The building was abandoned long before anyone remembered its name. Time simply marched on, letting rust consume the walls while dark shadows claimed the corners. The silence here was almost sacred—until night fell.
In the center of the main chamber, a machine sat dormant, an ancient relic of ambition and obsession. Its creator, a man consumed by patterns and possibilities, obsessed with the idea that absolute control over all things was possible. But ambition, when unhinged, is a dangerous companion.
A careless hand brushed against a switch. A spark hissed from the engine, wires arcing as a red alarm blared across the chamber. The machine surged, unrestrained. The air shimmered as if the world itself had paused to catch its breath. The very fabric of reality began to shiver before the creator's eyes as he admired his work.
The storm outside mirrored the machine's fury. In the midst of the chaos, a single droplet found its way through the cracked pipes. It lingered dangerously above the console before splashing onto the board, threading between wires and repeating its descent like a stubborn echo.
In an instant, the revolution became catastrophic. The scientist froze, realizing too late that curiosity had slipped its leash. The time-warp began spiraling out of control and an invisible, thread-like shockwave stretched beyond the walls, beyond the city, bleeding into lives untouched and futures unwritten. Somewhere, or sometime far ahead, eyes would open. Warnings would be sent. Messages would whisper across time streams.
It was not a beginning, nor an end. It was the first ripple. Born from human error, reckless curiosity, and the fragile arrogance of believing one could hold time in hand. This fatal flaw would wait, patient and relentless, until the world finally responded.