The city pulsed beneath Ash's feet—honking cars, blinking lights, fragments of life stitched together with noise. But up on the roof, he heard none of it. Just the wind and the quiet hum of power in his veins.
The wind tugged at his hoodie. His fingers tightened on the rusted railing. Below him, people moved like ants, unaware that one of them had changed.
He could freeze them all.
He could walk into a bank and walk out with a fortune.
He could expose secrets, stop crimes, rewrite anything.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Something was building in him, yes—but not recklessness. Not revenge.
Not exactly.
Control. That was what he craved. Not just over time, but over himself.
Still, the darkness whispered.
Make them pay.
Three days later, he tested the limits.
Midnight. The city asleep. Rain again.
Ash walked through an alley near downtown, one he'd never dared enter before. It reeked of old oil and rotting trash, the air thick with steam from nearby vents. He didn't know why he'd come here. Just… drawn. A thread he couldn't see was pulling him deeper.
And then—
A noise. Not the city kind. Not rats. Not trash bins.
Footsteps.
He froze—not the world. Just himself. Listening.
Then came the voice. Low. Smooth. Almost amused.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
Ash turned.
There, half-hidden in shadow, stood a man in a long coat. His face was lined but sharp, his hair silver at the edges like frost creeping in. He held no weapon. No phone. Just stood there like he'd been waiting forever.
Ash narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man smiled faintly. "Someone who knows what you are. What you've become."
Ash didn't move.
"I'm not here to hurt you," the man said. "Quite the opposite. I've been looking for you, Ash. Ever since the moment you touched time."
Ash's breath caught.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know more than that. I know about the car. The voice. The storm. The gift."
Ash's fists clenched. The air around him shimmered faintly—time wanting to bend again.
But the man didn't flinch.
"You felt alone when it happened. Like it chose you. But powers like this don't appear by accident." His eyes gleamed. "They appear when the world needs a fracture."
Ash frowned. "A fracture?"
"A break. A reset." The man stepped forward, slowly. "You can be the edge of the knife, Ash. But you must choose what to cut."
The silence stretched.
"What if I don't want any of this?" Ash muttered.
The man gave a sad smile. "Then you'll still have it. Power doesn't wait for permission. It changes you, whether you're ready or not."
Ash looked down at his hands.
"…What do you want from me?"
"Nothing. Not yet." The man pulled something from his coat—a small silver token etched with strange symbols. "But when the time comes, when you're ready to understand what you *really* are, this will show you where to go."
He held it out. Ash didn't move.
"I don't trust you."
"Good," the man said, tossing the token at Ash's feet. "You shouldn't."
Then he turned, coat fluttering in the wind—and disappeared into the shadows.
Ash bent down, picked up the token. Cold. Heavy. Wrong in a way he couldn't explain.
That night, he dreamed.
Not of his old life, or of revenge.
He dreamed of a clock tower cracking in half. Of people frozen mid-scream. Of someone like him—another boy—standing in a city on fire, his eyes glowing with time.
And the voice returned.
"You are not alone, Ash. But soon, you will have to choose—reset the world, or become its ruin."
Ash woke up with sweat on his neck and the token in his hand, even though he'd left it on his desk.
He stared at it, heart thundering.
The war inside him had only just begun.
And time was running out.