(Point of View: Lexo)
Falling through a tunnel of impossible colors behind a pink harlequin rabbit wasn't exactly on my agenda for my sixth birthday. Frankly, my list of plans usually involved more mundane feats like "convince Mom to let me practice with real fire" or "find a way to beat Pietro at Netamino." But here I was, hurtling through a kaleidoscopic tunnel that smelled faintly of chamomile tea and the desperation of physics on the verge of collapse.
I landed—if you can call it that, since my fall gradually turned into an awkward, floating halt—not on grass or stone, but on… nothing. Or rather, on an endless expanse of fine, pale sand beneath a sky that seemed indecisive about its color. The horizon was a swirling canvas of deep purples, sickly oranges, and bilious greens, punctuated by occasional streaks of an unnervingly normal blue. There was no sun, no moon—just a diffuse, oppressive glow emanating from the sky itself.
The air was dry and warm, carrying the taste of dust and—strangely enough—time. Yes, that sweet, intoxicating aroma I sometimes sensed when I used Chronos was now almost tangible, mixed with a metallic tang and the bitter odor of decay.
"Over here, temporal runt, don't get all googly-eyed at the scenery!" snapped the harlequin rabbit's sarcastic voice from a few feet away. He drummed impatiently on the sand with one foot. "Or were you expecting a welcome committee complete with canapés? You're late, remember."
I scanned my surroundings: a surreal desert stretching endlessly. In the distance, I could just make out shapes resembling trees—only these "trees" constantly shifted in size, some shrinking into saplings then shooting up to ridiculous heights in mere seconds, as if nature itself were undecided about its scale. Farther out, massive columns of brown sand slowly spun like lazy dust tornadoes.
"Where… are we?" I murmured, my voice strangely muffled in the still air.
"Ethernatus!" the rabbit announced with an ironic flourish. "The Realm of Eternal Time, the Nexus of Possibilities, the Crossroads of All Timelines—take your pick of grandiose names. Basically, it's the hub for those of us who like to play with tick-tock." He pointed toward distant, swirling storm clouds. "Free tip: steer clear of the Chronal Sandstorms. They tend to—well, let's just say—they can scramble your memories. You might end up believing you're your own great-grandfather, or even a philosophizing amoeba. Very confusing."
Spectacular, I thought. A psychedelic desert with memory-scrambling whirlwinds and growth-deficient trees—an almost absurd scene, like something out of a cosmic fever dream. My day was definitely taking an unexpected turn. Oh, what mushroom has the goddess of fortune been nibbling on today?
The rabbit began hopping across the sands and signaled for me to follow. "And who exactly are you, besides a mammal with questionable fashion sense?" I called after him, falling in step as the soft sand seeped into my shoes.
"You can call me Tick-Tock," he replied without turning around. "I'm a facilitator—a tour guide through this temporal madhouse. And you, little Anomalous Legacy, are our new recruit. Or maybe the new victim. Depends on the day." He gestured nonchalantly with one ear. "Really, it all depends."
I trailed after the harlequin rabbit through the undulating, surreal landscape. The oppressive silence was broken only by the shifting sands and the occasional distant rumble of collapsing terrain when one of those erratic trees decided to shrink too quickly. At last, our journey brought us to a break in the sandy monotony—a small, half-buried dome of dark crystal pulsing with a faint inner light.
"The elevator," Tick-Tock announced, gesturing grandly. "Were you expecting stairs? How mundane!"
As we approached, the entrance unfurled with a soft hiss. Inside, the chamber wasn't a conventional elevator but a cylindrical cabin carved from the same dark crystal, devoid of visible buttons. The door slid shut and we began to ascend at a dizzying speed, though I felt no actual movement. The crystal walls turned transparent, revealing a vast panorama of space—countless stars, vibrant nebulae, and swirling galaxies unfurled before my eyes. My initial wonder soon gave way to my familiar cynicism. Sure, a space elevator in the midst of a temporal desert. Why not?
The elevator eventually stopped smoothly, opening onto a floating platform before an immense structure—a tower not of stone or metal, but of pure light and solidified time. It shifted subtly in shape and color as it stretched upwards until it vanished into the starry void.
"The Animus Tower," my guide declared with a hint of false reverence. "It's the central archive of all timelines linked to Chronos. Here, every possessor of the gift—or curse, depending on your perspective—can glimpse their own existence: past, present, and the possibilities of the future. A library of 'what ifs' and 'could haves.'"
He led me inside, and the tower's interior was even stranger. Corridors twisted at impossible angles, gravity seemed optional in certain rooms, and disembodied echoes of voices and laughter—memories of past lives, perhaps—drifted through the air. We arrived at a vast circular chamber, in the center of which a luminous sphere floated gently, pulsing with an inner rhythm.
