Chapter 3: Answers And Change Of Plans

Chapter 9: Totally a Normal Day

warnings: None, just humor and a normal day.

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Three days have passed since that day, yet I don’t feel any better. In those three days, Liviya never missed a chance to shoot me dirty looks, her face barely concealing the rage simmering beneath the surface. But to her credit, she kept it at bay—perhaps the only thing about her I could actually appreciate.

Today, Prince returned to collect our consent forms for the offer he made. I watched as he moved through the room, gathering the papers one by one. When he reached me, I handed mine over without hesitation.

Leaving this place has been on my mind for a long time—an idea I’ve weighed, dissected, and planned for. I may not be in the best shape to explore the world beyond, but something deep inside tells me that if I take this chance, something will shift. A moment of risk, a chance at change. It’s not that I hate this place—not entirely. Maybe it’s just preference. I don’t want to be caged here while everyone else gets to be free.

But this is the reality of my power. Isolation is the safest choice until I can truly stand on my own. So I endure. I find ways to appreciate this place—though appreciate is hardly the right word for a place that feels more like a prison than a home.

The clock ticked away until it was finally break time. Clara approached me, inviting me to eat lunch with her. As we sat down, our conversation drifted to my plans for joining the journalism team.

“I want to use this as a way to get involved in activities outside the campus,” I said, opening my lunch box. “I suppose it’s a good way to clear my mind, too.”

Clara nodded, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “I guess that makes sense for you. But… I think you might end up like one of those exhausted, overworked students.” Her words came out slightly muffled by the food in her mouth.

“Why?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Well, journalism can be both fun and tiring. Instead of resting, you’ll have a ton of things to balance,” she replied.

“I expected as much—maybe even worse.” I shrugged.

Clara let out a sigh. “Just don’t do too well, or they might send you off on some big assignment. Who knows? You might never come back.” She tried to sound playful, but there was a hint of something else beneath her words. “I suppose it fits your goals, but… I’d miss you, Hagarin.”

I chuckled. “I get it. But won’t we all go our separate ways eventually? Everyone has their own dreams to chase.”

“You don’t have to rush yours, though,” Clara murmured. “Enjoy things with us while you still can.”

I scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m good enough to just leave everything behind without a second thought.”

“Because you are,” Clara said simply.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not perfect. I have my fair share of mistakes.” I set my lunch box on my lap, my gaze drifting toward the track and field. From here, I could see the open space stretching beyond the school buildings, a distant world that felt both inviting and unreachable.

“Still,” Clara insisted, “you’re more than qualified for it.”

I let out a sigh, irritation creeping in. “You put me on too much of a pedestal.” Such a glazer.

Clara didn’t respond, and I quietly finished my food, the weight of her words lingering in the air between us.

“Sup, guys? Why so quiet?” Ezra strolled over, eyeing my food like a starving stray. I sighed and handed it to him without a word.

“Just fussing over the fact that Hagarin is gonna leave us,” Clara exaggerated with a dramatic sigh.

“Leave? You mean the journalism thing? I signed up too,” Ezra said between bites.

Clara’s eyes widened. “No way you’re gonna be a reporter! You look more like a criminal!”

Ezra gasped, clutching his chest as if she had just stabbed him. “That’s so mean, Clara!” The laughter slowly faded as we settled into a comfortable silence, eating in peace—until Ezra, as usual, broke it.

“I heard we’ve got a returning student,” he said, casually between bites.

That caught my attention. I glanced up, listening closely.

“Oh? Sebastian? Yeah, he actually went on an adventure,” Clara said with a chuckle. “For real this time.”

“What did he do?” I asked, curious.

“He was chosen for the Rite of Astralis,” Clara explained. “It’s kind of a tradition here. You get to go through these... I don’t know, adventurous arcs? Trials? Either way, it’s a big deal. A dream, honestly. You could be chosen next year!”

I nodded slowly. “How was he chosen?”

Clara tilted her head, thinking. “Mmm… maybe it’s ‘cause he’s always so composed? Honestly, no clue. But he’s good. Performs really well. Probably a little like Ezra—just, you know, less chaotic.”

Ezra tugged her hair in retaliation, and the two immediately broke into their usual squabble, bickering like cats and dogs. I just watched them, quietly amused. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the grace period our professor gave us, some students were cramming last-minute tasks, while others just chatted idly. Nothing unusual—there weren’t many of us to begin with, so the room always felt quiet, almost predictable.

That is, until someone new walked in.

He had fair skin that seemed to catch the light in just the right way—almost glowing, though that sounds dramatic. Still, there was something undeniably striking about him. Maybe it was how healthy he looked, or how all his features came together so effortlessly, giving him this… natural charm.

That must be Sebastian.

His chestnut hair fell just right, giving him a charismatic air that somehow lit up the room. Almost instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Students cheered and greeted him like an old friend.

It was...nice.

When the professor finally returned, he paused at the door, his expression softening the moment he saw Sebastian.

“Ah, welcome back,” he said with a nod, then gestured toward the back of the room. “You’ll be seated with Clarence.”

So that’s why that seat was always empty.

As Sebastian made his way to the back, Clarence looked up—and for the first time in a while, his usually unreadable face broke into a genuine smile.

