7:00 a.m. – University of Oravus
The campus wore an unfamiliar quiet, a stark contrast to its usual bustling energy. A cool wind, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant coffee, passed through the courtyard like it had somewhere important to be.
Ogdi strolled past the bronze statues of the founders. They gleamed more brightly than he remembered—their polished surfaces reflecting the morning light with an almost unnatural intensity.
Perhaps someone cleaned them, he mused. Or perhaps reality itself has been polished.
He liked the stillness. Fewer people meant fewer questions, fewer accidental collisions with a world that often felt too fast for his contemplative thoughts. Each step was deliberate, his shoes clicking against the pavement—a rhythm that felt oddly synchronized, like a drumbeat he had heard before.
Inside Café Opaline, the warm glow of the lights created an inviting haven. Nala stood behind the counter, her apron tied loosely. Her gaze held a slight, uncharacteristic hollowness, but a genuine grin broke through the fatigue when she saw him.
"Good morning, Nala. How are you today?" he said, leaning against the counter. The words tasted like scripts on his tongue.
"Yo, Ogdi. Not much has changed," she replied, her voice a little tired.
"As per usual."
They spoke simultaneously. The voices overlapped in a familiar dance:
"A mocha XL with vanilla ice cream."
Their shared phrase sounded like a well-rehearsed spell. Nala winked—a fluid, practiced movement—and turned to the machine. The espresso machine hissed, steam whispering from its chrome pipes like a hesitant spirit deciding whether to intervene.
When she handed him the steaming cup, Ogdi reached into his pocket.
Nothing.
A sudden, unsettling void where his wallet should be.
He froze. A faint ripple of unease, a static shock of déjà vu, flickered through his mind.
I've done this. I've reached for this wallet, and it wasn't there.
"Forgot your wallet?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern. "That's not like you. You okay?"
The question hit him like a physical tap on the forehead.
"Huh? Ah, no—here it is," he stammered, his hand finally closing around the leather in his other pocket. He pulled it out with a relieved sigh, but the relief was thin. "Here."
"Thanks," he said, taking a sip. The taste was identical to a memory he couldn't place. "So, what's the buzz today? The campus is dead quiet."
"Oh!" Nala's eyes brightened. "Prime Minister's speaking at the plaza near Unity Tower. People flocked there earlier. Big talk about reform."
The world tilted.
The conversation wasn't just familiar; it was an echo. Every syllable Nala spoke felt like a rerun of a movie he had watched in a fever dream.
"I have to see that," he replied, but the urgency stirring within him wasn't curiosity. It was dread.
"Tell me if it gets spicy," she said, sliding him a napkin.
On it was a hand-drawn question mark.
Ogdi stared at the ink. The loop closed.
"Will do," he chuckled, but the sound was hollow. He walked out toward the plaza, the cup trembling in his hand.
Halfway to the plaza, logic collapsed.
It wasn't a premonition. It was a memory.
He felt the phantom heat of a blast that hadn't happened yet—a searing wave blistering his mind. He heard the ghost of a scream—his scream—tearing through the silence. He saw the blue jacket. He saw the blood on the pavement.
It's today. It's happening now.
The realization hit his mind like a bomb.
Ogdi spun around, dropping the coffee. The cup shattered, splashing brown liquid like dark blood on the pavement.
He raced back to the café, his lungs burning.
He burst through the door, screaming.
"GET OUT! EVERYONE—LEAVE NOW! CALL THE MILITARY! MOVE! FOR GOD'S SAKE, RUN!"
Blank stares. Confusion. Someone chuckled nervously—a sound that fueled his panic into a blaze.
He spun to Nala, his voice a desperate, hoarse plea.
"PLEASE! JUST TRUST ME—LEAVE! NOW! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
She stared at him, deep and still. She saw the terror in his eyes—not madness, but knowledge. Slowly, deliberately, she nodded.
"Everyone out!" she commanded, vaulting the counter.
Ogdi ran back outside. He scanned the street, his eyes frantic.
Where is he? There has to be a trigger.
