at Yue, "you dreamed of the future. But every dream chipped away at your mind until you couldn't take it anymore. That's how you died."
Yue flinched. Her hands trembled.
I reached into my robe and pulled out the Hourglass, placing it gently on the table between us.
"For Time Wardens," I said, "the price is steeper. We don't just give up years. Or sanity. We give up everything. When the final grain falls... we disappear."
The room dropped into silence. You could hear the snow outside if you listened hard enough.
Yue's eyes widened, tears already forming.
Horace's fists clenched.
"No," Yue said, her voice cracking. "No, this can't be happening. You're lying."
I shook my head slowly. "I wish I was."
I told them everything—the days leading up to this moment. The weirdness. People ignoring me like I was a ghost. The thinning crowds. How the world had started treating me like an afterthought.
"It's all lining up," I whispered. "The signs are all there."
Yue couldn't hold it in anymore. The tears spilled out. Her sobs broke the silence like thunder. Even Horace, the ever-stoic, had tears in his eyes. He just refused to let them fall.
"We just started this," Yue said through tears. "You've barely been here with us. You're our friend. Our closest friend. Please don't talk like it's already over. Please... stop using your powers"
I smiled again. That same sad, worn-out smile I'd been practicing lately.
I look at her. At Horace. And I know they mean it. They want me to stop. To save myself.
But how can I?
How can I protect Akari without my powers?
"As long as you two don't forget me," I said, brushing a tear from Yue's cheek, "I'll be okay. That's all I need."
That made her cry harder.
Even Horace looked away, biting his lip.
I leaned forward and placed a hand gently on Yue's belly.
Yue cries harder. Horace turns away like if he doesn't face me, he won't fall apart.
I chuckle, softly. "Don't cry too much, Yue. There's a baby in there, remember?"
She sniffles. "You remembered..."
"Of course. I've already claimed godfather status. No take-backs." I grinned.
That got a laugh out of her. A weak one, but it counted.
We stayed like that for a while, just the three of us. Sitting in silence. Holding onto the moment for as long as we could.
Eventually, they had to go.
At the door, Horace stopped and turned around. His eyes were red, but his voice was steady.
"Don't worry," he said. "We won't forget. Ever."
He hesitated, then added with a small smile:
"Also... thank you. For giving me the power to time leap in my past life. Without it... I might never have found Yue."
I waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. You better not mess it up now. Or I'll haunt you in your dreams."
The door closed behind them.
And I just sat there.
The silence felt heavier than before.
I looked at the Hourglass again.
Still falling.
I wiped at my face. Huh. When did I start crying?
"I really did meet wonderful people," I whispered.
But deep down, I knew it. I couldn't stop using my powers. Not now. Not when she still needed me.
Just like Horace before me... I'll use my power for someone I love.
Because that was my wish.
The one I made before I came here.
To protect her.
Even if it costs me everything.
***
The weekends passed quietly, like snow falling on empty streets. I didn't keep track of time—how ironic, really, for someone who governs it. But even I couldn't ignore the slow draining of my hourglass. Each grain a reminder. Each moment with her... a price.
I even managed to clean. That's how bad it's getting. I cleaned. Voluntarily. No curses. No mop bucket incidents. Just me and a bottle of multipurpose cleaner having a heart-to-heart.
By Sunday afternoon, I do something even crazier—I decide to call my manager. Not as in "yo, boss man," but seriously. Like, seriously seriously.
I tap his name on my contacts. Martin Chen. Mr. Mustache himself.
"Manager Martin," I say the moment he picks up. That alone should've told him this wasn't just another "I'm gonna be late because the sky broke" kind of call.
There's a pause. "Shiwei? Did you just... call me by my name?"
"Yeah. I need to ask for something."
Another pause. He's definitely standing up now. Possibly saluting out of reflex. "Go on."
"I need a month off."
He exhales sharply through the phone like I just told him we ran out of chicken thighs during dinner rush.
"Are you dying?" he asks.
I smile faintly. "...Something like that."
"Alright. You got it."
Just like that. No questions. No lectures. I think I heard his mustache twitch, though. Guy's always been weirdly perceptive.
He knows I've been good to Fried Chicken Heaven. Probably because I am Fried Chicken Heaven. I'm like its spicy, slightly dramatic soul.
After that, I just wait.
And eventually—
She returns.
Akari.
She knocked on my door—bright-eyed as always, carrying a souvenir in her hand like it was the most important thing in the world. A small keychain with our town's symbol on it. I smiled when I saw it. Something inside me stirred—gratitude, maybe. Or grief in disguise.
"I'm back!" she grins.
"Welcome home," I say, and yeah, maybe my voice cracked a little.
We take a walk around the town after that. She's bubbling with stories, excited about everything from convenience store snacks to an old woman who gave her directions by using interpretive dance. I listen, soaking it in.
But I also notice something else.
Some people still see me.
Not everyone. Not like before. But enough.
Enough that I can breathe.
For now.
I know my time's ticking. Literally. A month, if I'm lucky. Less, if Akari keeps tripping on banana peels like she's being targeted by comedic fate itself.
And she doesn't know. She can't know. Because the moment she finds out, she'll blame herself. She'll stop smiling like that. She'll stop being... Akari.
And I want her to be Akari. Until the very last second I have.
So I keep doing what I do.
She crosses the street without looking—I rewind it and pull her back.
She drops her phone into a fountain—I reverse time five seconds so it bounces off her bag instead.
A falling sign nearly crushes her while we're walking—I slip into the past, push her out of the way, and snap back before she notices the wind change.
Day by day. Moment by moment.
And every night, I come home, drop my coat, sit on the floor, and take out the Hourglass.
It's almost gone.
The sand at the top chamber clings like it doesn't want to leave, but I know better.
I hold it in my hand and feel it hum, warm and familiar. It's been with me longer than anything else. Longer than most lives, honestly. My power. My curse. My reminder.
I should be scared.
I should be panicking, screaming, throwing furniture, doing interpretive dances of despair. But I'm not.
I'm smiling.
Not a sad smile. Not a broken one.
A real one.
Because I'm happy.
Because I've never felt this... full. Not since I became a Warden. Not since I took on the role of time's personal janitor, erasing mistakes, cleaning messes, fixing what wasn't meant to break.
She makes me feel like I'm not just serving time.
She makes me feel like time's finally serving me.
And yeah, maybe that's selfish.
But for once in my life—my long, endless, tangled string of lives—I want to be selfish.
I want to live not as a Warden.
But as a man.
A man who laughs with a girl about chickens in kimonos.
A man who walks under streetlights, stealing glances at someone who makes the world make sense.
A man who uses the last grains of his existence to keep her safe.
Even if she never knows.
I lean against the wall of my apartment, the Hourglass resting on the windowsill. The winter wind is sharp, cutting, almost playful as it whistles through the glass. It's colder now. Much colder than when I first descended.
And yet, I feel warm.
I chuckle.
Then the chuckle turns into a hiccup.
Then it turns into sobs.
Silent. Ugly. Real.
I cover my face with both hands and sink down, the floor unforgiving but necessary.
"I can be selfish, right?" I whisper. "Just this once?"
My voice cracks as I look up at the ceiling, like maybe the universe will write me a permission slip.
"I've served as a Warden for eons... saved people I'll never meet... fixed timelines that never thanked me... I've given and given and given."
I reach for the Hourglass again.
"I'm going to serve me now."
The final words tumble out like a confession...
"For my own happiness... for my Akari."
And I smile through the tears, holding onto that last sliver of time like it's a love letter.
Because it is.
She just doesn't know it yet.