The two exchanged a brief look, one that spoke volumes. No words were needed. It was the kind of silent understanding only close friends shared—like they hadn’t seen each other in months but had picked up right where they left off.

Sebastian slid into the seat beside him, and just like that, the energy in the room shifted again—familiar, but different.

During our free time—while the professor was still present—we were allowed to work on tasks from other subjects. The only condition? No noise, no distractions, no chaos.

But... yeah.

I watched as Ezra strutted around like he owned the place, talking loudly with Clarence and Sebastian at the back of the room. Honestly, Sebastian wasn’t much quieter either.

“Boys at the back! Silence!” the professor snapped.

Clarence immediately facepalmed, clearly regretting his life choices.

“And you,” the professor turned his glare toward Ezra, who froze mid-sentence.

Ezra gulped and quickly dropped into his seat.

“Three days ago was your fifth visit to the counselor. Are you planning to make it a sixth?”

All three of them winced at the same time as the professor launched into a scolding loud enough for the whole class to hear. Wow, what a normal day today. 

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In the final hour before dismissal, I found myself zoning out. The discussion had become unbearably dull—like a lullaby disguised as a lecture. It was as if whispers of mischief snuck into my head, gently urging me to just give in and sleep.

I closed my eyes for a second… and that second stretched into what felt like eternity.

And just like that—I was out.

Faint whispers stirred around me, then slowly faded into an eerie silence. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the room, its cold breath brushing against my skin. For a moment, the stillness was oddly peaceful.

Until—

“Okay! Class dismissed!”

The professor’s voice exploded through the quiet like a bomb. I jolted awake with a flinch—only to be met with the blinding flash of a phone camera aimed right at me.

Ezra.

“Hey!” I shouted, glaring as he grinned behind his phone.

Laughter erupted around the room, and I could only groan, hiding my face in my hands.

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1,415 words

next chapter

Today's Sigma is: being teased

My throat hurts and it feels like needles clawing inside my throat whenever I swallow, cough or eat.

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

Chapter 6: What time took from me: Temporal Cipher

Content Warning for Chapter 6 This chapter contains depictions of psychological distress, hallucinations, paranoia, mentions of therapy, and unsettling imagery (including gore-like descriptions, though not physical). Reader discretion is advised, especially for those sensitive to topics related to mental health struggles and dissociation. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

there's fluff despite everything, dw, you're not just a reader! there's aftercare.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Another day. Another twisted activity waiting for us.

We were all gathered in a cramped, windowless room today — air thick with tension and the faint metallic tang of stress-sweat. Proctors paced back and forth, handing out assignments, their shoes tapping like countdown clocks against the tile.

Every student had their own task: someone bent metal into intricate symbols; another whispered to a bowl of water until their reflection screamed back; one kid calculated endless numbers, their fingers twitching like flesh calculators.

And me? I got the box.

It sat at the center of the room, black and heart beating, almost alive. When the proctor called my name, my gut twisted painfully — the same way it did when I first learned my mother died. A slow-blooming nausea that whispered, This will change you.

I obeyed anyway. Because what else could I do?

The moment my fingertips brushed the box, everything around me ruptured.

The walls melted, my classmates vanished, and suddenly I was standing on a bridge suspended over nothing. The sky churned with black oil clouds, and the only sound was my own pulse, loud and thunderous, rattling my skull from the inside out.

The first puzzle piece was easy — a small section of the box slid away under my touch, clicking into place like a child's toy. Too easy.

The second piece? It bit into my skin. Razor-sharp edges slid under my nails, prying them up like peeling fruit skin. Blood welled fast and slick, dripping down my wrists — but I couldn't stop. My fingers moved like puppets under some crueler hand, and the more I solved, the more reality warped around me.

I saw my mother's coffin. Even though in reality, I never had the chance to give my mother a proper burial.

It was standing upright beside me — nailed shut, but not enough to stop her hand from slipping through the crack. Bone-thin fingers, nails ripped clean off, reaching for me.

Behind me, Clara stood with her throat slit wide open — petals growing from the wound like some macabre garden, blooming faster every time I blinked.

Worst of all, in the mirrored shards scattered on the ground, I saw myself. Or versions of me. 

One had no eyes, just empty sockets filled with writhing, ink-black worms. 

One had my lips stitched shut with golden wire, my hands folded politely like a corpse. 

One stood with her back bent at a grotesque angle, head hanging loose by a thread of skin.

I should have screamed. I should have stopped. I didn't.

Because the box wouldn't let me.

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With every new piece, the puzzle took more from me.

My left eye burst — or at least, it felt like it. A blinding flash of pain seared through my skull, and something thicker than blood leaked down my cheek. I wiped at it, trembling, and my hand came away soaked in black ink, dripping like melted shadow.

My fingers began to crack and splinter, bone peeking through skin. Every time a piece slid into place, my own flesh unraveled — as if solving the puzzle meant dismantling myself.

But I couldn't stop.

Time twisted in knots around me. The bridge collapsed and rebuilt itself beneath my feet, forcing me to step forward, backward, sideways — every wrong step dropped me into another memory.

I fell into my childhood bedroom, staring at my mother's empty bed.