"Come closer, newbie," Tick-Tock urged. "Place your hand on it."
I hesitated, then curiosity overrode caution. I laid my hand on the sphere; it wasn't cold or hot—just an odd, tingling warmth. Suddenly, the sphere blazed brightly, and the entire chamber transformed. The walls vanished, replaced by an infinite lattice of luminous threads stretching in every direction—intertwining, separating, glowing at varying intensities. Millions of threads. A cosmic loom.
"The Great Tapestry," Tick-Tock whispered, his tone soft and reverent. "Every thread is a life—a timeline. Come, see yours."
One particular thread, brighter and more vibrant than the rest, vibrated beneath my touch. I saw flickering images along its length: my birth, Mom's smile, training with Dad, the White Tiger's attack, the fair at the Four Roads… I saw points where small choices split into new possibilities, some threads burning out suddenly—failed futures, premature deaths—others stretching into complex, unknown destinies. It was breathtaking and terrifying, the fragile weave of existence laid bare in all its infinite potential.
"You have been accepted, Legacy," Tick-Tock said, tugging me from my trance as the tapestry faded back into the circular chamber. "Your connection to Chronos is... unusually strong for your size. And chaotic. Very entertaining for us observers." He grinned, revealing tiny, sharp rabbit teeth. "But this was just the introduction, kid. The second test awaits you in the Arena. Only the best—the most… interesting—prospects continue." He chuckled in that strange, otherworldly way.
Out of nowhere, he produced a folded package and handed it to me. When I unfolded it, I found a hooded cloak of a deep, almost night-blue, and a matching rubbery mask made of a soft, peculiar material. "Mandatory uniform," he explained. "House rules. Put it on."
I hesitated, eyeing the cloak and mask with suspicion. But I knew better than to argue. I donned the cloak—a light but inexplicably warm covering—and carefully fitted the mask over the lower half of my face. It adhered perfectly, as if it were a second skin, leaving my eyes and forehead clear. It felt strange but not unpleasant—a constant reminder of the responsibilities and mysteries that lay ahead.
"Nobody can smile here except the Boss," Tick-Tock said with a sarcastic wink. "It's company policy—for morale control and all that. Besides, it lets you breathe, has a built-in translator, and it's very fashionable here, as you'll soon see."
He led me out of the Animus Tower and back into the space elevator, which deposited us not back in the desert, but in a gigantic amphitheater carved into floating rock. Hundreds—perhaps thousands—of figures gathered there. They ranged from children barely older than me to elders who huddled in the shadows. They came from races I'd never seen before: beings with bark-like skin, humanoids with feline features, creatures of translucent crystal—but all wore the same blue cloak and identical mask as mine. We formed an anonymous army of time travelers.
At the center of the arena, on a raised platform, stood Him.
The Smiling Cat.
But this time, he wasn't just a disembodied smile. He had a massive, rotund body covered in striped fur that shifted colors like a sick rainbow devouring crayons for breakfast. He lounged lazily on a throne that looked like it was made of melted clocks. His enormous grin spread wide, revealing rows of teeth resembling piano keys, while his vertical, reptilian yellow eyes scanned the crowd with bored, cruel anticipation. His ancient, playful power radiated through the amphitheater, dwarfing even the aura of my grandfather Gustav.
"Welcome, welcome, little temporal grasshopper!" the gigantic Cat purred, his voice booming without amplification. "Welcome to the Great Selection Arena! Here, only the worthy… survive! And the unworthy… well, let's just say their timeline suffers a spontaneous edit!" He let out a dissonant, bubbling laugh that made the hairs on my neck stand on end. "Only the best continue! Only the most entertaining have a chance to… perhaps… return home!"
Then the arena fell silent. In an instant, the ground beneath my feet gave way.
I fell. Again.
I landed with a dull thud on the pale sand of the Ethernatus desert. The amphitheater, the crowd, even the Cat—they had all vanished. I was alone under that swirling, oppressive sky.
Struggling to my feet, I brushed the sand from me, still trying to process this latest absurd twist. Then I bumped into another child, perhaps a little older than me, clad in the same blue cloak and mask. He quickly stood, his eyes—hidden beneath his hood—meeting mine with surprising intensity.
His voice, when he spoke, was strangely warm and familiar, though deeper and rougher. "This," he said, glancing at me with a gaze that seemed too old for a child, "is no place for kids."
I blinked, taken aback. There was something in his posture, in his voice... could it be? The weight of familiarity was undeniable. The Ethernatus desert had just grown far stranger.