Then he saw him.
A man standing near the entrance to the alleyway. He was lifting a phone, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he watched the crowd gathering at the plaza.
Ogdi's blood ran cold. He knew that face. It was the face from the nightmare—the man who had taken him hostage in the Trial.
You.
Ogdi didn't hesitate. He didn't think about laws or physics. He extended his hand.
"You're not doing this again."
He erased the man.
It wasn't a killing. It was a relocation. Space folded around the terrorist like a hungry mouth, swallowing him whole into Ogdi's pocket dimension. Quick. Quiet. Cruelly efficient.
"Thank you," Ogdi muttered to the empty space.
Then, he sprinted toward the plaza.
He tore through the crowd, climbing onto the scaffolding mid-speech.
"DISPERSE! IT'S A TRAP!"
Laughter. Confused murmurs. The Prime Minister looked back, annoyed.
Ogdi realized with a sinking heart: Time has preferences. You can remove the trigger, but the gunpowder is still waiting.
BOOM.
The detonation was thunderous. It tore through flesh and bone, turning the air thick with the scent of ozone and iron. Screams ignited—a chorus of terror as the world became a hellscape of fire and twisted metal.
But Ogdi was faster than gravity.
He warped space—skip, skip, skip—glitching across the square. He grabbed the Prime Minister seconds before the shockwave hit the podium. They vanished and reappeared fifty meters away, their feet barely touching the scorched earth.
Bullets followed. A sniper. The backup plan.
Ogdi didn't stop. His mind flashed to the blue jacket.
Alone.
He bent space again, a desperate, gut-wrenching lurch that made his vision blur. He appeared in the middle of the stampede. Alone was there, frozen, debris raining down around him.
"Gotcha," Ogdi gasped, grabbing his brother's collar.
He pulled. Space twisted. They collapsed into the safety of an alleyway just as a second blast reduced their previous location to dust.
The military arrived seven minutes later. The sirens wailed, a mournful harmony to the chaos.
In a guarded location, Ogdi leaned against a wall, catching his breath. He looked at the Prime Minister and Alone. They were pale, etched with horror, but alive.
"Are you wounded?" Ogdi asked.
The Prime Minister blinked, his eyes wide. "What was that? How did you—"
"I can't explain it," Ogdi lied, rubbing his temples. "It just felt… like an echo."
"OGDI!"
The scream tore his attention away.
It was Nala. She was sprinting toward him from the police barricade, her face contorted in relief and terror.
Crack.
A gunshot.
A final, spiteful attempt from a sniper on a rooftop. The bullet whizzed through the air, aimed directly at Nala's chest.
"NO!"
Ogdi didn't think. He reacted. He threw his hand out, warping the space in the bullet's path.
Deflect. Protect.
The bullet vanished into a shimmer of air.
For a second, Ogdi thought he had succeeded.
Then, ten meters away, inside the perceived safety of the zone, three bystanders suddenly crumpled.
The redirected bullet had re-emerged with chaotic velocity, tumbling through them like a buzzsaw.
Screams exploded from the crowd—worse than before. These were screams of betrayal.
Ogdi dropped to his knees. He stared at the bodies.
"I knew it had to go somewhere…" he whispered, his voice trembling. "But… why there? Why them?"
The words rang in his head. 73% Integrity. You saved one you loved, so the universe took three you didn't know.
Alone stepped forward, arms raised to comfort him. "Ogdi—"
Ogdi shoved him back. Hard.
"Don't get any closer!" Ogdi roared.
His eyes changed. The panic evaporated, replaced by something cold, ancient, and terrifyingly calm. A vibration hummed through the air—the personality of Azad bleeding through the cracks of trauma.
Space distorted outward—a violent ripple of pure energy. It pushed everyone back.
A massive truck, thrown by a secondary explosion, hurtled toward Ogdi. Nala screamed.
Ogdi didn't move. He didn't flinch. He simply vanished.
He skipped through his pocket space, a dimension of safety just beyond mortal perception. The truck passed through the space he had occupied, crashing into a wall.