I fell into the schoolyard, watching Clara wave before a flower pierced her hand.

I fell into my own grave, dirt filling my mouth until I couldn't scream.

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Somewhere, some tiny rational part of my mind knew the truth.

This wasn't real. None of it. This was the test — a psychic simulation planted directly into my skull by the proctors. My body was still standing in that tiny room, trembling, hands clutching the real box.

But the rest of me? I was dying. Over and over and over.

This was how they forced my powers to awaken. Not through training — through terror. Through stress so violent my time magic would activate by instinct.

They were ripping me open, not to teach me, but to see if I could survive it.

When the final piece slid into place, I hit the ground hard. My knees split open against jagged stone, and for a moment I could taste my own blood, bright and sharp like a warning bell.

The bridge shattered beneath me, sending me into a free-fall through my own memories, my own past mistakes. I relived my mother's death in reverse, watching her rise from the grave, heal from her sickness, smile at me once more—

And then I woke up.

Back in the room. Hands trembling over the very normal, very wooden puzzle box. The proctor nodded once. "Good work." My gaze fell to the woman by his side. It was Ms. Renée

She didn't ask questions. Didn't tell me it was all fake, because she knew it didn't matter. My mind couldn't tell the difference. My body still remembered the agony, the trauma. The phantom pain lingered, too deep to scrub out.

She knelt beside me, hands warm on my frozen skin. "Hagarin, You're okay."

I couldn't even answer. My throat felt stitched shut.

She wiped my face gently — her sleeve coming away soaked with cold sweat and tears. No blood. No ink. Just a terrified kid they pushed too far.

The walk home is as though paranoia grips through my skin, it causes me to shiver to no end, no relief, no warmth.

Ms. Renée walked me home, her arm never leaving my shoulders. Every step felt like it existed in three different timelines — one where I fell, one where I ran, one where I stood still until time ate me alive.

When we reached my door, I froze.

It wasn't my house. It was my mother's funeral home, twisted into the shape of my front door. Her coffin was waiting inside — not real, but my brain didn't care.

I collapsed to my knees, trembling so violently I thought my bones would rattle apart.

Ms. Renee held me, whispering, "You're here. You're real." I didn't believe her.

I still don't.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at my hands.

The injuries were gone. My fingers were whole. My eye was intact. My skin was clean.

But when I clenched my fists, the air shimmered, rippling faintly like time didn't fully trust me anymore.

Every time I blinked, I saw the stitched-mouth version of me sitting at the foot of my bed, watching, waiting for me to break again.

Time didn't just test me today. It claimed me.

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Morning light gently seeped through the veil of my curtains, painting fragile gold across the room and...

Sleep didn't come.

When I closed my eyes, I fell into the bridge again. Into the coffin. Into my own corpse.

I woke up gasping, fingers clawing at my throat, convinced it was still sewn shut. I vomited once — black sludge that vanished the moment I blinked, leaving me doubting if it ever happened.

Time magic is supposed to be beautiful. But mine feels like a curse — a parasite gnawing at my spine, whispering, You don't deserve control. We do.

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The next morning—another morning. I saw my reflection.

My face was fine. But my shadow moved slower than me, lagging by just a fraction of a second — like time itself didn't fully trust me anymore.

At breakfast, my cup cracked when I picked it up — age speeding up around my fingertips until the glass simply couldn't hold itself together.

I was unraveling. And no one could see it but me. 

They wanted me to learn control. 

What I learned instead is that time has teeth — and every second you touch will bite back.

I'm stronger now. But I'm also haunted.

Because every time I close my eyes, I still see that stitched-mouth girl — still sitting at the foot of my bed, still waiting for me to break her free.

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The past five days unraveled like a slow, cruel unraveling of thread — paranoia soaked into every corner of my mind until it left me disheveled, barely standing today. My fingers now brush against the fragile edges of reality, where I could finally distinguish what was real and what was only a phantom born from my fear.

Guilt curled itself around my throat like a noose, tightening with every breath I took. I never gave Hanari the explanation she deserved — I simply pushed her towards Ms. Renée, too ashamed, too fractured to speak for myself.

The school excused me for a month, a mercy disguised as punishment. They said I needed time to recover, as if time alone could soothe wounds carved into my mind. Even now, I'm not sure if healing is something I can reach.

A therapist was assigned to untangle my chaos, but how do you calm nerves that still vibrate with phantom pain? How do you silence a storm that's made a home inside your head?

The day I finally told Hanari the truth, the weight of my own words crushed me. I cried. I broke. I admitted I was not okay — and somehow, saying it out loud made it all feel so much heavier.

When the tears finally fell, Hanari pulled me into her arms — no words, no questions, just the quiet strength of her embrace. It was her way of reminding me that I was still here, that I was alive, even if my mind had long wandered into the graveyard of my fears. Her warmth bled into my skin, thawing the frost left by endless nights of paranoia. And in her arms, I could finally...

Breathe.

And for the first time in days, I drifted — not into nightmares, not into fractured time loops or restless visions, but into something tender and whole.

I slept in peace.

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Days slip through my fingers, and still, my feet refuse to touch the school grounds. I've let procrastination drape over me like a second skin, curling into my blankets as if they could protect me from everything I'm not ready to face. I feel better now, at least my body does — but my spirit won't rise.

