Rome felt too normal.
That was the most disturbing part.
The sky was clean, without wounds. The afternoon sun brushed the old stone walls in warm gold. Tourists took photos, couples laughed, the sound of shoes striking cobblestone beating in steady rhythm.
The world did not know it had already died.
Luca stood at the edge of the street near his apartment, staring at his phone screen for the hundredth time.
The date had not changed.
Three years before the destruction.
He pinched his arm. The pain was real. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the smallest details from the night the sky split, the smell of smoke, the sound of bones vibrating, the word carved into his mind.
Witness.
It wasn't a dream.
He couldn't have invented that kind of fear.
His breathing slowed gradually. If this was real, if he had truly returned, then he possessed something no one else in the world did.
Memories of the future.
Three years was not a short time.
But three years was not long enough to fight the end of the world.
He walked without a clear destination, following only a faint instinct. His feet carried him through familiar streets, past the café where he used to sit, past the small bookstore whose owner always greeted him with a lazy smile.
Everything was still intact.
No fractures yet.
No blood.
Luca stopped in front of the glass display of an electronics shop. He studied his reflection.
The same face.
The same eyes.
But something had changed.
His gaze was no longer empty like that of a twenty-four-year-old uncertain about his future. There was something new there. Tension. Alertness.
He remembered the first detail.
The initial fracture.
Not the massive one above the Colosseum.
That wasn't the first.
There had been something smaller.
Quieter.
A month before the global destruction, news about strange phenomena began surfacing on the outskirts of the city, CCTV recordings showing shadows moving on their own, reports of electromagnetic disturbances, animals found dead without wounds.
He had ignored it.
Everyone had.
Because the world always treats strange things as coincidence.
Luca turned west.
The location surfaced clearly in his mind.
An old warehouse near the Tiber River.
The first fracture he knew of.
He didn't know how he knew.
But the memory felt sharper than the others.
As if something inside him wanted him to go there.
His feet began to move.
The walk took nearly an hour. The sun slowly sank, the sky shifting into a soft purple gradient.
Rome looked beautiful.
Too beautiful to die.
Luca followed the riverbank. The water flowed gently, reflecting streetlights flickering on one by one.
The warehouse stood alone at the end of a narrow road. An old building with peeling paint and a rusted metal door.
A place no one would notice.
Yet his heart beat faster as he approached.
The air around the building felt different.
Heavier.
Colder.
He stopped a few meters from the door.
Silence.
No traffic sounds here. No birds.
Only a faint hiss, almost inaudible, like static.
Luca swallowed.
If this was real…
Then he hadn't just returned.
He had returned with a purpose.
He pushed the metal door.
The hinges groaned.
Inside was dark, lit only by the fading daylight slipping through cracks in the walls. The smell of dust and old iron filled the air.
He stepped inside.
His footsteps echoed.
The deeper he moved toward the center of the warehouse, the stronger the sensation became—a pressure at his temples, as if a small pulse synchronized with his heartbeat.
At the center of the warehouse, just above cracked concrete flooring, the air looked… blurred.
Like heat rising from asphalt.
Luca stopped.
A thin mist swirled slowly at that point.
He approached cautiously.
When he was two meters away, a hissing sound echoed, not from outside. From inside his head.
Images flashed through his mind, Rome's streets burning, winged shadows descending from the sky, the Colosseum collapsing.
He staggered.
A small crack opened in the air.
Not as large as the one he had seen three years later.
Only the length of an arm.
But enough to make the world feel wrong.
The rift glowed faint blue. Its edges splintered like thin glass.
Luca held his breath.
Inside the crack, something pulsed.
Not a creature.
Not a shadow.
A shard.
A small object the size of a palm, floating gently, like a fragment of crystal reflecting invisible light.
Fragment.
He didn't know how he knew the name.
The word simply appeared.
A fragment of time.
He stepped closer.
The pain in his temples intensified.
Images flickered, possible futures, versions of himself standing in different places, cities burning in slightly different variations.
His hand trembled as he reached out.
His fingertips touched the fragment's surface.
Cold.
An instant later.
The world stopped.
All sound vanished.
Dust in the air froze.
The river outside ceased flowing.
Luca stood in absolute silence.
The fragment merged into his skin like light soaking inward.
Pain pierced through his skull.
He saw himself standing a few steps ahead.
That version of himself stared back without expression.
"You're late," the other version said.
The voice was the same.
But older.
Luca tried to speak, but no sound came out.
The other version raised a hand.
In an instant, the warehouse burned in a flash of vision, then snapped back to normal.
"You can't stop it," the other whispered.
The small crack trembled.
Time resumed.
Luca fell to his knees.
His breath came ragged. His temple felt wet. He touched it and saw blood on his fingertips.
The fragment was gone.
The crack in the air slowly sealed, like a wound forced to heal.
The warehouse returned to silence.
But something had changed.
He felt a new pulse inside his chest.
Not his heartbeat.
More like an echo.
Luca rose unsteadily.
He looked at his hand.
For a fraction of a second...
He saw a future shadow surrounding him. The warehouse collapsing. The river flooding. A winged figure standing above him.
Then everything returned to normal.
He exhaled slowly.
He succeeded.
He took the fragment before anyone else.
Before the mysterious organization.
Before the world knew.
Yet the feeling of victory did not come.
Instead, there was the sensation of being watched.
He turned toward the warehouse door.
Darkness.
No one there.
But instinct whispered that he was not alone in this game.
He stepped outside into the night air.
Rome's sky remained whole.
No fracture lines yet.
No creatures descending.
Three years.
He had three years.
But now he also had something no one else possessed.
Power.
And a price he did not yet understand.
Blood trickled lightly from his temple.
He wiped it with the back of his hand and gave a faint smile.
He would not be a witness again.
He would gather the fragments before anyone else knew they existed.
He would study the pattern of the fractures.
And if necessary....
He would allow certain things to happen for a greater purpose.
The river wind blew softly.
In the distance, church bells rang.
Luca stared at the peaceful sky.
How many futures had just changed because of one small touch?
And if time had awareness—
Had he just made himself a target?