Echoes of the Past

One night, as David lay in bed staring at the ceiling, something strange happened. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first—a faint hum, like static in the air. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting, when he heard it.

*"David…"*

His eyes snapped open. The voice was different this time—fainter, almost a whisper, but unmistakably real. It wasn't the same as before. It felt distant, far away.

*"David… help…"*

He bolted upright, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that voice. It wasn't the guiding presence he had heard in the Nexus. This voice was… his own.

A chill ran down his spine. Hadn't he severed the connection? Hadn't he closed the rift? He was supposed to be safe, free from the multiverse's grip.

But as the voice echoed once more, he realized the truth. The multiverse wasn't finished with him yet.

David leapt out of bed and hurried to the window, peering out into the night. Everything looked the same—calm, ordinary. But something inside him felt different, like the fabric of reality had shifted ever so slightly.

He stepped back, breathing heavily. The voice had been his. But how could that be? If he had severed his connection to the multiverse, there shouldn't be any versions of himself reaching out from other dimensions.

Unless… the rift hadn't fully closed.