The Time Gambler's Curse

Chapter 20: Walking the Edge

The wind, sharp and biting, cut through the silence as Damian stood at the edge of the rooftop, high above the city. It wasn't just the cold that gnawed at him—it was the quiet, an unnerving stillness that had settled over everything. The skyline stretched before him, bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun, but it felt distant, unreal, like the echo of a world he no longer belonged to.

It was over.

Or it should have been.

Elias's words reverberated in his mind, each syllable a weight he couldn't shake: You are the anomaly. Time doesn't leave loose ends.

Damian's grip on the railing tightened, the metal cold and unyielding beneath his fingers. His knuckles turned white as his breath grew shallow. He had believed, if only for a fleeting moment, that he had fixed it—that by activating the device, he had reset the fractures, healed the damage. But Elias's truth had shattered that hope. Damian wasn't the healer—he was the wound. Time was mending itself, but it couldn't fully close the fracture while he remained.

He leaned forward, staring down at the streets below, where people moved in their daily rhythms, unaware of the chaos that had once threatened to tear their reality apart. They walked with purpose, oblivious to the war he had fought against time itself. For them, the world was whole, untouched. But for Damian, the fractures still pulsed beneath the surface, even if they no longer twisted the fabric of the city.

He could feel it—the wrongness, the way time hummed just out of reach, recalibrating itself, preparing for its final act of correction.

The correction that would erase him.

His chest tightened as the truth settled deeper. He was the cost.

Time doesn't leave loose ends, and yet here he was, dangling at the edge of existence, a thread that had not yet been snipped. How long would it be until time finished what it had started? Until it erased the last vestige of his presence?

Would he simply cease to be—vanish without a trace? Or would he feel it, the slow unraveling of his existence, the erasure of every moment he had touched, every memory he had shaped?

He shook his head, his thoughts spiraling into the unknown. It didn't matter how. The end was inevitable. The cold logic of time was absolute—it moved forward, leaving no room for those who tried to break its rules.

But as Damian stood there, high above the streets, the wind stinging his face, a flicker of defiance sparked within him. He had spent his entire existence running—running from mistakes, from responsibility, from the consequences of his greed. And now, as the final correction loomed, that same fire burned in him again.

I won't just disappear.

The thought was unbidden but fierce, cutting through the haze of his despair. His jaw clenched, and he straightened, pushing back from the railing. Time might erase him—might set things right—but he wouldn't go quietly. Not without a fight.

He paced the length of the rooftop, his mind racing. There had to be something—something he could do to outmaneuver this final reckoning. The fractures might have healed, but Damian hadn't. He was still the splinter, the anomaly, the last imperfection in a timeline struggling to restore itself.

The city stretched out below him, indifferent to his plight. The people moved through their lives, unknowing, untouched by the chaos that had nearly consumed everything. But Damian felt disconnected from it all, like a ghost walking through a world that had already forgotten him.

His thoughts turned to Elias. Elias, who had always known more than he let on. The man who had first shown him the device, who had guided him through those initial reckless jumps. Elias had known what was coming, had seen the cost of playing with time's threads. And yet, Elias had let it all happen. He had watched Damian descend deeper and deeper into the fractures, had let him make his mistakes.

But why?

Damian stopped pacing, his heart racing with a sudden surge of clarity. Elias knew the way out. He had always known. If anyone had the answers Damian sought, it was Elias. There had to be more—something Elias hadn't told him. A way to resist the erasure. A way to stay.

He turned abruptly, his decision made. If there was a way out, Elias was the key. Damian wouldn't go quietly. He couldn't.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Damian descended from the rooftop, his feet moving swiftly through the city streets. The city felt different now, as if it was pulling away from him, or perhaps he was pulling away from it. The familiar sights, the sounds of life, the hum of existence—it all felt muted, like the world had already begun to forget him.

By the time he reached the small bookstore, nestled between the towering structures of the city, Damian's pulse was racing. The wooden sign above the door creaked in the wind, and as he pushed the door open, the familiar chime of the bell echoed softly in the stillness.

Elias was waiting.

Damian stepped inside, his heart pounding as their eyes met. The bookstore was quiet, filled with the smell of aged paper and dust, and the long shadows of the shelves seemed to stretch into eternity. Elias stood behind the counter, watching Damian with an expression that was both knowing and solemn.

"Tell me," Damian's voice broke the silence, sharp and demanding. "Tell me there's a way out of this."

Elias didn't move at first. His eyes, calm and steady, held Damian's gaze, and for a moment, he said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, as if the weight of centuries clung to each word. "You already know the answer, Damian."

Damian's fists clenched at his sides. His breath came in shallow bursts, the desperation clawing at him. "I'm not just going to fade away. There has to be something—something I can do."

Elias stepped out from behind the counter, his movements deliberate, as though he carried the burden of time itself on his shoulders. "Time doesn't bend to will. You've seen that. You've lived that. It corrects itself, no matter how hard you try to fight it."

Damian shook his head, refusing to accept the finality in Elias's voice. "I won't disappear like this. Not after everything I've done. Not after everything I've sacrificed."

Elias's gaze softened, but his words remained unyielding. "You've been walking the edge for a long time, Damian. The edge between what you want and what time demands. But there is no balance. Time takes what it's owed. Always."

The truth of those words hit Damian like a blow, but he fought against it, the defiance still burning inside him. There had to be a way out—a way to win.

"There's always another way," Damian insisted, his voice almost pleading now. "There's always a way to bend the rules."

Elias's face softened with an expression Damian hadn't seen before—pity. "Sometimes, the only way to win is to stop playing."

Damian stared at him, his chest heaving with the weight of that statement. To stop playing? Could that be the answer? To let go, to stop fighting against the current of time that had swept him away? He had fought for so long, clung to the belief that he could outsmart time itself, but what if the true victory lay in surrender?

"I'm not ready to disappear," Damian whispered, his voice cracking under the strain of it all.

Elias stepped forward, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder, his touch gentle, understanding. "None of us are."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of the bookstore pressing in around them, the quiet hum of time settling like a final breath.

Then, with a softness Damian hadn't expected, Elias spoke again.

"But maybe, Damian, this isn't the end you think it is."