The world cracked apart.

A deafening rupture split through the air, and for a moment, everything—time, space, even thought—seemed to fragment. The bookstore twisted in on itself, its walls folding and stretching like something caught between two opposing realities. Shelves collapsed, books spiraled into the air, their pages flipping wildly, as if searching for a future that no longer existed. Shadows slithered across the wooden floor, unraveling into nothingness.

Elias dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. The pocket watch in his hands trembled, its ticking accelerating into a frantic, erratic pulse. Across from him, the man—the same one from his visions—stood unmoving, his face calm, unaffected by the chaos tearing through reality. Behind him, Mr. Alder struggled to stay upright, gripping a broken shelf for balance.

"You have to decide," Alder shouted, his voice barely audible over the collapsing world around them.

Elias clutched the watch tighter. "Decide what?"

The man took a step forward, his form flickering like a distorted reflection in water. "You already know."

The air thickened, pressing down on Elias, suffocating. His pulse roared in his ears, but beneath the fear, beneath the unraveling of the world itself, a cold realization settled in. He had seen this moment before.

Not just the fire. Not just the market. All of it. The strange echoes of time. The moments out of place. He had been trying so hard to change what he thought was a disaster that he never stopped to ask the one question that truly mattered.

What if the fire was never meant to be prevented?

His vision blurred, and suddenly, he saw everything with terrifying clarity.

The flames would consume the old market, but in its place, something new—something stronger—would rise. The destruction would force Ashmere to rebuild, leading to changes that would fortify the town for years to come. But if he stopped it, if he altered time’s course, the balance would demand repayment. The catastrophe would shift elsewhere. It would grow. It would consume more than just the market.

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If he stopped the fire, the entire town would fall.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts. He turned back to the man, the one who had haunted his dreams and visions.

"Who are you?" His voice was barely a whisper.

The man tilted his head slightly, watching him. "A reminder."

Elias swallowed. The answer was there, hanging in the air between them, waiting for him to reach for it.

"You’re me," he murmured, the words barely leaving his lips.

The man didn’t answer. But in the way he stood, in the weight of his gaze, Elias knew.

The walls of the bookstore groaned, the entire building threatening to collapse under the strain of the paradox. The very fabric of time was unraveling, rejecting the contradiction of his existence.

Elias gritted his teeth. The choice was clear now.

He exhaled, his grip on the watch loosening.

And then—he let go.

The moment the watch slipped from his fingers, everything snapped back into place. The air rippled, bending, compressing, folding in on itself. The bookstore shuddered one last time before settling, the shelves straightening, the books returning to their places as if nothing had happened. The man—his future self—stood still for a fraction of a second longer. And then he was gone.

Elias gasped as his eyes flew open.

Morning light streamed through his curtains, bathing his room in golden warmth. The sounds of the town drifted in from outside—the murmur of voices, the clatter of carts, the steady ringing of the clock tower’s bell. He sat up, chest heaving, his hands trembling against the bedsheets.

Had it all been a dream?

No. He remembered. The fire had happened. The market had burned. The town would rebuild.

And the ticking had stopped.

For the first time in weeks, his mind was silent. No flashes of the future. No whispers of what was to come. Time had been restored. The weight of knowledge settled in his chest, both liberating and heavy. He had spent so long trying to fight destiny, only to realize that some things were inevitable. Some things needed to happen.

That evening, as he passed by the bookstore, something caught his eye.

In the display window, beneath the soft glow of a lantern, sat the pocket watch.

Unbroken. Whole.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

And just as he turned to leave, he heard it.

A single, deliberate tick.