June 19, 447 A.R. – Evening (Past Timeline)
The lamplight bled across Rei's desk, glinting off seventy-eight silver coins lined in neat rows. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel the quiet satisfaction of victory, until the realization struck like a blade sliding between his ribs.
I should have failed.
The thought came unbidden, but once it formed, it would not let go.
He reached for the ledger, pages still faintly scented of pipe smoke and old ink. Four players were recorded at the Crimson Room that afternoon:
Aldous Grey. Helena Voss. Petros of Emberfall. Mikael Strand.
Rei's breath hitched.
Mikael Strand. The man who was supposed to be sitting in the seat Rei had taken.
He flipped to his notebook, the one filled with stolen details copied from the future ledger. His own handwriting mocked him from the page. Lost 23 silver. Folded on critical hand.
Every piece fit, except the name.
He had replaced someone who no longer existed in that moment. Which meant the game should have changed. The shuffle, the order of cards, the hands—every random variable should have spun off into chaos.
But Aldous still drew his straight flush. Helena still folded. Petros still lost.
Rei gripped his pen tighter."That's impossible," he whispered. "That's not how probability works."
He began to write.
TIMELINE PARADOX – PRIMARY ANOMALY
Original timeline: Four players at 2:31 PM. Dealer shuffles at 2:32. Aldous draws a straight flush of hearts.
Altered timeline: Three originals + Rei (different observer). Same time. Same shuffle. Same result.
Logical impossibility unless timeline self-corrects.
The scratching of the pen grew faster, the rhythm fevered.
Hypothesis: Closed Time Loop.
What if there was never an "original" version without him? What if every change he believed he was making had already happened?
The ledger, the winnings, even his plan to replace Marlen Crest, all of it could just be gears turning in a clock that had already struck the hour.
He froze mid-sentence, the ink bleeding into the paper.Then, a worse thought surfaced.
What if I'm not changing the future? What if I'm just remembering it from the wrong angle?
His mind raced through fragments of his first life, blurry, disjointed, like dreams fading at dawn. The drowning river. The silence. The years of depression that hollowed out his memory until whole months vanished.
What if the past wasn't gone, just rewritten inside his own head?
He pressed a trembling hand to his temple. "Focus, damn it."
This wasn't about philosophy. It was about function. Could the ledger still be trusted or not?
He turned a page.
TEST CASES
Card Game — replaced Mikael Strand → outcome unchanged → minor interference tolerated
Dice Game — observed only → outcome matched prediction → observation safe
Conclusion:Micro-level changes = timeline stable.Macro-level changes = risk of collapse.
Possible Rule: Outcome Determinism, events with significant impact resist alteration.
He leaned back, staring at the ink-stained mess of logic and madness.The implication was both comforting and terrifying.
He could walk within fate's framework, adjust angles, exploit loopholes, but he couldn't dismantle the structure itself.Unless he made a massive change. Something the world couldn't adapt to.
"What counts as massive?" he murmured. "Replacing a gambler? Small. Replacing a merchant lord? Catastrophic."
He imagined the ledger fracturing, the timeline snapping back like a whip.Would it erase him? Or would it erase the him that didn't belong?
A knock jolted him upright.
"Rei?" His mother's voice through the door, gentle, worried."You've been quiet. Are you alright?"
He swept the coins into a drawer, slid the notebook under the floorboard."I'm fine, Mom. Just studying."
A pause. Then the soft exhale of a mother who's learned not to pry."Don't stay up too late."
When her footsteps faded, Rei sat still for a long time. The room felt smaller, like the air itself had grown aware of him.
He whispered to the empty desk:"If I can't rewrite the future, then I'll learn how to use its script against it."
He jotted down one final note before blowing out the lamp
The floorboard creaked as he slid it back in place. Outside, the city slept under the hum of distant rain.
Rei lay down, letting the darkness claim him, aware that when he next opened his eyes, five years would have passed, his body broken, his teacher waiting.
He no longer feared the fall between timelines.
He was starting to understand the rules of the game.
And every rule, he knew, could eventually be broken.