Interlude: The Reflection That Bled
Lucas stood frozen in the hallway, chest heaving as the warm yellow glow of the lights flickered overhead. Eira was there, standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him—her face tender, confused.
But behind her…
A second Eira.Half-shrouded in shadow.Eyes hollow.Blood dripping slowly from her mouth, down her chin, staining the collar of her pale school uniform. Her lips were curled back in a snarl, her gaze locked directly onto him.
"Lucas?" the Eira in front called softly.
His knees buckled.
The hallway around him twisted—like a wrung-out photograph folding in on itself—and suddenly, there was only blackness.
Reality (or Something Like It)
He gasped awake.
Lucas's eyes flung open, and his hand instinctively reached for the side of his bed. Sheets. Familiar. Rough texture. The fan overhead spun in lazy circles. Sunlight seeped in through the curtains, cutting pale lines across the wall.
Was it morning?
He shot upright. No blood. No other Eira. Just silence.
But something was... off.
His room was too clean. The old crack in the ceiling was gone. His schoolbag, usually lying limp by the door, now hung neatly on the chair.
His gut twisted.
He stood, slowly, and stepped toward the mirror. His reflection stared back—but it felt sluggish, delayed by a blink too long. His fingers trembled as he reached for the handle of the door, steeling himself.
Downstairs, the smell of toast.
He followed the sound into the kitchen—and froze.
"Good morning," Eira said, seated casually at the table, sipping from a mug.
Alive. Unharmed. Smiling.
She was wearing a cream hoodie. The same hoodie she'd worn before… but newer. Brighter.
"I—" Lucas's voice cracked. "You're here?"
"Uh… yeah?" she tilted her head, amused. "Didn't expect me to vanish overnight, did you?"
He stared. She was… perfect. But something deep inside him recoiled.
"What day is it?" he whispered.
"Thursday. The 14th."
His lips moved, mouthing the date again. That wasn't right. That was three days before the explosion.
Had he… gone back again?
"Lucas, are you okay?"
He nodded too fast, forcing a smile. "Just… didn't sleep well."
The School That Shouldn't Exist
The school building was the same.
Yet it wasn't.
Lucas walked its halls in a daze, every poster, every student's face, just slightly wrong. He recognized people—except when he didn't. Class schedules had changed. A subject he had never chosen appeared on his timetable.
But the worst part?
No one remembered the explosion. No one remembered the old clock tower being destroyed.
Because, here, it had never happened.
The tower still stood at the far end of the campus, proud and ancient, its ticking audible if you stood still enough. He did that. For hours. Listening.
But he never heard it tick in sync.
Notes from Nowhere
He tried to act normal. Laugh. Smile. Fit in.
But sleep was impossible.
At night, when the wind howled against his window, he heard whispers. Not voices—his voice. From places that didn't exist. Fractured memories. Half-sentences. Screams swallowed by time.
He began journaling everything—dates, names, minor changes. A strange pattern emerged: people started behaving differently based on what he remembered, not what had occurred.
He tested it.
He remembered a conversation with a teacher about Newton's laws—one that never happened. The next day, the teacher referenced it.
He had bled into the timeline.
Reality was no longer fixed. It was… leaking.
Eira's Disappearing Eyes
It happened again on Tuesday.
They were walking back home together. Eira was talking about a movie she liked, and he was trying hard to stay present.
Then, mid-step, she froze.
Her body twitched. Eyes rolling.
"Eira?"
She stared forward, eyes blank. A single line of blood dripped from her nose.
Then it was gone.
Like someone pressed undo on reality.
She smiled again, continuing her sentence like nothing had happened.
Lucas didn't say a word.
The Warning That Shouldn't Be
In the library, while searching for books on temporal theory, Lucas found something that shouldn't have existed.
A folder. Thin. Titled in red marker:
"PROPERTY OF L.VIREL – 6TH LOOP"
His blood ran cold. He looked around—no one watching. With trembling hands, he opened it.
Inside were torn journal entries. Dates he didn't recognize. Drawings of clocks melting into ink. Scribbled notes in his own handwriting:
"She dies in Loop 5. Don't trust the version on the stairs."
"The reflection isn't broken. It's waiting."
"Whatever you do, DON'T follow the blood next time."
"Time isn't a line. It's a trap."
A final line was underlined four times:
"You are not alone. But that's not a good thing."
Lucas stumbled back, heart pounding.
He had been here before.
The Clock Bleeds Again
That night, he dreamed of the tower.
But this time, it wasn't exploding. It was… crying.
Dark blood poured from its gears, seeping down the bricks like oil. At its top stood the bloodied version of Eira—smiling. Her mouth opened, and from it, came a thousand ticking clocks.
He screamed.
And woke up at the foot of the real tower.
Soaked in rain. Knees scraped.
He had walked here in his sleep.
Or… someone had walked him.
Ending: A Mirror Without a Face
The next morning, Lucas skipped school. He wandered the city, trying to find anything that could ground him.
He stopped at a newsstand, eyes scanning the headlines. But one article caught his breath:
"Clock Tower Restored After Decade of Ruin."
The date on the paper? Ten years ahead.
The photo?
He was in it.Older.Standing beside a woman who looked like Eira—but with eyes that weren't hers.
He dropped the paper and ran.
TO BE CONTINUED...