Not yet.

There's a whisper in my mind, one that tells me to step forward, to walk into the unknown, because life rarely waits for those who hesitate. But I'm too tired, and for once, I want to be selfish enough to stay still — to let my bones sink into rest without guilt gnawing at me.

So my world shrinks to something soft and familiar: cooking for my sisters, sweeping the floors, folding laundry, turning ordinary moments into quiet lanterns that light my way back to myself. I even let myself imagine a life of simple domesticity.

But no — a housewife I could never be. Not in this life, not in this body.

I was tracing meaningless lines into my sketchbook when the silence broke. A knock — sharp, loud, persistent — rattled the door. A knock so familiar, I already knew whose hand it belonged to.

I wasn’t wearing my mask, so for a brief moment, I caught a small glimpse of the future. It was them — Ezra, Clarence, and Clara. Oddly enough, my mind felt calm, as if the usual storm had finally settled. Maybe it was because I was relaxed, and for once, my powers weren’t overwhelming me.

Perhaps the only real weapon against my own abilities was something as simple as staying calm. Maybe that was the key all along.

I walked toward the front door, and just as my vision predicted, there stood Ezra.

"Oh, my dove! I missed you!" Before I could even process the moment, Ezra swept me off my feet — quite literally — pulling me into a hug so sudden it forced a yelp out of me. Strangely enough, my little glimpse into the future never warned me about that.

The second he set me down, Clara stepped forward, pulling me into her own embrace. There was a warmth in it that made my heart ache in the best way. In that moment, surrounded by people who cared, I felt alive.

"I’m so glad you’re okay," Clara said softly, her voice trembling as unshed tears gathered in her eyes.

"Hey, don’t cry. I’m here — I’m okay now. Sane as ever," I reassured her, though my smile was just a little wobbly.

"Ooh, nice house." Ezra’s eyes darted around, already scanning every corner like a curious child in a new playground.

I let out a quiet groan, fully expecting him to start touching everything he could get his hands on.

"I’m really glad you’re okay now, Hagarin," Clarence said, his voice softer than usual. "When we saw you leaving school with Ms. Renée, you looked... not great."

I nodded, the memory making my shoulders tense involuntarily. "It was hell," I admitted. No sugarcoating, just the raw truth.

I led them into the living room, only to find Ezra already making himself at home, flipping through the movie collection like he owned the place.

"Have a seat, guys. I own the place anyway," Ezra joked, sprawling dramatically across the couch like a king claiming his throne.

Without a second thought, I grabbed a cushion and threw it straight at his face. Clara and Clarence burst into soft laughter as they settled into the room, filling the space with a comforting sense of normalcy I hadn’t felt in a while.

And it was nice — really nice.

I didn’t feel alone.

I had them, too.

They might each carry their own ghosts, their own cracks and sharp edges, but knowing we all had our struggles somehow made it easier to breathe. I wasn’t drifting aimlessly in isolation anymore. I had my people—chaotic, flawed, and human—right beside me.

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2,535 words

next chapter

You wanna know what I hate? People who don't tag properly, whether it be on AO3, Tumblr, ECT. Tags exist for a fucking reason.

A great example of not tagging properly is a fic I found that was marked "Dazai/reader" so it must be an x reader, right? WRONG! It was a Dazai x AN OC. AN OC WITH A WHOLE ASS NAME.

It pisses me tf off

it took me 5 years of fixating everything.

“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it

Chapter 1: Present time

This chapter contains themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including:

References to past violenceMentions of death, Light school stress and academic pressure, Brief mention of dangerous creatures and plants (idk how sensitive are yall but hell yeah), Mild language.

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Hagarin's POV After many years, we are finally old enough to leave the institution and live independently in the city. My sisters and I are still together and living under the same roof. I also saw several changes in ourselves as we grew up.

And today, both Hanari and I are 15 years old. We spent years studying within the facility and never had the opportunity to attend a regular school. Now that we are living alone, we can finally attend school. I considered staying at home and do houseworks while my two sisters continue with their studies, but Hanari insisted that I should as well.

We all know that education will always be important in many aspects in lives.

Every morning, we follow a certain timetable. I get up early to cook our breakfast, and Hanari and our younger sister will get up early to prepare for school. When they're finished, we'll all enjoy breakfast together. After that, Hanari will wash the dishes as I prepare for school, and our younger sister will assist in putting the plates back in the drawers.

That routine goes on and on everyday.

Sharing what has just happened at the school we attend is stressful, at least for me and Hanari. Our younger sister is stress-free since she is still young and a kindergarten student.

Lately, we have been learning many magic spells, doing scientific experiments, studying a bunch of literature and theses, and many more.

I can say that studying magic spells and doing scientific experiments will help us discover what elemental power we possess.

As I listen to my journalism teacher, I'm fighting the urge to fall asleep. She was now discussing the significance of magic, particularly how it began.

"Magic is important to everyone. No matter how unfair or how much chaos it brings to our lives." she went on to say. "And, in the beginning, the use of magic was legalized as a weapon to defend ourselves, but I have to warn everyone not to be such a prick when it comes to using magic." She giggled, went to the board, and began writing.

