Naethan stumbled through the dirt. His vision blurred, just like his memory of the moment everything fell apart. Suddenly... the crystal had begun to vibrate, and he had no idea what to do. So he pulled it from his pocket—and then it happened: it shattered in his hand.

A strange magic spilled forth—alien and inexplicable—and every piece of glass in the vicinity burst in a single, deafening moment. His glasses. The windows of the alley he was now staggering through. Everything shattered.

And then... something, an energy or whatever it was, coursed through his body. Like lightning carving its way through wet wood into the earth.

Then—nothing. Complete silence. It was as if time itself had stopped.

Odd. Usually, the sounds of the main street reached him here, yet now... nothing. Absolutely nothing. With trembling hands, he groped his way forward, making his way to the street—toward where the sounds had vanished.

That’s when he saw it. Blurred, yes, but the shadowy silhouettes of people were unmistakable—they stood motionless, as if they had forgotten how to move.

And then, suddenly, the deafening noise returned. The people moved—but far too fast, as though time had stopped for a moment only to now catch up all at once.

The cacophony rang in his ears, unbearably loud. He pressed his hands over them, desperately trying to block out the noise, until time resumed its usual pace.

Yet something was wrong. Deep inside, he felt a pull, a tug, as if energy was being drained from his body. A paralyzing fatigue overtook him so suddenly it stole his breath—as though he had traversed the entire city in a single step.

It felt almost like mana depletion, that dreaded phenomenon magicians describe when they are completely exhausted. But that didn’t make sense—he wasn’t a magician. He hadn’t cast a spell.

Unless... He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. Unless that crystal had done something to him. Had it drawn the energy from within him, from his mana core? But why? For what purpose?

His gaze darted to the shards now lying in the dirt like worthless glass. Had that thing... manipulated time? His hands trembled. He had seen the people frozen in place—as if time itself had paused, only to then resume at a frantic pace. And yet... only he had been unaffected. Only he had been able to move. Why?

“Carefully, Naethan,” Master Alaric had said. “You mustn’t damage it. Do you understand? Not a single scratch!” But now... the shards told a different story.

But it wasn’t his fault! The cursed crystal had started vibrating on its own! What else could he have done? There was nothing he could have done differently.

The mana depletion grew worse, and with every passing minute, it seemed to relentlessly drain mana from his body, like an invisible current slowly wearing him down.

Damn it! He needed mana—and quickly. Otherwise, he’d lose consciousness. Or worse... die.

From his wallet, he pulled a small, gray stone—a mana shard. These stones were not only used as currency among magicians but also by common folk. They contained a small amount of stored mana and were exclusively crafted by magicians.

He knew it was possible to absorb the mana to nourish his mana core, but he had no idea how. Desperately, he tried everything. Closing his eyes, he focused on the stone, trying to sense it—but nothing. Nothing but the steady ticking of time in his mind.

Minutes passed. He didn’t have much longer. Straining, he pressed on the stone, as if trying to squeeze the mana out, but nothing, absolutely nothing, happened. Desperation clawed at him. The pull grew stronger, the exhaustion deeper. His body felt heavier, his consciousness flickering on the edge of darkness. And then...

...he was back. Exactly at the moment he had taken the crystal from his pocket, or so he assumed, because he was once again in the alley, and the stone was intact. His fingers closed around it again—but this time, something was different.

The stone didn’t stir. No pulsating, no faint vibrations. Instead, it lay still in his hand, too still.

Naethan examined it more closely, remembering the pale green shimmer it had previously held. Now, however, it appeared gray, almost lifeless, as though an inner light had been extinguished. What did that mean? The stone seemed dead, and yet... something was different. Naethan could feel it deep in his bones.

It was as though an invisible thread was being pulled from him, endlessly, and although the pull was weaker now, Naethan knew it was only a matter of time before he stood before the abyss once more.

What if the stone wasn’t just gray? What if it had... lost its magic? And what would that mean for him? Was it possible to sever this strange connection before it completely drained him?

He couldn’t simply wait for the next time. It would be worse. Maybe... maybe he could figure out how the stone worked. Or he’d have to seek out Master Alaric—even if it meant explaining how the crystal had been destroyed.

He walked through the alley to the street, looking around. Everything seemed normal. The people, the houses, the sounds of the city. No shattered windows, no frozen silhouettes. Even his glasses were intact. Naethan took them off, turning them in his hands to be sure. The fine crack they had gotten days ago was still there. It was as if nothing had happened.

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What should he do now? Seek out Master Alaric, or head to the academy, where the stone was originally supposed to be studied? The academy was closer, but that also meant he would have to move faster than the pull. Perhaps he should replenish his mana first.

Once again, he pulled a mana shard from his pocket, turning it in his hands. If only he could absorb its mana. Desperation crawled up his spine. How could he accomplish something so difficult? He thought hard. Maybe there was a magician in the city who could help him.

He looked around frantically, then addressed the first man he saw. “Excuse me!” Naethan gasped, grabbing the man’s arm. The man recoiled, looking at him suspiciously. “I... I’m looking for a magician. Please, do you know where I can find one?” The man blinked, furrowing his brow as if trying to understand what Naethan wanted.

“A magician?” he asked hesitantly.

Naethan nodded hastily. “Yes, please, quickly.”

The man glanced around briefly, as if seeking orientation. Then he pointed in a direction and began to explain something. But Naethan barely listened—the pull was unbearable. His knees felt wobbly, his vision blurred. He knew his strength was failing, he could feel it. He had to hurry—or it would all end before he could find help.

