The Final Footstep
Seraphine sat cross-legged atop a dune, old desert winds tugging at her tattered cloak. Once, she’d journeyed across epochs as a fearless Time Keeper. Now, she stayed in these shifting sands—watching at dusk as illusions of possible futures danced upon the horizon. Each vision flickered with half-formed scenes: a city in flames, a joyous reunion, a lonely desert track leading nowhere. They were fragments of times that could have been or might never be.
One twilight, a rebellious traveler trudged through the dunes, battered from days without shelter. She cradled an uncalibrated $TIME watch, the device still humming with stray potential. Seraphine glimpsed the traveler’s determined eyes and recognized an echo of her own younger self. The illusions that night blazed brighter than before, painting silhouettes of epic battles and fleeting triumphs.
The traveler bowed her head, out of respect or exhaustion. “They said a keeper lived here,” she murmured. “I need guidance… or maybe a second chance.”
Seraphine’s heart constricted. She remembered every midnight leap through fractured timelines, every cause championed then lost. She’d come here to bury those memories in the sand. The illusions were easier to guard than to relive the heartbreak of undone histories.
Yet she sensed the traveler’s $TIME watch teetered on the brink of collapse, spitting random intervals that could rip them both into disjointed threads. If she refused help, the traveler would become just another mirage flickering on the horizon. So Seraphine stood, letting the illusions swirl around her. In the half-light, she saw a vision of a younger woman unlocking wonders of time—perhaps a future the traveler still could claim.
Seraphine exhaled a shaky breath. “Come,” she said, gesturing for the traveler to follow. “We’ll fix that watch. You’ll see your next path—whatever it might be.”
They spent the night by a dwindling fire, re-tuning cogs and realigning the watch’s internal crystals. The illusions roiled at the dune’s edge, offering glimpses of roads not taken. For the first time in years, Seraphine felt a pull in her chest. Maybe the desert had been her refuge, but it was never meant to be her tomb.
By dawn, the watch hummed steadily. The traveler rose, eagerness shining in her eyes. She turned to Seraphine. “Will you come with me? I can’t face all the leaps alone.”
Seraphine hesitated, gazing at the shimmering dunes where illusions still beckoned. Then, in a quiet final footstep of resolve, she laid a gentle hand on the traveler’s watch. “I’ve guarded these visions long enough,” she said softly. “It’s time I reclaim who I was.”
Together, they departed the shifting sands, leaving behind the swirling illusions that once kept Seraphine bound to memories. At the dunes’ edge, a faint echo of possibility lingered—a promise that sometimes, even the hermits of broken eras could choose to walk forward again.
Micro stories are a content feature offered by $TIME's dev Woj. Handwritten and accompanied by art, they serve to deepen the story world we're creating here. Enjoy!