"To be exact, 8290 years ago, magic was discovered by a witch," she said, making my focus adjust to her as I listened. I was intrigued. "That witch was none other than Victoria Lemioska." It intrigued the whole class. "Also known as; Victo. Now that you all came to a realization, in all places in the world, her face, and statues are everywhere. As we are all deeply connected with her discovery of the magic," she said before turning to us once again.

"Since Victo is a witch, she first discovered a spell to make a withered plant come back to life." The teacher pulled out a withered rose and used magic to bring it back to a healthy life while it floated in the air. "Victo discovered that spell and named it Resuscitate."

"As time passes by, more spells are discovered by her."

"You can learn it in your spell class."

"But as a journalist, I have seen her notebook filled with magical spells; half of it is forbidden to be used as it casts irreversible damage to anything." She snapped her fingers, making an image of the notebook appear in the air.

We all gazed up, awestruck. It's quite a hefty notepad. Though the object is significantly tarnished due to its age, I can see that the writing on the notepad is still legible and readable to anybody. However, I was attracted by the prohibited magic. I feel that the banned spells are not included in the magic books that are handed to us.

when the image disappeared and the rose landed on her desk. "The notebook was located in our national museum, the Metallica Museum." Our teacher was about to speak again, but then a student raised their hand.

"Ma'am, what about the five major elements?" A student asked.

"The five major elements were discovered by Baili Hermin," our teacher stated. "He was also a journalist like me, and of course, being a journalist requires traveling around the world to explore many things."

"Fun fact, he also used to work under the branch of media analyst, wherein I also work." She proudly claimed. "Moving on, it may sound unrealistic, but Baili met Victoria in a desert. Baili was almost attacked by a lion, but Victo blinded the lion with a spell and took Baili to a cave."

"There's proof, no matter how unrealistic, that Baili's diary was found, and it was also in the museum. He documented his whole journey of travelling around the world, and the most highlighted part of his diary was the discovery of the five major elements."

"He discovered it because of Victo. Baili wrote everything about what Victo said about magic spells, making it more believable that magic spells exist."

"When the article reached many people, the majority of the people started to panic, and out of panic, everyone else planned to execute Victo. The reason is that Victo is nothing but an outcast in the world; possessing magic is absurd and unbelievable."

"And yet, we are here, prone to using magic," our teacher said.

"The elements were discovered when Victo was executed; a light escaped from her chest, making it explode through the sky. It landed on humans, animals, and most importantly, plants."

"Which resulted in why we have species in the forest that are completely dangerous and can harm your life, for example, the flower Rafflesia."

"Before the light landed on that flower, it's just the biggest flower in the world and has a foul odor to attract insects to kill."

"Now it still does its purpose, but it has the ability to stretch away from its position and follow you everywhere in the forest." Our teacher deadpanned making the whole class laughed.

"To make this quick, the five major elements landed on five humans, and those humans are now known to be the gods of those major elements." Our teacher sighed. "We are all aware that the most powerful and rare element to possess is time; in other words, you can control the time, predict what's going to happen, and there are many other signs to feel if you possess one."

"Second is nature."

"Remember, never mess with nature itself, as it was the one that gave us a reason to live in, to breathe in. The ability to possess nature grants you access to control plants and animals."

"But isn't changing the weather also a part of it?" A student asked. "Only the god of nature can do that." Our teacher chuckled. "Come to think of it, the God of Nature has a 15-year streak of absence. Many say that her aura is still around, but many also believe she has passed away, and it's just nature speaking," the teacher sighed.

"Moving on, fire is on the third."

"In my study, fire is always predicted to be possessed by someone who has such a boisterous personality, while the ice one is someone who is...restrained." our teacher summoned her book and it was probably her personalized book. It has a lot of pages and everything that was written in that book was her understanding on how to predict which element do a person possesses.

"ah, here it is." She placed her book on the desk and started reading.

"The element of fire is known to be the most fascinating, exquisite and ravishing elemental of all. It was asserted as one considering a klatsch of people are indulged to play with fire even if it only steers to harm."

"and by all means of harm, it can also be describe as destruction." she finished making the whole class whisper among themselves. "But that doesn't mean to treat someone with disrespect just because they hold that elemental power." She sighed.

THIRD PERSON'S POV

The teacher noticed the change of atmosphere in her class and sighed. "You all probably have forgotten my name but once again, my name is Renée and I hope you all learned something today." Renée glanced at her watch on her wrist.

many students started to protest on her from leaving. They still have a lot of questions with the history but that will all be answered at the next time they see each other again. Renée only stifled a chuckle at the frustrated expression of their students. Curiosity truly made their heads run wild.

"An advance reading on your textbooks won't hurt. Simply just turn your page to chapter 5 and all of your questions will be briefly answered as it provides descriptive explanation to everything." Renée finally exit the classroom.

Once she did, the students in her class opened their textbooks to discover a lot more information. As Renée exit the classroom, she went to the elevator to venture her way to her next class but she was greeted by another teacher; Kyla.

