Sebastian’s Desperate Warning

The air in the abandoned observatory hung thick with the scent of burnt coffee and desperation. Sebastian’s hands trembled as he traced the timelines etched into the dusty floor—a spiderweb of failures only he could see. Bintang stood across from him, arms crossed, his silhouette sharp against the cracked dome ceiling where Jakarta’s smoggy moonlight seeped through.

“You don’t understand,” Sebastian said, his voice frayed. “I’ve lived this war a thousand times. Watched it. Every choice you make, every bullet fired—it all funnels to the same end.” He stepped closer, eyes haunted. “Hitori always wins.”

Bintang scoffed. “You sound like a fortune-teller hawking doom. We’ve beaten him before—”

“You haven’t.” Sebastian grabbed his arm, fingers digging in like claws. “Let me show you.”