What if?

Something fell from the sky. Not a bird. Not a plane. A human.

A crater. Big as a bus. Smoke rising from the edges.

At the center, a figure stirred. Pushed himself up. Moved toward a tree.

The tree stood at the edge of the crater. Old. Worn. Alone.

He sat against it. Closed his eyes.

He didn't run. Didn't hide. Just... rested.

His suit was torn. Gold buttons on the ground behind him.

He looked at the sky through leaves.

Footsteps.

Slow. Stopping near his head.

He turned. Looked up.

Prime stood there.

"Hello, Prime."

His voice was dry.

Prime looked down at him.

"Hello, Timer. Messing with time again?"

Timer let out a breath. "Yeah."

Prime did not move.

"And you are here to catch me again."

"Yeah." Prime's voice was flat. "It is my work."

Timer stood.

Prime watched him. "Do you humans really go this far for your family?"

Timer's jaw tightened. "That's what makes us human."

Prime nodded. "Okay then."

He moved. Not ran — moved.

Timer did not see him move. He just reacted.

Prime jumped.

Timer moved sideways. Grabbed a branch. Ran behind Prime.

Prime vanished.

Timer looked around. Nothing.

Then—behind him.

Prime's voice. "Slow."

Timer turned. Jumped back. Branch in his hands.

They looked at each other.

Prime had no weapon.

Timer's ribs hurt. His vision blurred. The bracelet on his wrist hummed. Low. Dying.

He did not lower the branch.

Prime watched him.

Timer jumped. Threw the branch.

It passed through Prime. Nothing.

Timer's eyes widened.

Is it just an image?

He realised.

Too fast. He's everywhere.

He spun the bracelet. Fast. Gold light flickered.

Turned to face Prime.

Stopped spinning.

Prime froze.

Timer looked at the bracelet. Then at Prime.

He cleaned his clothes. Dust falling from his torn suit.

"Now your memory is gone."

Timer looked at Prime one last time. Then walked away.

Not ran. Just walked.

He didn't look back.

The jungle swallowed him. Trees thicker. Light dimmer. No path. Just him and the sound of his own breathing.

He stopped in a small clearing. Moss on stone. Silence.

He joined his hands. Palms together. Fingers pointing forward.

Then he flicked his left wrist — sharp, precise — against his right.

The bracelet shifted. Unlocked.

He spun it. Slow at first. Then faster.

Then he pulled it — toward himself, through the air.

The bracelet obeyed. Left his wrist. Spiraled around his body. Once. Twice. Three times.

Light trailed behind it — gold, faint, dying.

It reached his right hand. Settled.

And when it stopped, his clothes had changed.

Torn suit gone. In its place: simple cloth. Linen. Worn. The clothes of an ancient Greek warrior.

He looked down at himself. No expression. Just... acknowledgment.

Then he walked out of the clearing.

Somewhere ahead — another era. Another fight. Another chance to run.