"I see you've gotten your students all pumped up. Quite a headache to deal with." Kyla scoffed as she pressed on the buttons. It only made Renée shrug. "Don't act like you aren't as curious as them when you're at that age." Renée retorted to only make Kyla chuckle and let Renée's tone slide for now. "I assumed you've found someone with a rare element in this class. Hmm?" Kyla's eyes watched Renée's expression from the reflections of the elevator.

"It was such a rare occurrence indeed." Renée remembered Hagarin. "Her eyes are different from the rest. The colors were a lot more dull than the others making it more accessible to assume that she was an extraordinary person." Renée thoughtfully answered. "And this by this she you are referring to, who is she?" Kyla averted her eyes from Renée and focused on the door as it opened. a small ding was heard as they reached the floor. Renée walked ahead of Kyla but spoke before leaving. "Hagarin."

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1,702 words.

Chapter 3: Answers and Change of Plans

Content Warning: This chapter contains mentions of death, health-related distress (migraines/passing out), themes of isolation, and discussions about mortality. Reader discretion is advised.

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I woke to the sterile scent of bleach and the muted hum of fluorescent lights, the weight of my own skull pressing down like stone. My limbs felt waterlogged, heavy as if the bed beneath me was slowly pulling me into its core.

Hanari's voice reached me before my vision fully returned, muffled and sharp at the edges, her tone caught somewhere between anger and fear. "You should've told me."

I blinked against the ceiling, pale and cracked, a spiderweb fissure directly above me that seemed to throb in time with my pulse. "Are you done moping?" My voice came out raspier than expected, irritation curling through my words—not because I was angry at her, but because I needed something to feel other than dread.

Hanari folded her arms, her posture defensive, but her eyes too wide, too soft. The mask didn't fit today. "Dramatic sigh" barely covered the shaky breath she let out as her shoulders rose and fell. "You're such a dick."

The glass door creaked open, and Ms. Renée stepped inside, her reflection warping in the glass like something unreal. The setting sun behind her fractured into shards of light, cutting her figure into pieces. In her hand was a mug—coffee, dark and bitter from the scent that followed her in.

"I'm glad to see you awake," she said, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Headache's gone..." I answered, but the relief felt fake. "What did you do?"

Her face flickered with something unreadable before she folded her arms, considering her words too carefully. "Focus on resting first. Your health comes first."

"Don't patronize me. I want answers." The words ripped out of me before I could soften them, sharp and uneven. Something burned inside my chest, a simmering panic I couldn't name.

Renée sighed, long and tired. "Kids these days. Always so hungry for ruin."

Beside me, Hanari leaned in, whispering through a half-smirk, "You're stubborn too."

"Listen closely." Renée's voice lowered into something quieter, colder, like she was telling us a ghost story we were already trapped inside. "Hanari, when you found Hagarin, I mentioned the headaches. They aren't migraines. They're symptoms."

"Symptoms of what?" Hanari's voice broke slightly. The cracks were showing.

"Time travel."

The word alone made my stomach twist. Time was no longer a concept or a lesson or even a power. It was inside me. A disease eating through the walls of my skull.

"The headaches, the blackouts, the visions—they're your brain trying to reconcile past, present, and future all at once. Your mind wasn't made to hold infinity." Renée paused, letting the silence soak in. "If you don't learn control, time itself will drown you."

That's when the word hit me like a knife to the chest: Death.

It was no longer a distant concept. It was here, sitting beside me, breathing on my neck. I had always wondered—would it be a void? Would it hurt? Would I even notice when I crossed the line between existing and not?

My head spun, nausea curling deep inside me.

"Can you..." My voice barely worked. "Can you explain what happens? From experience?"

Renée's smile was brittle. "Of course."

She leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling, where memories seemed to stain the tiles like watermarks.

"The visions never stop. Past, future, alternate versions of now—they whisper constantly. You'll hear things that haven't happened yet and things that already did but differently. You'll see your own death a thousand times over in a hundred different ways. Your brain will try to split itself into pieces just to make room." Her fingers traced the edge of her chair like she was touching a grave marker.

"When I first realized what I was, my parents locked me in a room for months. I was dangerous, even to myself. They thought isolation would save me—but it just made me a prison of my own mind."

I could see her now, a younger version, curled up in a corner, knuckles white, vision flickering between every timeline where she lived, died, ran, stayed. A thousand lifetimes trapped inside one skull.

"So how did you survive?" My voice sounded small. Fragile.

"I ran." She didn't sugarcoat it. "I ran until I couldn't hear them screaming my name anymore."

Hanari and I exchanged a glance, that unspoken what the hell? hanging between us.

"It's survival," Renée said with a shrug. "Messy, desperate, survival."

Golden light sliced across her face, painting her like a portrait half-burned at the edges.

"I was thirteen when I learned to lock most of it away. I got into this school. They transferred me to the time traveler department, and I stayed hidden there until I understood how to breathe without choking on centuries."

She stood abruptly, shaking off the weight of her own story. "Anyway, I run a library five blocks from here. Visit sometime."

"Will you actually be there?" I asked, half hopeful.

Her smile was half a ghost. "No. I'm a history teacher, not a prophet."

She left before I could answer, the door swinging shut behind her.

Hanari's shoulder pressed into mine, warm and real in the empty room. "Woah...quite the announcement."

