My mouth was dry. My knees trembled. Somehow, this boy—this impossibility—was more terrifying than any blade. Even Madira, goddess of souls, paused before him.
He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, looking at me not with pity or scrutiny—but with curiosity. As if I were a question he had yet to answer.
"You're early," he said to me, as if I had made some mistake.
"Or maybe just on time."
"Who… who are you?" I managed to whisper.
He grinned.
"I have many names. But none that matter here and now"
Time slowed—or stopped entirely. The hourglass above us froze mid-turn, its sands suspended in the air like stars caught in amber. Even the pillars seemed to bow slightly, their carved faces flickering with silent recognition.
I stared at him, heart pounding in the silence between worlds. His eyes—those impossible eyes—held no hint of mockery or cruelty. Only a quiet patience, as if he understood things I could not yet grasp.
"I don't know who you are," I said, voice rough and hollow, "or what game this is."
He chuckled softly, the sound like wind through ancient leaves.
"No game, Eiran. Only a choice."
He stepped closer, the light bending around him like ripples on water.
"You can walk forward now, and be judged by Madira, the goddess of souls. To have your life weighed, your sins and virtues balanced without mercy or favor."
His gaze sharpened, holding mine steady.
"Or…"
He paused, as if tasting the weight of his own words.
"You can return to the beginning of your story. To live it again. To change what must be changed—or to fail once more."
I blinked, disbelieving.
"Return… to the beginning? How? Why would you offer that?"
He smiled, not cruelly, but with something older than time itself.
"Because some stories are not finished. And some souls have yet to find their true path."
I looked back toward the glowing dais where Madira waited, serene and eternal.
My hands trembled.
To face judgment meant the end.
To return meant… uncertainty.
The boy—Asmut, though I did not yet know his name—waited for my choice.
And in that moment, between eternity and oblivion, I felt the fragile hope of another chance flicker in my chest.
With a knowing smile the boy pulled from his pocket a small object in which he held between his slender fingers, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. It was no larger than a coin, yet heavier than I expected—a solid, cold thing crafted from metal that gleamed like liquid silver in the dim light of the Place of Judgment.
The cover was smooth and polished to a mirror's shine. With a soft click, Asmut pressed a tiny button, and the cover sprang open to reveal a face unlike anything I'd ever seen.
Inside was a perfect circle marked with numbers, arranged with such precision it felt sacred—like the stars charted in a night sky. Two slender arms, like delicate needles, hovered above the dial. One moved slowly and steadily, sweeping in a graceful arc, while the other flicked forward in sharp, rhythmic jumps—each tick sounding like a whispered heartbeat echoing in the silence around us.
There was a smaller dial nestled within the larger one, its hand moving at its own mysterious pace, a secret I couldn't yet understand.
Around the edges, intricate engravings spiraled—flowers, stars, and strange symbols that shimmered faintly as Asmut turned the watch in his hand, as if the light itself danced to its rhythm.
It was a device meant to capture something I could never see—time itself—grasping the invisible and holding it still.
I stared, captivated, unable to look away.
His eyes met mine, calm and endless, and in that moment, I understood: this small, silent thing was more powerful than any sword or spell. It was the measure of every breath, every choice, every moment slipping away or held fast.
I swallowed hard, the weight of the choice settling deep in my chest. Judgment meant the end — a final reckoning I wasn't ready to face. But the promise of returning, of rewriting what had already been written, stirred something raw and fragile inside me. A desperate hope.
"I'll take it," I said, voice trembling but resolute. "I'll return."
Asmut's silver-gold eyes flickered with something like approval — or maybe amusement. Without a word, he lifted the pocket watch again, its face glowing faintly in the gloom.
With deliberate care, he pressed the small button and flipped open the cover. His slender fingers found the tiny winding crown on the side, and he began to turn it slowly, deliberately — backwards.
The hands on the dial reversed their graceful dance, spinning counterclockwise, time itself unraveling before my eyes. The ticking grew softer, then slower, until it seemed to breathe with the pulse of the universe.
Around us, the air shifted — heavy, charged, as if the very strands of fate were being rewoven.
I felt the past pulling at me, tugging like a distant current, calling me back to the place where my story had first begun.
Asmut's voice, calm and steady, broke through the silence.
"Go, Eiran. Live again. Learn what must be learned. Change what can be changed."
The world blurred, colors bleeding and folding in on themselves. And then—
I was falling, spinning, sinking through time itself, back to where it all began….