The Altered Past
---
Rain slicked the cobblestones under my boots, turning the street into a mirror for a city that wasn't right.
It was subtle at first — a storefront sign written in a language I didn't know, a bridge where I remembered a plaza, buildings that looked like they'd been plucked from different towns and dropped here without permission. But the longer I looked, the more wrong it became.
A single street might have four different styles of architecture, as if each building had been constructed in a different century. Doorways sat too high or too low. Windows opened into brick walls.
And the people… gods, the people.
They moved with the half-awareness of sleepwalkers, their shapes shifting in my peripheral vision. One second a man passed me with a limp and a straw hat — the next, he was taller, his gait smooth, his hat gone. Every blink seemed to pull a thread loose from the world's fabric.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," I muttered.
"It's exactly what happens when you force a change," the woman said beside me. Her coat was soaked, but she didn't seem to care. "Reality doesn't erase the old version cleanly. It bleeds into the new one until the seams give way."
I looked at her sharply. "You knew this would happen?"
She met my gaze without flinching. "I knew there would be consequences. You're the one who wrote over the page."
The ink on my arm throbbed, heat radiating up toward my shoulder. I pulled my sleeve down to hide it. "Then fix it. If you brought me here, you can undo it, right?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You don't undo a rewrite. You either reinforce it until the old version fades… or you let the page tear and watch both versions collapse."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. "And if it collapses?"
She didn't answer — which was worse than anything she could have said.
Before I could press her, a voice rang out from behind us.
"Kael?"
I froze.
Slowly, I turned toward the sound.
A man stood there, his clothes simple, his hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. He looked about my age. His face was familiar in a way that made my chest tighten — I knew him, though I couldn't place from where.
But the look in his eyes… it wasn't the dull, shifting stare of the other passersby. It was sharp. Certain.
He knew me.
And worse — there was recognition in the way he said my name that belonged to both worlds.
The Man Who Remembers
---
The man's voice carried over the rain like a thread pulled tight.
"Kael… it really is you."
I took a slow step back without meaning to. My mind raced. How could he possibly know me? And from both worlds? That wasn't supposed to be possible.
"You're making a mistake," the woman murmured beside me, her tone low but sharp. "Don't talk to him."
I glanced at her. "You know him?"
"I know what he is," she said. "And that's enough."
The man ignored her completely, his focus locked on me. He stepped forward, and the rain around him seemed to hesitate — droplets hanging a heartbeat too long in the air before sliding down.
In the light of a flickering street lamp, his face shifted. One moment I saw him as a soldier in battered armor, dust smeared across his cheek. The next, he was a dockworker with rope burns on his hands. Both versions flickered over each other, layered like torn pages pressed together.
"You remember me, don't you?" he asked.
My pulse jumped. "I… don't know."
He smiled faintly — but it wasn't a warm smile. "Then let me help you remember."
The moment he stepped closer, my head split open with a flood of images — memories that weren't mine, yet felt like they'd been carved into my bones.
One version of him was my ally, standing with me against a siege that lasted three days and nights.
The other was my enemy, holding a blade to my throat on a pier that smelled of fish and brine.
Both were true. Both were impossible.
I staggered back, clutching my temple. "Stop—"
"Kael," he said softly, almost pitying, "you've done something very dangerous."
The woman shifted between us, her hand hovering near the hilt of her ink-stained knife. "You're not taking him."
He tilted his head, studying her. "And you're still playing guardian? You know how this ends, don't you?"
"I know enough."
Their words felt loaded, like I'd just walked into the middle of a conversation that had been going on for years without me.
The man's eyes returned to mine. "Every rewrite leaves cracks. Through those cracks… things crawl. I've seen it happen before. You've already felt it, haven't you? The pull in your arm? The way the world blurs when you look too long?"
I said nothing, but my silence was answer enough.
He took another step forward. The woman didn't move, but I felt the tension radiating off her.
"Come with me," he said. "I can teach you how to patch the cracks before something worse comes through. But if you stay with her…" His gaze flicked toward the woman. "…you'll end up erased for good."
Her voice was like a blade. "Don't listen."
I looked between them, rain running cold down my neck. The man's words had weight, but so did hers. And the worst part? I didn't know either of them well enough to trust.
"Why me?" I asked, my voice low.
The man's expression softened. "Because you're the only one reckless enough to change your own death."
Before I could answer, the street behind him warped — reality bending in on itself like wet parchment curling in a flame.
From the distortion, something stepped through.
Not a shadow man. Not exactly.