I stared at the tiled floor, letting the information sink in like water through cracks. "Yeah."

"It'll be fun," Hanari said, too bright, too forced. "You'll have a hell of a story to tell."

"Consent would've been nice," I muttered. "Ms. Renée never even asked."

"Maybe the admins will do an official talk. They have to, right?"

I didn't answer.

"Have you decided?" Her voice softened.

I stared at my hands, at the faint tremble I couldn't hide. "Dunno."

Hanari leaned her head against my shoulder. "You have a death wish."

The words should've been funny, but they weren't.

We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, while the room darkened around us. Just two silhouettes against the fading light, floating somewhere between fate and fear.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air inside the counselor's office clung to my skin like cold sweat. The silence had weight—like the room itself knew secrets it couldn't say aloud. The printer groaned in the corner, coughing up a consent form, each page landing like a death sentence.

"You're early," Maria Tess said, voice mildly surprised. "I haven't even prepped the files yet."

I glanced at her nameplate, gold edges catching the flickering fluorescent light: Maria Tess. Funny how official names always felt like gravestones.

"Wanted to get this over with," I said. "So I can sleep after."

"Even Ms. Renée isn't here yet. Relax."

Relax. In a room where my fate hung from a single sheet of paper.

The doorbell chimed, and Ms. Renée stepped inside, her coffee steaming, her smile distant. Maria Tess handed me the form, paper still warm, ink still drying.

"We're all aware of your situation," Maria Tess began, words too rehearsed. "When students discover dangerous powers, we relocate them. For safety. For survival."

Time travelers didn't get to choose. Time itself chose them, and all they could do was keep breathing until it didn't want them anymore.

"Without control," she said, "your mind will fracture under the weight of the past and future. And it will kill you."

The word wasn't metaphorical. It was bone-deep, absolute.

"Sign here."

"This is how you stay alive." "Hagarin." Ms. Renée's voice cut cleanly through the silence, slicing apart the fog of my thoughts. "This will benefit you — if you want to keep living."Maybe I needed that bluntness. A reminder that this wasn't just a choice between two doors, but between survival and collapse.

I blinked, my gaze still locked on the consent form. My hand hovered near the pen, fingers curling and uncurling like they couldn't decide if they belonged to me.

"...Would this damage me financially?" The question tumbled out before I could think it through, my voice quieter than I meant."Not at all," Ms. Tess replied, her tone brisk and assured — at the exact same moment Ms. Renée answered too, her voice overlapping in a soft echo.  For some reason, that made me smile. Just a little.

 I exhaled slowly, letting the air drag out all my hesitations with it. 

 "Alright." 

 The pen felt heavier than it should as I picked it up. With each stroke of ink, the page drank my consent, sealing my fate in writing.My name rested there, small and sharp in the sea of legal language, and though my heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest, the signature was already drying.

 It was done.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1,512 words.

Hi guys, I plan to write more than 1k words.  Every chapter gets worse and worse, hang in there, Hagarin will be insane soon.

Chapter 3: Answers and Change of Plans

Content Warning: This chapter contains mentions of death, health-related distress (migraines/passing out), themes of isolation, and discussions about mortality. Reader discretion is advised.

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I woke to the sterile scent of bleach and the muted hum of fluorescent lights, the weight of my own skull pressing down like stone. My limbs felt waterlogged, heavy as if the bed beneath me was slowly pulling me into its core.

Hanari's voice reached me before my vision fully returned, muffled and sharp at the edges, her tone caught somewhere between anger and fear. "You should've told me."

I blinked against the ceiling, pale and cracked, a spiderweb fissure directly above me that seemed to throb in time with my pulse. "Are you done moping?" My voice came out raspier than expected, irritation curling through my words—not because I was angry at her, but because I needed something to feel other than dread.

Hanari folded her arms, her posture defensive, but her eyes too wide, too soft. The mask didn't fit today. "Dramatic sigh" barely covered the shaky breath she let out as her shoulders rose and fell. "You're such a dick."

The glass door creaked open, and Ms. Renée stepped inside, her reflection warping in the glass like something unreal. The setting sun behind her fractured into shards of light, cutting her figure into pieces. In her hand was a mug—coffee, dark and bitter from the scent that followed her in.

"I'm glad to see you awake," she said, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Headache's gone..." I answered, but the relief felt fake. "What did you do?"

Her face flickered with something unreadable before she folded her arms, considering her words too carefully. "Focus on resting first. Your health comes first."

"Don't patronize me. I want answers." The words ripped out of me before I could soften them, sharp and uneven. Something burned inside my chest, a simmering panic I couldn't name.

Renée sighed, long and tired. "Kids these days. Always so hungry for ruin."

Beside me, Hanari leaned in, whispering through a half-smirk, "You're stubborn too."

"Listen closely." Renée's voice lowered into something quieter, colder, like she was telling us a ghost story we were already trapped inside. "Hanari, when you found Hagarin, I mentioned the headaches. They aren't migraines. They're symptoms."

"Symptoms of what?" Hanari's voice broke slightly. The cracks were showing.

"Time travel."

The word alone made my stomach twist. Time was no longer a concept or a lesson or even a power. It was inside me. A disease eating through the walls of my skull.

