Fragments Of Time Novels & Stories

The walls pulsed faintly as if something alive was trapped inside them. My breath hitched. “Spirits,” Kael whispered. He was right. Relics lined the chamber, each glowing faintly, each containing swirling light that looked disturbingly like souls trying to escape. Finally, at the center of the room, I saw it. A shard of a mirror, suspended above a stone pedestal. The edges shimmered like liquid silver. “The Mirror Fragment,” I said quietly. The moment I touched it, the world vanished. My breath ripped out of my lungs. A violent pull seized my body, dragging me through time itself. Images flashed around me a castle hallway.

I see the yearning in their eyes, the desperate desire to return to a simpler existence where reality itself wasn't in constant flux. "We could go back," Marcus suggests, his voice heavy with temptation. "Find a way to restore—" "No," Luna's voice cuts through the murmur, carrying the weight of cosmic certainty. "Those fragments are unstable. Attempting to restore them would trigger a cascade failure across all realities." But I see something else in the rift, something that chills me to my core. The fragments aren't just preserved—they're dying. Without connection to the greater whole of existence, they're slowly fading, like photographs left in the sun.

I said quietly, already feeling the wrongness pressing against my skull, “everyone here gets trapped repeating different slices of time. Forever.” Zara’s face went pale. “Cool. Love that. Hate that. Mostly hate that.” The highway trembled then jerked backward. Not physically but temporally. For half a second, the cars were pristine clean. and intact. Then they snapped back to damaged and abandoned. Then pristine again, then abandoned. “Time is skipping,” Jamal said. “No,” I said, heart racing as the pattern revealed itself. “It is overlapping.” I walked slowly toward the center of the interchange where three elevated roads crossed.

He frowned, opened his eyes. “It’s not a break. It’s a… fold. A tiny piece of time has been pleated over on itself. It’s self-contained, stable. And it’s not natural.” “Could the Cataclysm have left temporal debris?” I suggested. “A piece of broken time finally washing up on our shore?” “Possibly,” he said, but he didn't sound convinced. He looked around, his gaze sharp. “Silas. What do you hear?” Silas, who had been sniffing a rose bush with intense concentration, straightened up. “A… glitch. In the song of progress. A single note, held too long. It’s not part of the melody. It’s a splinter.”

Light fades off so suddenly that it felt like night came upon the scene within a second. In the twinkle of an eye and quick as a storm's lightening, all the moments left unexplained and misunderstood in Time Is Reborn, suddenly lined up as clips to be replayed. Thus, it occured, replaying one after another in a speed which sight and reality couldn't comprehend, thus forcing it to glitch.

Through me. The world explodes into light. Sound vanishes. Time fractures. For a single, endless second, I feel everything. The door. The presence beyond it. The fragment in front of me. And the part of me it chose. Then— It snaps. The connection breaks. Clean. Sharp. Final. The fracture in the sky collapses instantly. The light vanishes. The pressure disappears. Silence crashes down around us. Real silence. Heavy. Complete. My knees give out. I barely feel the ground when I hit it.

My hands are unsteady, but the night is not. I pretend to be ready. I pretend. The watch is heavy. The watch is a loud reminder, a reminder of the night, of the time, of the time and the time and the time. I know how soon it is. I know. I know. My skin is warmer than I expect, warmer than I want, warmer than I can hold. It is warm and it is fragile. It is fragile and I pretend not to notice. It is fragile and more fragile than I am ready for. It is fragile like my hope, like the heat of my breath, like the heat of my resolve. It is fragile and loud and quick and raw. It is fragile like my fear, like the night. I pretend not to notice. I pretend it is not too late, not too late for this, for

(Paige’s POV) Time does not move like a river. It piles up, piece by piece. Moments sit beside each other - some gleam like wet pebbles, while stress and routine dull the rest. Only when you pause to notice do the shapes come clear. What seemed scattered now fits somehow.

"I don't need to see the flip side. I saw the side he chose to show me. That's what's important." The old man smiled, and turned to leave, unintentionally dropping something from his pocket. "You left something." I said, making no move to pick it. "I don't leave things behind. I gave it to you." I sighed. "By throwing it down on the floor?" "You can step on it if you want," He said with a nonchalant shrug. His expression hardened however, as he pointed a finger at me, as if about to warn me. "But be careful. The threads of time are not to be stepped on like that. They can glitch too."

“Elara says the fragment is growing. She says if it stays unlinked it will try to force a connection on its own. Is that true?” He put the book down slowly. “Yes.” “You knew this could happen?” “I knew it was possible. I did not know the fragment was already awake.” He rubbed his eyes. “How long did she say?” “Two weeks.” He walked to the window. “Then we have a real problem.” “Tell me what the old records say about unlinked fragments.” He turned back, his face serious.