This one had shape, had eyes — too many of them — all staring at me from a body made of fractured glass and shifting ink. It moved like a puppet pulled in six directions at once, and every step it took made the buildings around it twist.
The man's jaw tightened. "Too late."
The woman grabbed my arm. "Run."
And for once, I didn't argue.
The Thing in the Cracks
---
We didn't get more than three steps before the thing in the street screamed.
It wasn't a sound — not really. It was more like glass shattering inside my skull, every sharp edge scraping across my thoughts. I stumbled, clutching my head, the rain briefly cutting out like someone had muted the world.
The woman yanked me forward. "Don't look at it too long!"
Too late.
In that split second, I saw it clearly.
Its body was made of slivers, jagged pieces of something that should have been whole but wasn't. Between the shards, ink oozed and pulsed, dripping onto the cobblestones where it spread like oil on water. Its eyes — gods, there were so many — blinked at different speeds, each one reflecting a different version of the street.
And in one of those reflections, I saw myself already dead.
The man from before was already moving, drawing a long blade from somewhere beneath his coat. It wasn't steel — it gleamed with that same unnatural ink as the woman's knife, only thicker, heavier.
He glanced at me once. "Stay out of the way."
Then he ran toward it.
The creature met him with impossible speed, its limbs snapping outward like broken spears. Every impact made the air shiver. He dodged the first strike, cut through the second, but the third caught him across the chest. Blood — dark, almost black — sprayed the stones.
The woman cursed under her breath and shoved me toward a narrow alley. "Move!"
But my feet wouldn't obey. The thing's eyes had found me again, and the heat in my arm flared until I thought my skin would split.
It spoke — not in a voice, but in versions. My mind filled with flashes of my own death, over and over, each one different. A dozen ways to die, all in the space of a heartbeat.
I staggered, nearly falling.
The woman appeared in front of me, blocking my view. "Kael! Listen to me. That thing isn't alive — it's a crack. A hole you made when you rewrote your death. And it wants to close the page by erasing you."
Her words punched through the fog in my head. "Then how do we kill it?"
"You don't." She grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the alley. "You outrun it before the crack widens."
Behind us, the man slashed through one of its limbs, shards scattering like broken ice. But the pieces didn't fall — they crawled back together, knitting themselves into place with black threads.
He shouted after us. "You can't keep running from these things forever!"
The woman didn't look back. "We just need to keep him alive long enough to learn how not to make more!"
We burst into the alley, boots splashing through puddles. The walls here were warped too — bricks leaning at impossible angles, doorways stretching taller than they should, shadows moving when nothing was there to cast them.
The creature screamed again, the sound bending the air. My vision wavered, but I kept running. The woman's grip was unbreakable, her pace relentless.
The alley spat us out onto another street, this one narrower, with a single flickering lantern at the far end. She didn't slow until we reached it.
Then she stopped, spun, and drove her ink-knife into the ground.
The cobblestones split with a violent crack, a jagged line of black light shooting outward. When the creature lunged after us, it slammed into an invisible wall — the distortion rippling across its form like water over glass.
It paced along the barrier, all those eyes fixed on me.
I could feel the ink in my arm answering it — a pull, deep and insistent, like something inside me wanted to step through and let it in.
The woman's voice was low but fierce. "Don't move. Don't speak. And for the love of every version of you that's ever existed, don't think about letting it touch you."
I swallowed hard and did exactly as she said.
The Lantern Road
---
We ran again, this time down a street lit only by a single, flickering lantern every few yards. The light swung in the wind, casting jagged shadows that seemed to stretch toward us, hungry and alive.
The alley behind us was silent now. No screams, no splintering glass, no shifting shapes. Just silence — but the silence itself felt wrong, like the city was holding its breath.
I kept glancing at my arm. The black ink had spread halfway up my forearm now. It pulsed with a faint heat, like it had a heartbeat of its own. My fingers twitched involuntarily, and each time they did, I swore the shadows along the street bent just slightly toward me.
"Kael," the woman said, her voice cutting through my thoughts. "You can't ignore it. That stain? It's alive in a way you won't understand… not yet. And every time you feel it, every time you panic, it learns you. It grows."
I swallowed hard. "Learns me? You mean it can—"
"Yes," she snapped. "It can think. Not like you or me, but it reacts. And if it touches you… it will rewrite you completely. Not just this world, all worlds you exist in."
I looked down at my arm again. The ink had begun to curl into delicate, jagged shapes, almost like tiny letters. I didn't recognize the language, but I knew instinctively it wasn't random.
