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"You ever hear that saying? That we all have a double somewhere in the world? A mirror version of ourselves just walking around, living a different life? I didn't believe it. Not until I saw him."
The train station was unusually quiet for a Monday evening. I leaned against the cold steel pillar, waiting for the next train. The fluorescent lights above flickered intermittently, casting long shadows across the platform. My eyes drifted to the cracked concrete floor, tracing the patterns as if they held some kind of secret.
Then, I saw him.
At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me—a long day coupled with sleepless nights had a way of doing that. But no, he was there, standing just a few feet away.
Elian.
Or at least, someone who looked like him.
The man had the same sharp jawline, the same piercing green eyes that always seemed to look right through you. But there were differences too. His hair, once a messy tangle of curls, was now neatly combed back, streaked with strands of silver. A beard covered the lower half of his face, something Elian never had. He stood taller, more confident, like someone who had lived a life far removed from the one we shared.
I stared, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Elian?" I whispered, half-hoping, half-dreading a response.
The man turned his head slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet. And in that moment, time seemed to shudder. The air grew thick, the sounds of the station—distant conversations, the hum of the approaching train—faded into a dull hum.
It wasn't him. Not exactly. But it was close enough to send a chill down my spine.
I took a hesitant step forward.
"Excuse me—"
Before I could finish, the train arrived, its screeching brakes cutting through the silence. The doors slid open, and the man stepped inside without so much as a glance back.
"Wait!" I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the cacophony of the station.
I pushed through the crowd, reaching the door just as it closed. My fingers brushed against the cold glass, watching helplessly as the train pulled away, taking him—Elian?—with it.
And then I saw it.
Lying on the ground where he had stood moments ago was a coin. A simple thing, no bigger than a quarter, but it shimmered with an otherworldly glow under the harsh station lights. I bent down, picking it up with trembling fingers.
The surface was smooth, etched with a symbol I didn't recognize—a circle, split in half by a jagged line, like a crack running through time itself.
As I held it, a sudden rush of images flooded my mind—flashes of memories that weren't mine. A city bathed in perpetual twilight. A clocktower frozen at midnight. And a name, whispered by a voice I didn't recognize:
The Keeper of Time.
I stumbled back, the coin burning cold against my palm.
The train had vanished into the distance, taking the stranger with it. But deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.
Because whoever that man was, he wasn't just a stranger. He was a message.
A warning.
And Elian was at the heart of it.
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