Chapter 8: Flow of Falling Seconds

Time no longer stood still.

But it didn't flow either.

Aryan felt it the moment the sands beneath his feet gave way. Not a fall. Not flight. Just... shifting. As if reality itself had been stirred and poured into a different mold. He didn't scream. He couldn't. There was no air, no sound, no sky.

Then he landed.

The place was strange—like a city that existed between seconds. Streets stretched endlessly, frozen mid-motion. Cars floated inches off the ground. People were like statues, their faces caught mid-blink, mid-smile, mid-scream. Even the breeze that ruffled Aryan's hair felt artificial—an echo of wind long past.

This was his second trial.

And the Watcher's voice, soft but firm, rang in his head:

"The Flow of Time is not gentle. It crashes, it tears, it drowns. To swim in it, you must know its rhythm. You must understand its current."

Aryan walked forward slowly, his boots clicking on unmoving puddles. Every step sent ripples that didn't fade. They hung in the air like glass shattered and suspended.

He passed a frozen vendor mid-call. A college student reaching out for a fallen book. A mother shielding her child from an unseen threat.

Time had stopped—but only for them.

He moved.

And then, the second hand ticked.

His tattoo glowed faintly, the clock on his hand pulsing like a heartbeat. The world twitched. One of the puddles beneath his foot rippled, and Aryan felt something push back against him—as if the flow of time didn't want him here.

Suddenly, he was yanked backward—his vision warped—and he was standing in the middle of his classroom.

But this wasn't memory.

It was wrong.

His friends were arguing with him. Ritesh slammed a desk. Amit pointed at him. His professor looked disappointed.

"You think lying is the answer?"

"You left us!"

"We trusted you, Aryan!"

He tried to speak, but his voice came out silent. He shook his head. "No... I didn't—"

The scene changed.

He was home again. His mother sitting at the table, tears in her eyes. His father, Rajiv Sharma, silent as stone.

"You said vacation," his mother whispered. "You didn't even say goodbye properly."

"I'm sorry—" Aryan said, throat tightening. "I couldn't tell you... you wouldn't understand."

"You don't trust us," said his father, turning away.

The scene shattered.

Aryan found himself underwater.

Not real water. A void that felt like drowning. Moments passed him like bubbles—memories and futures both. He saw himself failing. He saw himself falling. He saw himself giving up.

A shadow approached.

It wasn't Echo. It wasn't the Watcher. It was Aryan... older. Hardened. Eyes cold. Dressed in black, with the tattoo burning like fire on his entire arm.

"You think you're strong enough?"

"I don't know," Aryan whispered.

"You don't. That's the problem. You hesitate. You hope someone saves you. But no one's coming. This power? It's a curse unless you control it."

Aryan floated, heart racing. "How do I?"

"You stop asking for permission."

The world cracked again—more violent this time. Aryan gasped as he was thrown into another fragment.

He stood in front of his college—but the sky was split open. A crack ran through the heavens. Creatures poured out. Fire rained down. And everyone was looking at him.

"You have to fix this," someone said.

"You have to turn it back."

"But I don't know how!" Aryan screamed.

The ground split. The city began to fall. And as everything was being sucked into the void, Aryan was still. The tattoo on his hand ticked once more.

Tick.

And everything paused.

In that frozen moment, a whisper echoed around him:

"Control is not power. Understanding is."

Aryan closed his eyes.

He remembered the stillness.

He remembered the flow.

He breathed.

And in the eye of the storm, time moved again—but only for him.

He raised his hand. The tattoo burned bright.

He stepped forward.

And everything around him... bent.

The falling buildings reversed. The sky stitched itself. The fire curled back into the clouds.

It lasted a moment.

A single, fragile second of control.

But it was enough.

Aryan collapsed to his knees, sweat pouring down his face.

The Watcher appeared, floating above the remains of the realm.

"You slowed the fall. You did not stop it. You understood the current, but you haven't mastered it."

"I don't need to master it," Aryan said, breathless. "Just enough to survive."

The Watcher tilted its head. "A worthy answer."

The realm cracked.

Aryan stood at the edge of an ocean made of time—waves crashing in reverse, then forward, endlessly.

The Watcher whispered, "Your second trial is complete. The Flow of Falling Seconds... you rode its stream. But deeper currents wait."

The tattoo ticked again.

Two seconds.

Just two.

Aryan stood tall. Stronger. Calmer. His eyes gleamed—not with power, but clarity.

Time was no longer a stranger.

To Be Continued…