Dreis felt his body suspended between two states of being — matter and data, memory and oblivion, human and archive. The path of light that had opened before him at the end of the fracture was not a road. It was time. A time that did not flow but waited. A time that held its breath.
Every step he took altered something in the world around him. The light thickened, gaining weight as if it were becoming tangible. The air pulsed with a rhythm that did not belong to nature. And somewhere in the distance, faint yet unmistakable, he heard the ticking of an old clock — not mechanical, but digital, counting not seconds but probabilities.
“Welcome to the zero-point,” the voice said.
Dreis turned, though he knew he would see nothing. The voice had no body, no direction. It was everywhere. It was inside him.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“It is time before it becomes time. The point where decisions write reality.”
A shiver ran through him. “And why am I here?”
“Because you are the decision.”
The light around him shifted again — transparent, then dark, then transparent once more, as if testing which version of existence suited him best. And then, like a colossal screen unfolding across the void, he saw the city.
The Mega City. But not as he had left it.
The streets were drowned in darkness. Drones fell from the sky like shattered insects. Energy nodes pulsed in irregular bursts, like hearts suffering arrhythmia. People wandered aimlessly, as if they had forgotten where they were going — or why they ever moved at all.
And at the center of the city… Nyra.
She stood before an overloaded control panel, its circuits trembling under the strain. Her eyes were red from sleeplessness. Her hands shook — not from fear, but from the knowledge that something fundamental had broken.
“Dreis… where are you?” she whispered.
Dreis reached toward her, but the light between them stopped him like an invisible barrier.
“You cannot touch her,” the voice said. “You no longer belong to her time.”
“I want to go back.”
“You cannot return as the one you were.”
Dreis clenched his fists. “Then as what?”
“As whatever you choose to become.”
The image shifted. Now it showed Kaal, standing at the port in the rain.
His drones had stopped obeying him. They flew in circles, collided mid-air, crashed into the water like empty shells. Kaal shouted commands, but no one — neither human nor machine — listened.
“Dreis!” he cried. “If you can hear me… do something!”
Dreis felt his chest tighten. “I have to go back. The city is collapsing.”
“The city collapses because you left,” the voice said. “You were its stabilising node. The one who read the patterns before the machines did. Without you… the city has no compass.”
“Then let me return!”
“You cannot return as a human.”
Dreis froze. “What do you mean?”
“Your time has ended. Your archive has been deleted. What you see now… is the city without you. If you return as you are, you will destroy it.”
“Then what must I do?”
“You must choose which Dreis Velkar will continue to exist.”
The light around him began to spin. It became a spiral. A vortex. A nameless force.
And then the versions appeared.
The Dreis who stayed in the Archive. The Dreis who left with Nyra. The Dreis who died in the rain. The Dreis who became data. The Dreis who became shadow. The Dreis who never existed at all.
Each version stood before him like a mirror reflecting a different life.
“Choose,” the voice said.
Dreis felt his mind burning. “I can’t choose. I don’t know who I am.”
“This is the fracture of time. Here there is no past. No future. Only the decision.”
He looked at the versions of himself. None felt right. None felt like him.
And then… he saw it.
A shadow. Not his. Not human.
A shadow moving between his versions as if inspecting them.
“Makono…” he whispered.
The shadow turned toward him. It had no face. No body. Only intention.
“You… are not meant to choose,” it said. “I will choose for you.”
Time collapsed around him. His versions flickered like dying signals. Light became darkness. Darkness became noise. Noise became a scream.
“No!” Dreis shouted. “You will not rewrite me!”
The shadow laughed. “I don’t need to rewrite you. I only need to let you disappear.”
Dreis felt his body dissolving. His hands became light. His legs became data. His face became static.
And then… something held him.
A voice.
“Dreis… come back.”
Nyra.
Not from the city. From within him. From the memory that had not been erased.
“Nyra…”
“You’re not alone. Whatever you are now… come back.”
Time steadied. His versions faded one by one. The shadow of Makono retreated like smoke losing its purpose.
“You have chosen,” the voice said.
“What did I choose?”
“To continue.”
The light opened before him like a door.
Dreis stepped forward.
And then he spoke, as if addressing someone who wasn’t there:
“My final memory is of a rain that never stops. Streets filled with voices that have no bodies. Machines standing silent, as if waiting for something. And I — a man who became an archive — waiting for the moment I will be erased for good. Yet perhaps that is the true redemption. Because in an age where everything is recorded, oblivion is the only freedom.”
And then… time fell.
Literally. Like a wall collapsing.
And Dreis walked through its ruins.
Toward his end. Or toward his beginning.
No one knew.
Not even him.
The story The Fall of Time, Year 2055 is Voyage 39 of ERA I: Shadows in the Archive – The Pre-Oblivion Era (2040–2095), set within the Urban Futures – Chronicles universe, Cycle 1 – The Age of Hyper-Information (2040–2055), and forms part of the collection Diaries from the Future – Collection of Tales (© 2025–2026), by Iakovos (Jack) Archontakis.
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This work is a fictional, speculative creation. Any resemblance to real persons, organizations, places, or events is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part may be reproduced, distributed, or adapted without prior written permission. Unauthorized use is prohibited. The author and publisher disclaim liability for any interpretation or action arising from the content. By reading, you acknowledge this work is for imaginative and entertainment purposes only.