Ogdi re-emerged. He stood amidst the dust, untouched.
Two officers, grim-faced and heavily armed, approached.
"Are you the one who warned people?"
"Yes. I am." His voice was steady. It wasn't the voice of a student anymore.
They cuffed him. The cold steel bit into his wrists.
"You are suspected of colluding with terrorists. Anything you say may be used against you."
Ogdi didn't resist. He stared at the cuffs, feeling the weight of the impossible burden.
...
1:00 a.m. – Calmarith Precinct, Interrogation Room 7
The room hummed under bad lighting. It was a space designed to compress the soul. Gray walls leaned inward; the air smelled of stale coffee and fear.
Ogdi sat calmly. He was an island of stillness. The panic of the plaza was gone, replaced by the detached, icy intellect of Azad.
Two specialists entered.
Jean: The veteran. Tired eyes, sharp mind.
Bill: The younger one. Nervous.
"Ogdi Num," Jean started. "Witness statements. Spatial signatures. And predictions?"
Bill leaned in, his energy frantic. "You're calm. Why?"
Ogdi's gaze was steady. He didn't blink. "Because panic paints nothing worth saving."
Jean scribbled a note. "You moved the PM before detonation. But didn't stop it. Why?"
"I adjusted damage, not fate. Time… has preferences."
Bill chuckled nervously. It sounded like dry leaves rustling in a dead forest.
Ogdi looked at Bill. And he felt it.
Bill didn't just feel off—he felt like a paradox. A hole in the room. He felt like the star that Ogdi had seen replaced in the sky over Virethuun. This man was a puppet, a hollow vessel for something watching from the dark.
Ogdi's fingers twitched. He placed a mental lock on his own perceptions, shielding his mind so the reality-bending aura of the entity inside Bill wouldn't bleed into him.
"I want to speak to you alone," Ogdi said to Jean. His voice dropped an octave.
"We're a team," Jean replied flatly.
"Not for this." Ogdi's eyes bore into Jean. "Something about him… I can't explain it, but I know I shouldn't speak near him."
The room pulsed in silence. It wasn't a request; it was a command from a higher predator.
Jean sighed, looking at his partner. "Fine. Wait outside, Bill."
Bill left reluctantly, a scowl on his face. The door clicked shut.
Ogdi leaned forward. The air in the room grew heavy.
"I can provide clues—truths that can pivot your investigation. But there's a condition."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Of course there is."
"From this point forward," Ogdi said softly, "whatever you learn must remain between you and me."
Jean scoffed. "Verbal conditions aren't binding, kid."
"Still—do you accept?"
Jean shrugged. "Fine. I accept."
Then Jean felt it. A snap in his chest. Not pain, but a lock engaging. His body had agreed to a contract his soul hadn't read. He looked at Ogdi in shock.
Ogdi smiled. It was the smile of Azad—cold, victorious.
"Good. Thank you for your understanding."
Ogdi stood up.
The handcuffs didn't unlock; they simply ceased to exist. They vanished into a shimmering field of nothingness, leaving a faint scent of ozone.
Jean froze, his hand drifting to his holster.
"Relax," Ogdi said.
He reached into the empty air beside him. His hand disappeared into a ripple.
He pulled.
From the pocket space, Ogdi dragged a man out by the collar.
The man stumbled onto the concrete floor, dazed, his skin pale and translucent, his clothes covered in the dust of a timeline that had ended hours ago. He was clutching a phone—the detonator.
It was the terrorist Ogdi had erased.
Ogdi placed him gently in the seat across from Jean. The man's eyes were blank, traumatized by the silence of the void.
Ogdi leaned against the wall, a calm, detached witness to the impossibility he had just introduced.
"Here is your culprit."
Jean stared, speechless. His brain refused to process the transition. He looked at the terrorist, then at the boy who was no longer just a boy.
"You know..." Jean whispered, his voice trembling, "if you don't explain this, they won't let you leave."
Ogdi's voice was serene.
"That's not a problem. Someone will bail me out soon."