As the end came and his consciousness faded once more, Naethan knew where he would return. It was like a cold, familiar shiver passing through him—and then he was back there.

Exactly at the moment he had taken the crystal from his pocket. Once again, it was intact. No cracks, no pulsations. The stone lay quietly in his hand, too quietly, and Naethan knew: This was the third loop. And perhaps his last chance to change something. Surely it couldn’t go on like this forever, could it?

Before he could dwell on it, he started moving. He ran, his heart pounding in his chest, his thoughts racing. This time, he couldn’t make a mistake. The man had shown him the way to a magician, and Naethan knew he had to get there before the pull overwhelmed him. The direction was clear, and so was the goal—but time, time was still working against him.

The people, the alley, everything was the same. Yet the subtle differences Naethan noticed only heightened his sense of urgency. He had to make it. He couldn’t fail again.

When he reached the crossroads, Naethan stopped, panting. Everything looked exactly as before—but this time, he hesitated not a second. “Excuse me!” he called, grabbing a woman’s arm. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she responded faster than the man last time, though still agonizingly slow. She pointed in a direction, and Naethan felt the pull within him grow stronger, faster than before. He sprinted off. He couldn’t afford to lose a second.

He had etched the image of the house the woman described deep into his mind. Right nearby. This time, he wouldn’t waste time. No more questions, no hesitation. This time, he’d find the magician before the loop overtook him again.

When he reached the magician’s house, Naethan knocked on the heavy door. Over and over, until his knuckles ached. Come on, he urged silently, open up! But the door remained shut, as if mocking him.

He peered through the window, his eyes darting over the many items in the room—vials, books, strange apparatuses that defied description. The room was cluttered with all sorts of things, but deserted. No sign of the magician. Despair crawled up his spine, and Naethan felt the pull within him grow stronger. He didn’t have much time left.

Cursing, he turned away and ran back onto the street. He grabbed the first person he saw, an older man, and asked if he knew where the magician was. But the man only shook his head, looking confused. Naethan clenched his fists, frustration mounting, and he felt time slipping away. Yet in the last moment, he saw out of the corner of his eye a boy watching him curiously. Maybe... maybe he knew something?

Quickly, he sprinted to the boy, his legs buckling beneath him as he fell into the dirt, his glasses breaking on the ground.

“Please,” he said to the boy. “Where is the magician?”

The boy responded, and Naethan lost consciousness.

Once again, he found himself in the alley. His breath came in gasps, his legs felt heavy. The pull had caught up with him again, and this time it took him longer to stand up. He gritted his teeth, forcing his aching legs to move. This time, he knew exactly where he had to run. The Krimsburg Street was directly across the alley, and Naethan took off running before he was fully back in reality. He couldn’t hesitate.

The first doors remained shut. He knocked, shouted, pleaded for the magician, but no one knew anything. Yet Naethan didn’t give up. He knocked on door after door until finally, a woman opened. Her face was anxious, her eyes wide as if she were expecting something. ‘The magician,’ Naethan called breathlessly, ‘is he here?’

The woman nodded, her lips forming a word, but before Naethan could grasp it, he felt the pull, stronger than ever. His body was yanked away from him, and once again he found himself in the alley.

Naethan cursed, his hands clenching into fists. How many more times? How many more times would he have to live through this loop? He felt the crystal heavy in his pocket, as if mocking him. This time, he had to succeed. If he didn’t reach the magician before the pull caught him again, it might be the end. He couldn’t afford another failure.

This time, he was faster. When he reached the woman’s house and knocked, he didn’t waste a second when the door opened. He stormed past the woman, who stared at him, perplexed, without a word of explanation. His eyes darted frantically through the rooms, his steps echoing on the wooden floor. Where? Where was the magician? He flung open doors, ran up and down stairs, but the house was too large. His heart pounded, time pressed, and the pull already tugged at him, as if trying to rob him of his breath.

Cursing, Naethan stopped. His gaze fell on the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway—the cellar. That had to be it. He ran down the creaking steps, the darkness nearly swallowing him, but then he saw a figure. The magician stood there, his youthful face tense as he studied a broken vase.

‘You’re the magician, right?’ Naethan called, his voice echoing in the small room. The magician lifted his head, his eyes widening in surprise. No time. No time.

‘How?!’ Naethan yelled, his voice almost panicked. ‘How can I absorb the magic from a mana shard? It’s life and death!’

The magician stared at Naethan for a long moment, as if trying to understand his intentions. The pull was already tugging at Naethan, and he knew he didn’t have much time left. Finally, the magician nodded. ‘Alright,’ he said, his voice calm and reassuring, and for a moment, Naethan’s racing heart slowed. ‘I’ll tell you.’

The magician stepped closer, his eyes fixed firmly on Naethan. ‘You need to stay calm,’ he said, his voice firm and authoritative. ‘Go deep inside yourself. The mana shard is like a mirror of your soul. You need to feel it, not grab it. Let the mana flow as if it’s a part of yourself.’

Naethan gasped, the pull growing stronger, but the magician’s words reached him. Stay calm. Feel the mana. He closed his eyes, trying to sense the shard in his pocket. It was like reaching for something invisible, something that kept slipping away. But then—a hint of warmth, a pulse, barely perceptible.

The pull relentlessly continued, but Naethan held on, trying again as his world began to blur. He had to succeed—now, before everything reset again. Just a little more, and he’d have it. Just a little more.

The pull was faster. He found himself back in the alley. ‘Damn it!’ he thought. But this time was different. This time, he knew how.