Kronos had summoned me to the quiet dimension, a place where time itself seemed to breathe. The currents here flowed slower, like rivers at dusk, heavy with the weight of centuries. I'd just returned from my first journey to ancient Egypt, still buzzing with excitement. But the way Kronos looked at me, his face a mask of seriousness, made me pause.
"Isaac," he began, his voice low and steady, "we need to talk about your recent journey."
My heart skipped a beat. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Not wrong," he said, eyes piercing into mine, "but you were noticed. One of the priests saw you manipulating time. They believe they witnessed something divine—a god who moves between moments."
The words hit me like a gust of wind, unexpected and powerful. A god? I had only slowed time for a moment to observe a ritual. I hadn't thought anyone would notice. I felt a rush of emotions—surprise, curiosity, and a flicker of pride. The idea that my small actions had left a mark on their world stirred something inside me.
"So... they're talking about me?" I asked, trying to process it.
Kronos nodded, his expression unchanged. "Yes. In their eyes, you're a figure of mystery, someone who defies the natural order. They've begun to tell stories, and those stories are growing."
I took a deep breath, letting the weight of his words sink in. I'd always known that time was delicate, that small actions could ripple outward. But this was different. This was personal. The thought of being part of their legends fascinated me, and I felt an urge to see it for myself.
"I want to go back," I said, the eagerness in my voice surprising even me. I needed to see what I had left behind, to witness the ripples of my own actions.
Kronos studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Go, but be careful. Legends have a way of growing beyond our control. Remember the balance you must keep."
With his permission, I focused on the time currents, letting them pull me toward Egypt once more. The air around me shimmered as I stepped into the flow, feeling the familiar tug of ancient history. I was ready to see what I had become in their eyes.
---
Back in Egypt, I stepped into a world both familiar and strange.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the city. The streets were alive with the sounds of merchants haggling, children playing, and the distant hum of temple chants. I took a deep breath, savoring the warm, earthy scent of baked bread and spices. This time, though, I walked with new awareness. I wasn't just a visitor—I was a part of their stories.
As I moved through the marketplace, I noticed people looking at me, their gazes lingering just a bit longer than usual. I caught snippets of their whispers, words like "god" and "mystery" floating through the air. My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and trepidation. I had left a mark here, one that was already starting to grow.
A merchant caught my eye, an older man with a sharp gaze and hands worn from years of trade. He looked at me with a flicker of recognition, his eyes narrowing as if trying to place me. I felt a small thrill—he knew. Somehow, he knew who I was, or at least who he thought I was.
I continued through the city, soaking in the atmosphere, feeling the weight of their belief settle around me. This wasn't just another visit; this was something more. I was no longer a ghost passing through. I was real to them, a figure of their own making, shaped by the fragments of stories I'd left behind.
As I walked, I felt a sense of responsibility, a quiet understanding that my actions here had consequences. I had become part of their lives, their beliefs, their world. And as I moved through the streets, I knew that every step I took would leave a footprint, one that would echo through time long after I was gone.
End of chapter.