The world lay shrouded in a heavy twilight, its colors muted to sepia tones. In the distance, the skeletal remains of a city rose like the fingers of a desperate hand clawing at the sky. Storm clouds churned above, crackling with faint traces of spectral lightning, and the air carried the mournful whispers of those long departed.

Ren stood on the edge of a broken bridge, his translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim light. Beneath him, a river of blackened water wound through the ruins, littered with the rusting detritus of humanity's failure. His fingers trembled as he clenched them into fists, focusing on the faint, silvery glow that emanated from his chest. This was the core of his ability: a pulsating knot of time that he had learned to manipulate—but never master.

Behind him, the whisper of a breeze carried the bitter words of another ghost. "You'll only make it worse, Ren. You always do."

Ren didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice. It was Lena, one of the few ghosts who still spoke to him, though even she did so with a mix of pity and fear. She lingered at a safe distance, her form barely more than a pale outline in the encroaching mist.

"I don't have a choice," Ren said, his voice low but steady. He stared at the water below, its surface rippling with memories only he could see. "This—this is the one event that might change everything."

Lena drifted closer, her tone softening. "And what if it doesn't? What if you come back and everything's worse than before? What if you unravel yourself entirely this time?"

Ren's jaw tightened. He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because deep down, he knew she was right—his ability was unstable and dangerous. Every time he used it, he risked scattering his essence across time, leaving fragments of himself in the past, present, and future. But the weight of his regret—the singular moment that haunted him—left him no choice.

"I have to try," he said, stepping closer to the edge. "No one else will."

Lena's voice cracked. "And no one else can. But that doesn't mean you should."

Ren turned to face her, his spectral eyes blazing with a determination that made her shrink back. "I'm not asking for permission. If I don't return, maybe that'll be for the best."

Before Lena could respond, Ren closed his eyes and focused on the knot of time within him. The world around him blurred, colors bleeding into each other as the pull of his ability took hold. The sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying, like falling and flying at the same time. He felt his essence stretch thin, his form flickering as the threads of time unraveled around him.

And then he was gone.

The world snapped back into focus, but it wasn't the broken, desolate landscape Ren was accustomed to. Instead, he found himself standing in the middle of a bustling laboratory, its walls lined with gleaming monitors and racks of advanced equipment. Scientists in white coats hurried back and forth, their voices a chaotic symphony of urgency and dread.

Ren's form shimmered faintly, unnoticed by the living. He had arrived at the moment he had spent decades trying to locate: the eve of humanity's greatest mistake. This was the facility where the weapon had been activated—a gun designed to end the war but instead unleashed destruction on an unimaginable scale.

He moved through the lab like a shadow, unnoticed by the humans around him. His target was a young woman with dark, determined eyes: Dr. Elisa Moreau, the lead scientist responsible for the project. She stood at the central console, her fingers flying across the keyboard as data streams scrolled across the monitors.

Ren approached her, his form flickering with the strain of remaining tethered to this moment. He reached out, his hand passing through the console, then through Elisa herself. She shivered, her eyes darting around the room as though sensing his presence.

"Elisa," he whispered, his voice a ghostly echo that only she could hear. Her eyes widened, and she froze.

"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice sharp and tinged with fear. Her colleagues looked up, startled, but she waved them off. "I… I thought I heard something."

Ren hesitated. He had never been able to interact directly with the living, but he had learned to influence their emotions, to plant seeds of doubt or hesitation. It was a subtle art, one that required immense focus.

"You can't activate the weapon," he said, pouring every ounce of regret and conviction into his words. "It will destroy everything."

Elisa's hand hovered over the keyboard, her brow furrowing as a flicker of doubt crossed her face. For a moment, Ren thought he had succeeded. But then, one of her colleagues approached, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Elisa, we're out of time. If we don't act now, we'll lose the advantage."

Her resolve hardened. She nodded and resumed typing, the doubt vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Ren's form flickered violently, the strain of his presence growing unbearable.

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "You don't understand what this will do."

But she didn't hear him. The console lit up, a countdown appearing on the monitors. Ren felt a wave of despair crash over him as the room filled with tense anticipation. He had failed.

The present slammed into him like a tidal wave as he was yanked back to his time. Ren stumbled, his form flickering uncontrollably as he collapsed onto the cracked asphalt of the bridge. The world around him was different, though still broken. The city's ruins were now shrouded in an eerie red glow, and the air was heavy with an oppressive silence.

Lena was waiting for him, her expression stricken. "Ren," she said, her voice trembling. "What did you do?"

Ren forced himself to his feet, his essence still unstable. "I… I tried to stop it. I tried to make her hesitate."

Lena shook her head, tears streaming down her spectral cheeks. "You didn't stop anything. You made it worse."

Ren's gaze followed hers, and his heart sank. In the distance, a massive rift had opened in the sky, its edges crackling with chaotic energy. From within, twisted shapes writhed and howled, their forms defying comprehension. The weapon hadn't just destroyed humanity—it had torn a hole in reality itself.

He sank to his knees, the weight of his failure crushing him. "I thought… I thought I could fix it," he whispered. "I thought I could make it right."

Lena knelt beside him, her hand hovering over his shoulder but unable to touch. "You can't change the past, Ren. No one can. Every time you try, you're only tearing things apart."

Ren stared at the rift, his mind racing. He had to try again. He had to. But deep down, he couldn't shake the fear that Lena was right—that his power was a curse, not a gift.

And as the rift widened, spilling its horrors into the broken world, he realized that time was running out—for everyone.