Eli woke to the sound of laughter.
Through the thin curtains of his window, golden morning light poured in, too warm, too bright. Down on the street, vendors were shouting about fresh fruit, neighbors called out cheerful greetings, and children chased each other with wooden toys.
It should have felt normal. It should have felt safe.
But Eli's chest tightened, because he remembered.
Yesterday, those same streets had been drowning in fire. He'd seen soldiers clashing with rioters, buildings torn apart by bombs, bodies in the gutter. He'd seen his friend Daniel's face — pale, bloodied, lifeless. He'd seen his own hand trembling as he dragged himself through the rubble.
Yet now… not a trace.
The walls stood unbroken, painted fresh white. The air smelled of bread and morning dew, not smoke and ash. The people laughed like none of it had ever happened.
Eli staggered out of bed and pressed his palm to the window, his reflection staring back at him. No bruises. No cuts. His shirt — the same one he'd torn and stained with soot — was spotless.
He whispered, "What the hell is happening to me?"
When he went downstairs, his mother was humming while serving breakfast. She smiled at him like she hadn't watched him stumble home in tears the night before."Eat before it gets cold," she said warmly.
Eli froze. "Mom… yesterday. Don't you remember?"
She tilted her head, puzzled. "Remember what?"
"The fire. The riots. The soldiers—"
Her smile didn't falter, but her eyes carried only confusion. "Eli, are you still dreaming?" She laughed softly. "You and that imagination of yours."
He felt sick.
The city hadn't healed. It had been rewound. Like someone had pressed a reset button while he was asleep.
That night, Eli refused to sleep. He sat on his bed, heart racing, staring at the clock as it ticked toward midnight.
11:59.
The city outside was silent. No laughter. No footsteps. Not even the hum of cicadas. The silence was so deep it pressed against his ears.
Then —
Midnight.
Eli's eyes widened.
The lamplight outside flickered. A ripple passed over the street, like glass being wiped clean. Cracks in the pavement sealed shut. A broken window across the road knitted itself whole. Even the wilted flowers in the neighbor's yard stood upright, blooming again.
The entire world was resetting.
And on the rooftops, for just a moment, he saw them.Figures tall and thin, draped in shifting shadows — their faces hollow, their eyes like pits of starlight.
They watched the city as it rewound, silent, patient.
Eli's breath caught in his throat. His body screamed at him not to move.
One of the shadowed heads turned. Slowly. Toward him.
Its eyeless gaze met his.
Eli's heart stopped.
The clock struck 12:01, and the figure vanished.
But Eli knew, as cold sweat drenched his body:He wasn't dreaming.He wasn't insane.
He was the only one who remembered.