(Point of View: Lexo)
Falling through a tunnel of psychedelic colors behind a pink harlequin rabbit wasn’t exactly on my list of plans after my sixth birthday. Normally, my plans included more mundane feats like “convince Mom to let me practice with real fire with Dad” or “find a way to beat Pietro at Netamino.” But here I was, tumbling through a kaleidoscopic tunnel that smelled faintly of chamomile tea and the desperation of physical laws on the verge of collapse.
I landed—if you can call it that, since “landing” here meant awkwardly transitioning from freefall to hovering—on nothing. Or rather, on an endless expanse of fine, pale sand under a sky that just couldn’t decide on its color. The horizon was a swirling canvas of deep purples, sickly oranges, and bilious greens, punctuated by occasional streaks of an unnervingly normal blue. There was no sun and no moon, just an oppressive, diffuse light emanating from the sky itself.
The air was dry and warm, tasting of dust and… time? Yes—time was now almost tangible, mixed with something metallic and rancid.
“Over here, temporal runt—don’t get all googly-eyed at the scenery!” snapped the harlequin rabbit’s sarcastic voice, interrupting my stupor. He was only a few feet away, tapping his foot impatiently on the sand. “Or did you expect a welcome committee complete with canapés? You’re late, remember.”
I scanned my surreal surroundings. It was a desert—a psychedelic desert, no less. In the distance, I could just make out tree-like shapes that constantly shifted size, shrinking into sprouts only to shoot up to ridiculous heights in seconds, as if nature itself were undecided about its scale. Far off, enormous columns of brown sand spun slowly like lazy dust tornadoes.
“Where… are we?” I asked, my voice sounding strangely muffled in the still air.
“Ethernatus!” the rabbit announced with an ironic flourish. “The Realm of Eternal Time, the Nexus of Possibilities, the Crossroads of All Timelines—the Place Where Clocks Come to Die… pick your favorite bombastic epithet. Basically, it’s the hub for those of us who mess with tick-tock.” He pointed toward distant, swirling storm clouds. “Tip: avoid the Chronal Sandstorms. They tend to desynchronize your memories. You might end up thinking you’re your own great-grandfather or even a particularly philosophical amoeba. Very confusing.”
Spectacular, I thought. A psychedelic desert with amnesia-inducing whirlwinds and trees with severe growth issues—like Bugs Bunny after a bad night at the casino. My day was certainly taking an unexpected turn. Oh, magical goddess of fortune, what kind of mushroom must you have tried?
The rabbit began hopping across the sand, gesturing for me to follow. “And who exactly are you, besides a mammal with questionable taste in fashion?” I asked, trailing after him as fine sand slipped into my shoes.
“You can call me Tick-Tock,” he replied without turning around. “I’m a facilitator—a tour guide through this temporal madhouse. And you, little Anomalous Legacy, are our new recruit. Or perhaps our new victim. It all depends.” He gestured with one ear. “Really, it depends.”
I followed this harlequin guide through the undulating, strange landscape. The silence was oppressive—broken only by shifting sand and occasional distant sonic booms when one of those erratic trees shrank too quickly. Finally, our journey broke the monotony: we arrived at a small, half-buried dome of dark crystal that pulsed with a faint inner light.
“The elevator,” Tick-Tock declared, gesturing grandly toward the dome. “Were you expecting stairs? How mundane!”
As we approached, the entrance sighed open. The interior wasn’t a typical elevator—it was a cylindrical cabin carved from the same dark crystal, completely lacking visible buttons. The door closed behind us and we ascended at a dizzying speed with no sense of motion. The crystal walls became transparent, revealing… space. Countless stars, brilliant nebulae, swirling galaxies—a cosmic panorama unfolded before my eyes. My initial wonder soon gave way to my usual cynicism. Sure, a space elevator in the midst of a temporal desert—why not?
When the cabin finally stopped, we stepped onto a floating platform facing an immense tower. Not built of stone or metal, it seemed woven from pure light and solidified time, subtly shifting in shape and color as it stretched upward until it vanished into the starry void.
“The Animus Tower,” my guide announced with a hint of feigned reverence. “It’s the central archive of all temporal lines connected to Chronos. Here, every possessor of the gift—or curse, depending on how you see it—can glimpse their own existence. Past, present, potential futures… a library of ‘what ifs’ and ‘could haves’.”
He led me inside, and the tower’s interior was even stranger: corridors twisting at impossible angles, rooms where gravity was optional, echoes of voices and laughter that seemed to originate from nowhere. We eventually reached a vast circular chamber where a luminous sphere floated, pulsing gently.
