The fog thickens, and with each step, I feel myself being drawn deeper into it. It's as if the landscape itself is trying to pull me back into the loop, to keep me within the cycle of endless choices and consequences. But I won't go back. Not now. Not after everything we've been through.
I look ahead, and there, emerging from the mist, is another version of myself. This one is older, worn, like someone who has lived through years of pain and regret. He stands still, his eyes empty, as if waiting for me to approach.
"Another version of me," I whisper to myself.
The older version smiles, but it's not a reassuring smile. It's knowing, heavy with the weight of everything I've tried to avoid. "You've come to face me," he says, his voice hollow and distant. "To face the truth you've been running from."
I stop in my tracks. "What truth?"
He looks at me, and I feel a chill run down my spine. "The truth is simple. You've always known what you had to do, but you refused to face it. The loop… it wasn't just about escaping. It was about confronting what you couldn't bear to see. What you've hidden from yourself. The choice that started it all."
I try to speak, but my voice falters. What is he talking about? What choice?
He steps forward, and the air around us shifts. Suddenly, the fog disappears, and we're standing in a room. It's not a room I recognize, but it feels so familiar. The walls are lined with shelves, filled with books and objects that are strangely personal. And in the center of the room, there's a table, cluttered with papers and maps. There's a figure standing there, hunched over, scribbling notes.
I step closer, my heart racing. And then I see it. The face of the person at the table — it's me.
I stagger back, gasping. "No…"
The older version of me nods. "Yes. You were always here. You were the one who created the loop. The one who pulled all the versions of yourself together, forced them to make choices, to face consequences. You wanted to break free, but you never understood the cost."
The world around me begins to crack, as if the very space we're in is fracturing, splitting apart. The table, the shelves, the room itself — everything begins to dissolve, revealing another truth. Another layer of reality beneath it.
The older version steps back, his face more sorrowful now. "You had a choice, and you made it. The loop wasn't just a prison. It was a reflection of your own fear. Fear of confronting what you could never accept about yourself. And now, you have to face the truth. You can't outrun it. You never could."
I fall to my knees, overwhelmed. The weight of this revelation crushes me. The loop, the endless cycle, it was never just time that was breaking. It was me. I created the loop to avoid facing the choices I had made, to avoid confronting who I had become.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I didn't know…"
The older version looks down at me, his expression softening. "You never do. But now you do. And now, you must choose. Will you face the truth and embrace every part of yourself, or will you keep running?"
The world around me begins to collapse again, and I know that this is the moment — the moment where everything will change. I've faced the first fracture, but now I have to face the truth of who I am. The truth of why the loop started.
And as the world crumbles, I realize that the only way forward is through this truth. There is no escaping it. There never was.