The Time Gambler's Curse

Chapter 16: One More Chance

The soft click of the door behind him echoed faintly, as if fading into a memory, already dissolving into the quiet hum of the world beyond the casino. Damian stepped into the sunlit street, taking in the warmth of the light as it settled over his skin. A long, weary exhale escaped him, the weight of time's relentless pursuit finally lifting. He had done it. The game, the jumps, the fractures—they were behind him now. He was free.

Or so he thought.

Damian's steps slowed, something tugging at the edge of his consciousness. A faint pulse, almost imperceptible, but growing. It wasn't the hum of the Eraser, nor the pressure of the flickers chasing him down corridors of broken time. This was different—subtle, like a whisper only his mind could hear. He stopped, his gaze scanning the peaceful streets. Everything appeared normal. The city stretched out before him, the long shadows of the setting sun casting an amber glow across the pavement. The world had returned to order.

But something was wrong.

His breath hitched, the steady rhythm of his pulse quickening. Instinctively, his fingers twitched, grasping for something that wasn't there—the blank card. The memory of it weighed heavy on him, the final move he'd played at the Dealer's table. It had brought peace, hadn't it? And yet, standing there in the silence, a nagging unease coiled around his thoughts, tightening like a knot that refused to come undone.

Damian turned, eyes narrowing as he swept the street. There, at the corner of his vision, something flickered—a ripple, a tremor in the fabric of time. It was brief, so brief he could have dismissed it as a trick of the light. But he knew better. The flicker was unmistakable.

His heart lurched in his chest. No. It couldn't be. Not now. Not after everything.

He spun toward the spot, his senses on high alert, but the street lay still and undisturbed. Pedestrians moved about, unaware, their lives continuing as if the world hadn't teetered on the edge of collapse. But Damian could feel it now—that gnawing sense of time's unresolved chaos creeping back into reality, like a wound that hadn't fully healed.

Then, from behind him, a voice cut through the tension, low and familiar.

"Damian."

He froze, the sound of his name sending a chill down his spine. Slowly, he turned, expecting to see the remnants of time's pursuit, the Eraser maybe, or some twisted echo of his past. But what he saw made his blood run cold.

It was him. His younger self.

Standing only a few feet away, the Damian from before—the reckless gambler who had leaped into the game with reckless abandon. But this version wasn't the brash, confident version of himself he remembered. There was a fear in his younger self's eyes, a deep uncertainty that hadn't been there before. It was like looking at a reflection distorted by years of regret.

Damian took a cautious step forward, his voice trembling with disbelief. "You—what are you doing here? I thought it was over."

The younger Damian shook his head, his expression strained with the weight of something Damian couldn't yet see. "You thought it was over," he said, his voice tight. "You thought walking away from the table was the end of it. But it's not. Time doesn't let go that easily."

The air around them felt suddenly thick, heavy with the weight of words unspoken. Damian's chest tightened as he stared at his younger self, dread twisting in his gut. "I played my last card," Damian said, almost as if reminding himself. "I accepted the rules. I made peace."

The younger Damian stepped closer, his expression grim. "The Dealer gave you a way out, sure. But that was only your way out, Damian. Time didn't end because you stopped playing. You might have stopped running, but the fractures didn't heal. They're still there, and they're not going away. Not unless you do something about it."

Damian blinked, the weight of those words crashing down on him. The fractures. Of course. He had left behind the flickers, the jumps, thinking they were done, thinking his acceptance had sealed the damage. But the cracks in time—they hadn't disappeared when he left the table. They had simply paused.

His voice was low, almost defeated. "I thought there was no fixing it. I thought the game wasn't about winning."

The younger Damian's eyes hardened, his voice urgent. "It's not about winning. It's about finishing. And there's one move left, Damian. One last jump. One last chance to make things right."

The flicker danced again, just at the edges of Damian's vision, teasing him with the instability still lurking in the corners of reality. The fractures in time were still there, waiting. His final move hadn't closed the loop—it had merely delayed the inevitable. The Dealer had given him an exit, but not a resolution.

A deep unease settled into Damian's chest as he took a step closer to his younger self. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "That I can still... fix it?"

His younger self nodded, the intensity in his eyes sharp as glass. "There's still a way to close the fractures, to undo the jumps. But it won't be easy. You've seen what happens when time fights back. This time, you're not running from it. You have to face it."

Damian swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. Another jump. After everything, the thought of diving back into the chaos terrified him. But this wasn't just about him anymore. The fractures weren't confined to his own existence—they had rippled through time, bending the fates of others, altering moments, shattering lives. There was more at stake now than his own survival.

"And if I take the jump?" Damian's voice shook, but there was a quiet resolve there, growing stronger with each word.

His younger self stepped forward, his voice softening. "You heal the fractures. You close the loops. But this jump isn't like the others. You can't control it. You have to trust time to guide you."

The flicker grew, more pronounced now, shimmering at the corners of Damian's vision like a crack in the sky, beckoning him forward. This was his last chance. The final move he hadn't played.

Damian's hands shook as he looked into his younger self's eyes. For the first time, he saw the fear that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface—the same fear he had carried through every jump, every reckless bet. But now, that fear was tempered with something else. Understanding.

Time wasn't the enemy. The fractures weren't a punishment. They were the consequence of a game he had never fully understood. And now, there was only one way to finish it.

Damian nodded slowly, his breath steadying. "I'm ready."

The younger Damian's face softened, a small, sad smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Good."

With a final glance toward the flickering edge of reality, Damian took a deep breath. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out, not for a card this time, but for time itself.

The flicker surged, enveloping him in its brilliant light.

And Damian jumped.