A soft breeze picked up. The lanterns swayed, and for a moment I could have sworn I saw movement in the light itself — figures flickering behind the glow.
"Are those…?" I asked.
"Shadows of the cracks," she said grimly. "They always follow. Not everything makes it through to the streets, but enough does to hunt those who rewrite their fate. They can't exist fully here, not yet — but they can touch you. And if they do, the ink will finish what it started."
Her words settled like stones in my stomach.
We kept moving. The lantern road stretched ahead, winding like a path through a twisted forest. Buildings leaned closer with each step, and I felt eyes on my back — not human, not shadow, just watching.
The man from before appeared suddenly beside me, as if he had walked out of thin air. His blade was back in its sheath, but his gaze was locked on me.
"Kael," he said, voice low. "You need to understand something about that ink. Every change you make, every survival you force… it leaves a mark. The more you resist it, the more it fights you. You're not just being chased. You're being rewritten. Already."
I clenched my fists. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't choose any of this."
He shook his head. "Choice doesn't matter. What matters is that you act before the cracks do. That thing we ran from — it's not an enemy in the traditional sense. It's a consequence. And consequences, Kael… they don't forget."
The woman grabbed my arm again. "He's right. And we don't have much time. The city won't stay stable for long. Every step you take, the ink spreads. Every heartbeat, reality strains to hold you together. If you hesitate…"
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Hesitate? I didn't even know what I could do.
Up ahead, the lanterns began to flicker violently, and I noticed something alarming — the shadows weren't behind us anymore. They were moving in front, across the street, forming shapes that blocked the road ahead.
"They're testing you," the woman said. "They want to see how you react."
I took a deep breath. My hands were trembling, the ink crawling toward my elbow as though it had a mind of its own. The shadows before us writhed, twisting and splitting into countless forms, each one waiting, judging.
Then the man stepped forward. "Listen closely. The ink obeys your fear, Kael. Not your will, your fear. Calm yourself — or it will use you against yourself."
I swallowed. My chest tightened. My heartbeat seemed to echo in my ears. And for the first time since waking in this altered city, I realized the fight wasn't just about running from monsters or surviving rewritten realities…
It was about controlling myself before the ink controlled me.
The lantern ahead swung violently, casting long shadows that merged with the cracks in the street, and I knew — one wrong move, one hesitation, and the thing chasing me wouldn't just erase me. It would rewrite every thread of my existence.
The First Lesson
---
The lantern road stretched endlessly ahead, but the shadows had paused, as if sensing our hesitation. The rain drummed steadily against the cobblestones, a rhythm that somehow matched my racing heartbeat.
The woman tightened her grip on my arm. "Stop," she commanded. "Here."
I stumbled to a halt, the ink throbbing along my skin like a pulse I could feel in my bones.
"Look at it," she said, pointing to my arm. "Not in fear. Not in panic. Just look."
I froze. My fingers flexed instinctively, recoiling from the dark lines that had spread halfway up my forearm. "Why? What am I supposed to do?"
"You're going to learn to speak to it," she said simply. "The ink isn't just a mark. It's a part of you now. Ignore it, and it will destroy you. Resist it blindly, and it will rewrite you in ways you won't recognize. You need control. Even a little."
I clenched my fist, wincing as the black tendrils writhed like living threads. "Control… it?"
"Yes. Listen." She knelt beside me and pressed her hand over the ink. Immediately, the tendrils stilled, curling into elegant loops as if tamed. "Feel it. Not as something foreign, but as part of your own heartbeat. It reacts to emotion, to thought. Calm it, guide it, don't let it guide you."
I inhaled sharply. My chest felt like it had been set on fire. Slowly, I extended my hand, watching the ink tremble. My fear made it flare, spike upward toward my elbow. My pulse surged.
"Good," she said. "Now focus on your heartbeat. Breathe through it. Command it to hold still."
I closed my eyes, counting each breath, willing the tendrils to pause. The first seconds were agony — the ink quivered, as if resisting every ounce of my will. But then… slowly… it calmed.
The black lines flattened, forming loops and curves, following the rhythm of my pulse.
I opened my eyes. The street ahead seemed sharper, the shadows less… intrusive. I could feel the difference in the air — a small pocket of control in the chaos.
The man stepped closer, watching silently. "Not bad," he said finally. "You've taken your first step. The ink responds to your intent, yes, but it can sense doubt and fear stronger than any command. Remember that. Control your mind first, your body second, or you'll burn yourself alive trying to fight the cracks."
I swallowed, trembling. "So… this thing, the cracks, the shadows… I can fight them with my own… thoughts?"
