Ian tugged on his hoodie, groaning as he shuffled out of bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. The group chat was already alive.
Nora: I'm telling you, it was a dream. A really weird one.
Wes: Dreams don't come with ominous voiceovers and "you're all gonna die" ultimatums.
Claire: It was probably just mass hysteria. Happens all the time. Google it.
Ian: Mass hysteria doesn't explain me waking up with the same nightmare as you psychos.
Nora: Maybe Time God is gaslighting us. Or maybe we're dead. Just saying.
Ian laughed as he slipped on his sneakers. Leave it to Nora to turn their possible cosmic recruitment into a joke.
By the time he stepped outside, the others were already waiting. Claire leaned against a lamppost, scrolling through her phone. Wes was sipping on a coffee cup so oversized it might as well have been a bucket, while Nora was—of course—eating chips at 7:30 in the morning.
"You don't look dead," Ian said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.
Nora grinned. "Neither do you. Congrats. We're alive. Or not." She offered him a chip.
"No thanks. I'm still processing how you can eat that this early."
"Breakfast of champions," she said with mock seriousness, stuffing another chip into her mouth.
"Alright," Wes cut in, his voice muffled by his coffee cup. "Let's address the cosmic elephant in the room. Time God. Real or fake?"
"Fake," Claire said without hesitation. "Just some collective hallucination brought on by too much sugar and not enough sleep."
"Real," Ian countered. "What else could explain all of us dreaming the same thing? Plus, it threatened to kill us, which feels very…un-dreamlike."
"Okay, but why does it sound like a knockoff video game narrator?" Wes asked.
"I'm going with fake," Nora said. "If Time God was real, why would it choose us? We're not exactly superhero material."
"Speak for yourself," Ian said. "I could totally be a superhero. I've got the charm, the looks—"
"You've got the attention span of a goldfish," Claire interrupted, already walking ahead.
They kept debating, throwing out theories and placing bets on whether the entity was real, what it wanted, and—because Nora couldn't resist—whether it preferred mustard or ketchup.
High school greeted them with its usual chaos: the jocks near the lockers, cracking jokes way too loudly; the theater kids rehearsing lines in the middle of the hallway; and the ever-present cloud of apathy hanging over the senior class.
"Ah, the food chain of teen life," Wes said, gesturing dramatically.
"I don't know about you guys, but I feel like I've reached the top," Ian joked, strutting toward their history class like he owned the place.
"Yeah," Claire deadpanned, "you're a regular king of the losers."
They filed into Mr. Henson's classroom just as the bell rang. Henson, with his balding head and monotone voice, was already droning on about the Industrial Revolution.
"Name one thing that man enjoys," Ian whispered to Nora.
"Crushing dreams," she whispered back.
"Probably eats bland oatmeal every morning," Wes added.
"Doesn't even add sugar," Ian said.
They stifled their laughter as Henson shot them a warning glance.
The day dragged on as usual—pop quizzes, cafeteria food that barely qualified as edible, and long stares at the clock. By the time the final bell rang, they were all more than ready to leave.
As they stepped out of the school building, something shifted. The air felt heavy, like a storm was about to break, but the sky was clear.
"Uh, is it just me, or is everything…still?" Nora asked, looking around.
The usual after-school chaos—cars honking, students yelling, birds chirping—was gone. The world was silent.
"Okay, this is officially weird," Ian said.
Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath them seemed to dissolve. In the blink of an eye, they were no longer on school grounds.
They stood before a massive mansion, its towering spires stretching into an endless void of stars. The walls shimmered, shifting between solid and transparent, as if the house itself couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
"What. The. Hell," Wes said, his coffee cup slipping from his hand and vanishing into the void.
Ian stepped forward hesitantly. "Is this…the Time God's crib?"
"Only one way to find out," Nora said, pushing the giant doors open.
Inside, there was no grand foyer or opulent staircase. There was only space. Infinite, swirling galaxies surrounded them, and in the center floated the entity. Its true form was incomprehensible—a shifting mass of light, shadow, and color that made their heads ache just to look at it.
"Took you long enough," the entity said, its voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Yeah, well, we had school," Ian shot back.
The entity shifted, its form condensing until it transformed into…a mustard bottle.
"Better?" it asked.
Nora burst out laughing. "This is our cosmic overlord? A mustard bottle?"
"It seemed appropriate," the entity replied.
"You owe me five bucks," Wes muttered to Ian.
"Silence," the entity said, though its tone was more amused than commanding. "You have questions. I have answers. Sit."
"On what?" Claire asked.
The entity waved—well, tilted slightly—and four chairs materialized out of thin air.
The entity's voice grew serious as it began to explain. "You are anomalies, threads in the tapestry of time that should not exist. The timeline has fractured, and you were born from those fractures. Your survival depends on fixing these breaks."
"Wait," Wes interrupted. "Are we getting a system? Like in those web novels? Some overpowered stats or skills?"
"This is not a game," the entity snapped. "But yes, you will be…equipped."
"Called it," Wes said smugly.
"Think of time as a tapestry," the entity continued. "Each mission you undertake represents a crucial thread. If a thread frays or breaks, the weave weakens. The timeline collapses, and you—anomalies that rely on its stability—will cease to exist."
"Cheery," Claire muttered.
"Regular humans are fixed points in time," the entity explained. "They are shielded from shifts. You, however, are borrowed threads. Without intervention, you unravel first."
"So, no pressure," Ian said, his usual humor failing to mask his unease.
"Exactly," the entity replied, its mustard form tilting ominously. "Fail, and the Temporal Voids will consume everything."
"And you picked us?" Nora asked. "Why?"
"You're nothing special," the entity said bluntly. "But you're tied to the fractures. Fix them, or vanish. Your choice."
The teens exchanged uneasy glances.
"Now," the entity said, its tone shifting, "your first mission approaches. But for now, return to your lives. You'll hear from me soon."
Before they could protest, the world shifted again.
They were back in front of the school, the late afternoon sun exactly where it had been.
Ian checked his phone. "Huh. No time passed."
"Guess we'll call this a draw," Nora said.
"No winners," Claire added.
"Except maybe Time God," Wes said. "Or Mustard God, I guess."
As they walked home, the weight of what they'd learned hung over them. This wasn't a game. And for the first time, it felt very, very real.