“Come closer, newbie,” Tick-Tock urged. “Place your hand on it.”
Curiosity—and the absence of a better alternative—won over caution. I placed my hand on the sphere. It wasn’t cold or hot—just a peculiar tingle. Suddenly, the sphere flared brilliantly, and the chamber transformed. The walls vanished, replaced by an infinite lattice of luminous threads stretching out in every direction, interweaving and separating, glowing with varying intensities. Millions, even billions, of threads—a cosmic loom.
“This is the Great Tapestry,” whispered Tick-Tock, his usual sarcasm replaced by reverence. “Every thread represents a life—a temporal line. Now, see yours.”
One particular thread, brighter than the rest, vibrated beneath my touch. I saw fleeting images: my birth, Mom’s warm smile, training with Dad, the White Tiger’s attack, the fair at Four Roads… I glimpsed bifurcations where different choices sparked new possibilities—some threads burned out abruptly, failed futures, premature deaths; others stretched into unknown, intricate destinies. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying—existence laid bare in its fragility and infinite possibility.
“You have been accepted, Legacy,” Tick-Tock said, gently pulling me out of the trance as the tapestry faded back into the circular chamber. “Your connection to Chronos is unusually strong for someone your size—and wonderfully chaotic. Very entertaining for us observers.” He grinned, revealing tiny, sharp rabbit teeth. “But this was only the introduction, kid. The second test awaits in the Arena. Only the best, the most… interesting… continue.” He chuckled, his tone both ominous and playful.
Then, without warning, he produced a folded package. I unfolded it to find a hooded cloak of deep, nearly nocturnal blue, accompanied by a matching, rubbery mask made of a strange, soft material. “Mandatory uniform,” he explained. “House rules. Put it on.”
I eyed the cloak and mask with suspicion but donned them nonetheless. The cloak was light but warm, as if woven from some futuristic, flexible fabric. The mask adhered gently to my face, molding to my features and covering the lower half, leaving only my eyes and forehead visible. It felt like a second skin—odd, but not unpleasant—a constant reminder of the mysteries and responsibilities ahead.
“Nobody here is allowed to smile except the Boss,” Tick-Tock explained with a sarcastic wink. “Company policy. Morale control and all that. Besides, it lets you breathe, has a built-in translator, and is extremely fashionable around here—just you wait.”
He led me out of the Animus Tower and into the space “elevator,” which transported us not back to the desert, but to a gigantic amphitheater carved from floating rock. Hundreds—maybe even thousands—of figures gathered there: children barely older than me, stooped elders, creatures with bark-like skin, humanoids with feline features, beings made of translucent crystal… all wearing the same blue cloak and identical mask. Together, we formed an anonymous army of time travelers.
And in the center of the arena, on a raised platform, stood Him.
The Smiling Cat.
But this wasn’t just an eerie smile with floating eyes this time. He had a body—a huge, rotund form covered in striped fur that constantly shifted colors like a sick rainbow that devoured crayons every morning. He lounged lazily on a throne that looked as if it were made of melted clocks. His enormous grin revealed rows of teeth like piano keys, and his vertical, reptilian yellow eyes scanned the crowd with a mix of boredom and cruel anticipation. He radiated an ancient, playful power that made even my grandfather Gustav’s aura seem that of a mere apprentice. He was the guardian of this place—the master of ceremonies of this temporal circus.
“Welcome, welcome, little temporal grasshopper!” the gigantic Cat purred, his voice booming effortlessly through the amphitheater. “Welcome to the Great Selection Arena! Here, only the worthy… survive! And the unworthy… well, let’s just say their timelines suffer a spontaneous edit!” He let out a dissonant, bubbling laugh that made the hairs on my neck stand on end. “Only the best continue! Only the most entertaining earn the chance to, perhaps, return home!”
Suddenly, the arena fell silent. In an instant, the ground beneath my feet gave way.
I fell. Again.
I landed with a dull thud on the pale sand of the Ethernatus desert. The amphitheater, the crowd, the Cat—they had all vanished, leaving me alone beneath that oppressive, swirling sky.
Stumbling to my feet and shaking off the sand, my mind struggled to process this latest absurd twist. That’s when I bumped into another child—maybe a bit older than me—wearing the same blue cloak and mask. He quickly rose, meeting my gaze with startling intensity.
His voice, when he spoke, was strangely warm and familiar, albeit deeper and rougher than mine. “This,” he said, fixing me with eyes too wise for a child’s face, “is no place for kids.”
I blinked, taken aback. There was something in his stance, in his tone… a sensation of familiarity that I couldn’t shake. The Ethernatus desert had just become infinitely more mysterious.