"Yes," the woman said, standing and dusting off her coat. "But one slip, one moment of panic, and they'll exploit it. The first lesson is simple: your fear feeds them. Learn to master it, or they'll master you. And Kael…" She stepped closer, her eyes sharp. "This is only the beginning."
I looked down at my arm. The ink seemed quieter now, almost obedient. But the pulsing under my skin reminded me of the danger it carried. Every beat of my heart could tip the balance between survival and erasure.
The lantern ahead flickered again, shadows stretching toward us, but I no longer felt paralyzed. A flicker of understanding ignited inside me. I might be trapped in a city that shouldn't exist, hunted by creatures born from my own rewrite… but I had a tool now. A weapon born of the very danger that could destroy me.
The woman motioned toward the path ahead. "Keep moving. Learn it as you go. We have a long road, Kael. And there are worse things waiting at the end than what you've already seen."
I clenched my fists, the ink crawling slightly in response. My pulse steadied. My thoughts sharpened.
The lanterns stretched on, endless and flickering. The city twisted around us, impossibly warped. The shadows pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.
And for the first time, I realized: I wasn't just running from the cracks anymore. I was learning to bend them to me.
The Crossroads
---
The lantern road finally opened into a wide square, the rain-puddled cobblestones reflecting the flickering lights above. The air was still, but heavy, like it was waiting for something — or someone — to make the first move.
The woman let go of my arm, her expression unreadable. "This is where you decide, Kael. Every path from here changes the story."
I glanced at the man. He stood a few paces away, watching me intently, blade sheathed but ready. There was a tension in him, restrained but palpable — the kind that whispered you cannot ignore me.
And then I looked at the ink crawling along my arm. The pulsing had slowed, but it still moved like a living thing beneath my skin. It was waiting for me to act, to make a choice.
"You have two options," the woman said. "One: you go with him. He'll teach you how to manipulate the cracks, how to survive. But every lesson comes at a price. Every time you act, the ink learns more. It will always remember. Always."
I looked at the man. "And the other?"
"Stay with me," she said. "I can hide you, help you master the ink in ways he won't teach. But that path is slower. You'll face more immediate danger. More cracks. More shadows. And you may not survive long enough to learn the truth about what erased you."
I swallowed. My chest tightened. The square was empty except for us, but every instinct told me that was a lie. Something lurked just outside the edges of the lantern light. Something waiting for me to falter.
The man stepped closer, his eyes sharp. "Kael, I don't care what you think you're choosing. Survival isn't about hiding. It's about control. The ink obeys the strong. The weak… disappear."
The woman's lips pressed into a thin line. "And yet control without understanding is just as dangerous. You can master the ink, or it can master you — either way, the cracks will not forgive mistakes."
My hand itched. The ink reacted to the tension in my body, tiny tendrils brushing against my fingers as if it could feel my indecision.
I clenched my fists. My pulse raced. For the first time since waking in this altered city, I understood something fundamental: it wasn't just the shadows or the cracks I needed to fear. It wasn't just the rewritten world or the versions of myself layered across reality.
It was me.
My choice.
I looked between them. Between the man who promised power and the woman who promised protection. Between action and caution. Between survival by force and survival by patience.
I could feel the ink pulsing faster, urging me toward something I couldn't name. My arm throbbed as if it were alive, whispering possibilities in a language older than the city itself.
And then I made my decision.
I stepped toward the woman.
The man's eyes narrowed. "You're choosing weakness," he said, but his voice carried a note of respect.
"I'm not choosing weakness," I said, my voice firm. "I'm choosing to understand. To survive long enough to fight on my own terms. And if I have to face the cracks myself… I'll be ready."
The woman nodded once. "Good. That is your first real act of control. The ink will listen now — but only because you chose your own path. Remember that. Fear and hesitation can still betray you."
I looked at my arm. The black lines had settled into quiet loops and spirals, pulsing gently in time with my heartbeat. A small, flickering sense of mastery bloomed inside me. Not power, not yet — just control.
The square was silent, but I could feel the city shifting around us. Shadows writhed at the edges of the lantern light, cracks flexing in response to my presence. But they did not advance. Not yet.
The woman extended her hand. "Come. We have work to do. And Kael… the first lesson is only the beginning."
I took her hand. The ink pulsed once more, almost like it approved.
The city waited. And I knew — every step forward, every choice I made, would ripple across the worlds I had rewritten.
The crossroads behind me disappeared into the rain, and I stepped forward into the path that I had chosen — the path of understanding, of patience, and of survival.