Salem's scream echoed through the void, stretching across a hundred timelines at once. The golden hands had him—but not entirely. One thread of him dangled, suspended between fractured seconds. He swung like a pendulum, the storm of numbers and echoes swirling beneath him, each whispering possibilities of what could have been—or what must never be.
"Welcome back," purred the Watch, its gears spinning violently, its bell chiming in uneven bursts. "Thought you could escape? Ha. Reality… doesn't really allow that."
Salem's stomach churned. He had thought he'd seen chaos—he had thought the Clockwork Carnival was the apex. He had been wrong. This was… something else. Something infinite. Something that existed between timelines, where skipped days, forgotten memories, and shattered choices merged into a storm of endless 'what ifs.'
"Where… am I?" he asked, voice trembling, though he had no idea if it belonged to him, or one of the versions that existed here.
"Ah… space, time, and your own mistakes," replied the Watch. "All mixed together in a blender you didn't even know existed. Cozy, isn't it?"
The void pulsed. A faint light glimmered ahead, like an hourglass turned upside down. Sands of silver poured endlessly, each grain shimmering with the faces of people Salem had met, people he had forgotten, and versions of himself—older, younger, broken, laughing, crying, desperate.
"Why me?" Salem whispered. "Why all this?"
"Why not?" the Watch quipped. "You asked for adventure, didn't you? Didn't you want chaos, choice, and an existential headache?"
Salem groaned. "I didn't think it would be… this."
The golden hands reached toward him again, stretching impossibly, twisting across the void. Each finger seemed alive, pulsing with timelines that should not have existed. They tried to grab him, bend him, fold him into the storm—but this time, he felt something new: control. A fragile, fleeting awareness that he could influence the flow, even just a little.
"Finally noticing your agency, are we?" said a voice—not the Watch, not the hands, but something deeper, older, resonant with power. "You are… dangerous when aware."
Salem blinked, trying to focus. He could just make out a figure amidst the silver sands—a silhouette he recognized: himself, but older, with eyes full of weariness and knowledge he didn't yet have.
"You…" Salem stammered. "You're me… but from… the future?"
The older self stepped closer. The void seemed to contract around him, the sands bending to his presence. "Call me what you will. I am a version of you, a consequence you have yet to live. And if you fail… all versions fail."
The golden hands lunged again, faster, more desperate. Salem dodged, weaving between fragments of reality—doors to skipped days, shadowy echoes of lost conversations, fleeting glimpses of friends and enemies who might not exist. He realized that the hands weren't just chasing him—they were feeding on his indecision.
"Then I choose," Salem said, voice steadying. "I… take the hourglass."
The older Salem raised an eyebrow. "Bold. But aware, yes. The hourglass isn't just time—it's the junction. Past, present, skipped days, and future potential… all contained. Handle it wisely, or you shatter everything."
Salem reached forward. The sands shimmered, reacting to his touch. Each grain whispered a memory, a possibility, a regret. The golden hands tried to twist him back, but the hourglass seemed to repel them, casting a protective bubble around him.
"Impressive," the Watch muttered. "You're actually… figuring it out. Sort of. Maybe. Keep it up, Salem."
Salem took a deep breath, feeling the weight of every timeline pressing on him. He had no idea how to manipulate this hourglass—how to navigate the labyrinth of fractured time—but he had to try. Every second counted. Every choice reverberated across realities.
Suddenly, the sands shifted violently. A flash of green and gold swept across the void, and he saw it—another version of himself, small, frail, trembling, holding a vial glowing with the faint light of a virus he recognized: the unknown strain he had unintentionally carried through the skipped days.
"No…" Salem gasped. "Not… that."
"Ah," said the older self. "Now you see the stakes. Not only time, but life itself bends around your actions. One misstep, and… well… you know the consequences. History, memories, futures… erased. Forgotten. Skipped forever."
The golden hands screamed—literally—twisting in agony as they tried to reach the fragile version of him. The hourglass flared, throwing golden sparks, cracking the void open.
Salem felt it: the pull of past, present, and future, all at once. He understood, in a sudden, terrifying clarity: he could jump, shift, or even break realities—but each action had a cost. And yet, he had no other choice.
"Then I… fix it," Salem whispered. "I fix… everything."
The older self nodded. "Not yet. But soon. First… you must navigate the fractured timeline. Face your echoes, your choices, your fears. And then… only then… you will understand the true chaos you control."
Salem tightened his grip on the hourglass. Time shifted around him. The void pulsed with voices—whispering, laughing, crying. Golden hands, skeletal shadows, echoes of himself all reaching for him.
"It's… it's too much," he muttered.
"No," said the Watch softly, almost tenderly. "It's exactly what you asked for."
A portal opened ahead: a shimmering doorway of light and numbers, stretching into infinity. Beyond it, glimpses of the past, skipped days, and the looming COVID era flashed, along with fractured visions of 1971, waiting for him to correct everything.
"Do I… step through?" Salem asked.
"Of course," the Watch replied. "You can step… or you can be eaten by time. Either way, it won't wait for you."
Salem swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
The void shattered around him. Golden hands screeched. Shadows twisted. Echoes multiplied. The hourglass spun violently, scattering silver sands into infinity. And Salem Grey… the protagonist, traveler, breaker of walls, harbinger of chaos… disappeared into the fractured, shifting doorway.
The Watch chimed, one final note echoing endlessly through all realities:
"Welcome… to the timelines that don't forgive."