#quantum-shatter

— ❝ Ekko , for the last FUCKING time . EVERY . PIZZA . HAS . BONES IN IT . ❞ —

Graves took a swig from his flask as he walked down the dirt road. He had wander far enough from any city that maintaining the roads no longer was a concern for the factions. Especially not, considering the road Graves currently was on was within Zaun’s territory. Graves felt uneasy being this close to that city, ever since his escape from the Locker.

He took another swig as he could see some of the towering building in the distance, dread memories returning.

He turned away from the city and saw an interesting sight, a young boy with white hair walking in the same direction. He seemed to be carrying a lot of gear with him. Was he preparing for a journey himself?

Graves picked up his pace a bit, being already walking at a faster pace than the boy to begin with, in order to catch up to the boy sooner. “Hey, you there!” he exclaimed in his Bilgewater accent, liquor clinging to his breath, “you’re the first face I’d seen on this blasted road. Mind keepin’ a traveler company while we walk?”

Graves assumed he would be less likely to be found by any Zaunite Police force still looking for him since his escape if he was traveling with a Zaunite, plus the boy was far too young to be a cop himself. He capped his flask and put it in one of his pouches, not wanting to intimidate the boy by having a drunkard randomly approach him.

“Ah, this? It’s very simple, my boy.” the woman replied with a soft smile instead of a.. eruption of unstoppable happiness. That was new.

“As a demon able to reside in a body I do happen to get my character mixed with my Host’s. I am only compatible with those unable to feel anger so our characters balance each other and give one, complex one.

HE IS DRAWN TO IT. Whatever it is. There is no asking to hold the Z-Drive, in fact -- he barely speaks an actual word to the boy. Instead, oohs! and ahhs! are uttered, the object turning in his hands. It glowed cerulean, shiny, a cylinder of light. Piqued interest, curiosity -- he almost forgets to feel disdain toward it’s human-made manufacturing. ( Or was it magic? Rakan couldn’t tell. It was his flavor for the next five seconds. )

i’m super interested in how you’re gonna write her so hmu with a starter or something anytime!

Of all of the many human concepts to grasp, time is one of the most complicated, the most indefinite, and the most unforgiving. To manipulate time is to manipulate nature, the world, and the essence of life. No amount of technology or quick wits can save a measly human from the wrath that meddling with time would cast upon them.

Bodies grow withered, brains decay, fingers shake and hearts scream, watching loved ones die, watching the world fall into pieces. But is love real? Is anything? For a boy who relives his life, over, over, over- a boy who never dies, but never lives- one who can’t commit enough to anybody or anything to stay in one place, these questions plague him at night. They wait for him under his bed, demons with long, unavoidable fingers begging to play. And how could he resist the temptation? He always plays.

For what is he to do when his father’s heart stops beating? When his mother can’t afford to keep their house, when her skeleton rips through her skin, and her corpse goes cold? Of course, he will try his best, but how many times would it take? How many rewinds to save his father? How many to give his mother a proper burial? One hundred? Two? Will he stay in a loop forever? Will he die of exhaustion before it even sets in?

A body so young and a soul so old. He has lived years longer than his skin shows, and though he proudly displays an hourglass against his cheeks, he uses his technology for good and for necessary evil - a boy must wonder if what he has created is truly a blessing?

Send me 💟 and my muse will give your muse a nickname