"The headaches, the blackouts, the visions—they're your brain trying to reconcile past, present, and future all at once. Your mind wasn't made to hold infinity." Renée paused, letting the silence soak in. "If you don't learn control, time itself will drown you."

That's when the word hit me like a knife to the chest: Death.

It was no longer a distant concept. It was here, sitting beside me, breathing on my neck. I had always wondered—would it be a void? Would it hurt? Would I even notice when I crossed the line between existing and not?

My head spun, nausea curling deep inside me.

"Can you..." My voice barely worked. "Can you explain what happens? From experience?"

Renée's smile was brittle. "Of course."

She leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling, where memories seemed to stain the tiles like watermarks.

"The visions never stop. Past, future, alternate versions of now—they whisper constantly. You'll hear things that haven't happened yet and things that already did but differently. You'll see your own death a thousand times over in a hundred different ways. Your brain will try to split itself into pieces just to make room." Her fingers traced the edge of her chair like she was touching a grave marker.

"When I first realized what I was, my parents locked me in a room for months. I was dangerous, even to myself. They thought isolation would save me—but it just made me a prison of my own mind."

I could see her now, a younger version, curled up in a corner, knuckles white, vision flickering between every timeline where she lived, died, ran, stayed. A thousand lifetimes trapped inside one skull.

"So how did you survive?" My voice sounded small. Fragile.

"I ran." She didn't sugarcoat it. "I ran until I couldn't hear them screaming my name anymore."

Hanari and I exchanged a glance, that unspoken what the hell? hanging between us.

"It's survival," Renée said with a shrug. "Messy, desperate, survival."

Golden light sliced across her face, painting her like a portrait half-burned at the edges.

"I was thirteen when I learned to lock most of it away. I got into this school. They transferred me to the time traveler department, and I stayed hidden there until I understood how to breathe without choking on centuries."

She stood abruptly, shaking off the weight of her own story. "Anyway, I run a library five blocks from here. Visit sometime."

"Will you actually be there?" I asked, half hopeful.

Her smile was half a ghost. "No. I'm a history teacher, not a prophet."

She left before I could answer, the door swinging shut behind her.

Hanari's shoulder pressed into mine, warm and real in the empty room. "Woah...quite the announcement."

I stared at the tiled floor, letting the information sink in like water through cracks. "Yeah."

"It'll be fun," Hanari said, too bright, too forced. "You'll have a hell of a story to tell."

"Consent would've been nice," I muttered. "Ms. Renée never even asked."

"Maybe the admins will do an official talk. They have to, right?"

I didn't answer.

"Have you decided?" Her voice softened.

I stared at my hands, at the faint tremble I couldn't hide. "Dunno."

Hanari leaned her head against my shoulder. "You have a death wish."

The words should've been funny, but they weren't.

We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, while the room darkened around us. Just two silhouettes against the fading light, floating somewhere between fate and fear.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air inside the counselor's office clung to my skin like cold sweat. The silence had weight—like the room itself knew secrets it couldn't say aloud. The printer groaned in the corner, coughing up a consent form, each page landing like a death sentence.

"You're early," Maria Tess said, voice mildly surprised. "I haven't even prepped the files yet."

I glanced at her nameplate, gold edges catching the flickering fluorescent light: Maria Tess. Funny how official names always felt like gravestones.

"Wanted to get this over with," I said. "So I can sleep after."

"Even Ms. Renée isn't here yet. Relax."

Relax. In a room where my fate hung from a single sheet of paper.

The doorbell chimed, and Ms. Renée stepped inside, her coffee steaming, her smile distant. Maria Tess handed me the form, paper still warm, ink still drying.

"We're all aware of your situation," Maria Tess began, words too rehearsed. "When students discover dangerous powers, we relocate them. For safety. For survival."

Time travelers didn't get to choose. Time itself chose them, and all they could do was keep breathing until it didn't want them anymore.

"Without control," she said, "your mind will fracture under the weight of the past and future. And it will kill you."

The word wasn't metaphorical. It was bone-deep, absolute.

"Sign here."

"This is how you stay alive." "Hagarin." Ms. Renée's voice cut cleanly through the silence, slicing apart the fog of my thoughts. "This will benefit you — if you want to keep living."Maybe I needed that bluntness. A reminder that this wasn't just a choice between two doors, but between survival and collapse.

I blinked, my gaze still locked on the consent form. My hand hovered near the pen, fingers curling and uncurling like they couldn't decide if they belonged to me.

"...Would this damage me financially?" The question tumbled out before I could think it through, my voice quieter than I meant."Not at all," Ms. Tess replied, her tone brisk and assured — at the exact same moment Ms. Renée answered too, her voice overlapping in a soft echo.  For some reason, that made me smile. Just a little.

 I exhaled slowly, letting the air drag out all my hesitations with it. 

 "Alright." 

 The pen felt heavier than it should as I picked it up. With each stroke of ink, the page drank my consent, sealing my fate in writing.My name rested there, small and sharp in the sea of legal language, and though my heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest, the signature was already drying.

 It was done.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1,512 words.

Hi guys, I plan to write more than 1k words.  Every chapter gets worse and worse, hang in there, Hagarin will be insane soon.