Salem's vision was swallowed by darkness. The fractured sky, shattered like cracked glass, reflected infinite shards of himself—every version he had been, could be, or might never become. He felt the weight of countless possibilities pressing down on him, a kaleidoscope of echoes and fractured moments vibrating in his chest.
A cold hand—not human, not entirely mechanical—grasped his shoulder. He spun around, expecting some nightmare figure, but found nothing. The air hummed, thick with static, buzzing like the pulse of a failing machine.
"Salem… do you feel that?"
The voice was familiar yet wrong. Somewhere between the Watch's teasing timbre and the Writer's sharp sarcasm. It came from everywhere and nowhere, a vibration inside his skull.
"Who's there?" Salem demanded, his voice trembling, though he tried to sound defiant.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is… you're about to meet yourself."
Before he could react, the fractured hand that had touched him reappeared, but now it hovered in front of his face, glowing faintly with golden veins, like a circuit of molten light. Its fingers twitched, beckoning. Salem knew instinctively: reaching for it could mean entering something irreversible.
His heart pounded. "I… I don't even know if I should—"
"Do it. Or don't. But know that indecision is a choice, too."
Salem's hand shook as he reached toward the glowing limb. The moment his fingertips brushed it, a jolt shot through him like a lightning strike. Time splintered again—this time not just around him, but inside him. Memories of yesterday, of skipped days, of conversations he barely remembered, collided with moments yet to come.
He screamed. Or perhaps it was laughter. It was impossible to tell anymore.
The world twisted, folding in on itself. He found himself standing in a long hallway lined with mirrors. Every reflection showed a different Salem: one laughing, one crying, one scarred and bleeding, another smiling knowingly. The hand floated in the center of the hall, glowing brighter with each heartbeat.
"You've never been ready," the voice murmured.
Salem shook his head. "I don't care! I'll deal with it anyway!"
The mirrors began to warp, stretching reality like taffy. A figure stepped out of one of them—older, taller, eyes cold and piercing. It was him, but not him. A version of Salem who had seen too much, done too much, and forgotten even more.
"Don't trust them," this older self said, voice low and gravelly. "Everything you've been told… it's a setup. Every skip, every glitch, every laugh—scripted to make you fragile. To make you predictable."
Salem froze. "You… are me?"
"Not exactly. I'm a possibility. A warning. And soon… you'll see why you need both."
Before he could ask anything else, the golden hand slammed into the center of the hallway. The mirrors shattered, spraying shards like starlight. The older Salem vanished, leaving only a whisper:
"Remember… choices matter, even when they don't."
The hallway crumbled, and Salem fell through another layer of fractured time. He landed on a platform floating in nothingness, a void where clock faces rotated endlessly, spinning backward and forward simultaneously. A carousel hung in the distance, skeletal horses dangling from fractured chains, the Ferris wheel's echo still visible in the folds of the void.
"Nice landing," the voice of the Watch said, materializing beside him. "I see you've met the hand. Enjoy it while it lasts."
Salem looked at the Watch, its gears spinning wildly. "What is this place? Why does it feel like I'm everywhere at once?"
"Because you are. Every step you've taken, every path you didn't, every choice unmade—it's all here. And now… you get to play with them."
The hand reappeared, floating above a glowing pool of liquid time. Ripples spread across it, showing fleeting images: his childhood, skipped days, people he barely remembered, moments from years he hadn't even lived yet.
"You can't resist. You know you'll touch it."
Salem swallowed hard. "I… I have to know."
"Of course. That's the fun part."
He reached for the pool—and instantly the world flipped. He was in a room filled with filing cabinets, stacked to the ceiling, each drawer labeled with names, dates, and events he didn't recognize. Paper rustled on its own, flipping open to reveal drafts of realities that hadn't been written yet.
A single drawer glowed golden. He opened it and froze. Inside lay a photograph: himself, holding a baby—his own child. But the child's eyes mirrored his own, older, knowing, terrifying. Salem's heart skipped.
"You see now?" the Watch said, voice calm but dripping with amusement. "Time is… complicated. And your role in it? Even more so."
Salem backed away. "This… this can't be real!"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is that it could be. Or will be. Or was. Choose wisely, Salem."
Suddenly, the golden hand shot out, grabbing the photograph. The image blurred, twisted, and a single line appeared across the void:
"One wrong move… and even you won't survive your own timeline."
Salem's chest tightened. He looked at the hand, the pool, the Ferris wheel echoing in the distance, and the infinite possibilities collapsing around him. A laugh bubbled from somewhere deep in his throat, nervous, uncertain, but unmistakably his.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's do this."
The hand recoiled, almost as if respecting his courage. The Watch's gears spun faster. The void shivered like liquid glass. And then—a flash, blinding and white—engulfed him.
When Salem opened his eyes, he wasn't sure where he was. Or when.
But one thing was certain: the hand had followed him.
And a voice, colder and more commanding than ever before, whispered directly into his mind:
"Welcome to the next choice, Salem. And this… you will not like."
The fractured sky above him pulsed. The carousel groaned in the distance. And the pool of liquid time shimmered, reflecting countless possible deaths, betrayals, and betrayals of himself.
Salem's fingers clenched into fists. He took a deep breath. And then—
The void cracked.
The world tilted.
And the golden hand lunged again.
Salem's scream echoed across every timeline, but the hand was faster. Faster than thought. Faster than fear. Faster than him.