The world settled with an almost imperceptible sigh, as though reality itself had been holding its breath. I opened my eyes to find myself back in the same room, the device in my hand cool and lifeless. Everything looked the same: the cluttered desk, the scattered blueprints, the faint scent of solder in the air. But something felt... off.

  I scanned the room, heart hammering. This was supposed to be the original timeline, the place where it all began. Yet, the details didn’t quite match my memory. The lamp on the desk was a different color. The calendar on the wall displayed a different year: 2021, not 2023. I felt a cold wave of dread wash over me.

  The device in my hand flickered, its screen glowing faintly. I tapped it, and a string of error messages scrolled across the display:

  Warning: Temporal fractures detected. Multiple timelines converging. Stability compromised.

  “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”

  I had been so certain that resetting everything would fix the chaos I’d unleashed. Instead, I had made things worse. The fractures weren’t just cracks in time; they were cracks in me, in the very fabric of who I was. Memories overlapped and collided, each one fighting for dominance. I remembered graduating in 2023 and also dropping out in 2021. I remembered Maria’s laughter but also her funeral. It was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, the details slipping through my fingers.

  The sound of footsteps shattered my spiraling thoughts. I turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. Her face was achingly familiar, yet I couldn’t place her. She looked at me with a mixture of relief and confusion.

  “Rohan?” she said, her voice trembling.

  I stared at her, the name Maria hovering on the edge of my tongue. But it didn’t feel right. In this timeline, who was she? A friend? A stranger? A ghost from a life I barely remembered?

  “Yes,” I said finally, my voice barely audible. “Do I... know you?”

  Her face fell, and for a moment, she looked as though she might cry. “It’s me. Emily. Don’t you remember?”

  Emily. The name sparked something deep within me, a flicker of recognition. But it was buried under layers of conflicting memories. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Everything’s... a mess.”

  She stepped closer, her expression softening. “You’ve been working on this thing for months,” she said, gesturing to the device. “You said it could change everything, but... it’s changing you instead. You’re not the same person anymore.”

  Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wasn’t the same person. How could I be? I had fractured myself across countless timelines, each one a version of me trying to undo the mistakes of the last.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Help me,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Emily hesitated, then nodded. “Let’s start with what you remember. The real you. The real timeline.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to focus. Images swirled in my mind, each one vying for attention. The original timeline felt like a distant dream, something I could almost touch but never grasp.

  “I... I think it started with Maria,” I said finally. “She died. And I tried to save her.”

  Emily’s face softened, and she placed a hand on my shoulder. “You always said you’d do anything for her.”

  “But I didn’t save her,” I said bitterly. “I just created more chaos. More pain.”

  Emily’s grip tightened. “Then we’ll fix it. Together.”

  Over the next few hours, we pieced together what little we could. Emily’s knowledge of my project filled in some of the gaps, but even she admitted that the device’s mechanics were beyond her understanding. It had been my obsession, my life’s work. And now, it was my undoing.

  The device’s logs were corrupted, the data fragmented. But one entry stood out:

  Primary Anchor: June 10, 2020.

  “What does that mean?” Emily asked, leaning over my shoulder.

  “It’s a reference point,” I explained. “The moment in time that everything is tethered to. If I can return to that anchor, I might be able to stabilize the timeline.”

  “Might?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

  I sighed. “There’s no guarantee. But it’s the best chance we have.”

  Emily nodded, her determination matching my own. “Then let’s do it.”

  The jump to the anchor point was unlike anything I’d experienced before. The device hummed with a low, resonant frequency, the vibrations traveling through my body. Emily held my hand, her grip grounding me as the world around us dissolved into a kaleidoscope of light and sound.

  When the world reformed, we were standing in my old workshop. The calendar on the wall confirmed it: June 10, 2020. The air was thick with the smell of soldering metal, and the desk was cluttered with blueprints and tools. It was exactly as I remembered.

  But something was wrong.

  A figure stood in the center of the room, hunched over the desk. It was me — or rather, a version of me. He looked up, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice laced with suspicion.

  “I’m you,” I said, stepping forward. “From the future.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

  I hesitated, then held up the device. “You’ll build this in two years. It’ll work. But it’ll also destroy everything.”

  His gaze shifted between me and the device, doubt etched into his features. “Why are you here?”

  “To stop you,” I said. “To stop us.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve worked too hard on this. You can’t expect me to just give it up.”

  Emily stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You don’t understand what’s at stake. This device... it’s tearing time apart. You have to let it go.”

  The younger me hesitated, his resolve wavering. But then his expression hardened. “No. I won’t. I can’t.”

  Desperation surged through me. “If you don’t stop, you’ll lose everything. Maria. Your family. Yourself. Is that what you want?”

  His face paled at the mention of Maria’s name. For a moment, I thought he might listen. But then he lunged for the device, his movements fueled by a mix of fear and determination.

  Emily screamed as we grappled, the device slipping from my grasp. It hit the ground with a sickening crack, sparks flying as it malfunctioned. The world around us began to distort, the air shimmering like a heatwave.

  “What’s happening?” Emily cried, her voice barely audible over the rising hum.

  “The device is destabilizing,” I said, panic gripping me. “We have to stop it!”

  But it was too late. The room dissolved into chaos, the fractures in time consuming everything in their path. And then, there was nothing but darkness.