Chapter 4: Calendar Crisis

It began with a sandwich.

Not an evil sandwich. Not a magical sandwich. Just… a sandwich.

Dee Megus had spent the entire morning weaving a clock tower in the middle of the woods because the birds kept arguing over timezones. And now he was hungry.

So, naturally, he unthreaded a loaf of bread from space-time, conjured some salted cheese from a mountain goat's leftover dream, and folded in lettuce he'd cultivated inside a singing rock garden.

Then he blinked.

And it was Monday again.

The First Glitch

Dee stared at the sun, which had not moved in 43 minutes.

"Hmm," he muttered, chewing thoughtfully. "That's not ideal."

He waved a hand. Threads shimmered. He reached into the sky and pulled down the Weave of Hours. It wobbled.

"Tuesday" blinked uncertainly in the weave, before stuttering back into Monday.

Again.

Dee frowned. "No, no. We've talked about this, calendar. Mondays are not meant to loop."

The calendar blinked.

Monday.

Dee pulled a notebook from his robe pocket and scribbled furiously.

Possible causes of Temporal Loops:

Vampher's dark poetry again?

Hiro's sugar experiments?

That sandwich?

He stared at the sandwich.

It stared back.

He ate it anyway.

Meanwhile, in the Village

"Didn't we already go to market yesterday?" asked Old Minya, blinking at the identical fruit stall.

"Yes," said the fruit seller, "and you yelled at me for the bananas being too philosophical."

"They were! One of them quoted existential dread at me!"

Sure enough, the bananas were again arranged into a shape that vaguely resembled a spiral of despair.

A child ran by chasing a dog that was chasing the same child.

Twice.

The village midwife gave birth to the same goat. Again.

Hiro Brihrest walked down the path with his arms full of breakfast ingredients and a confident grin.

"Morning, everyone!" he said.

They all groaned.

"IT'S MONDAY AGAIN!"

Hiro blinked. "I thought it was Monday yesterday."

"It was!" shouted Old Minya.

"Maybe it's a two-for-one?"

Back with Dee

Dee called a thread meeting.

He summoned a circular loom, sat on a cushion shaped like regret, and whispered to the threads of Time, Logic, Calendar, and Monday.

Monday arrived late. As usual.

"Why are you misbehaving?" Dee asked it gently.

Monday huffed and folded its metaphorical arms.

"You were replaced once by a long weekend," it said bitterly. "People cheered. They made memes."

"You're looping the entire realm because of... hurt feelings?"

"Justice," Monday said. "Also, spite."

Time tried to interrupt, but Monday slapped it with a week.

Dee rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should talk to Hiro. He's very forgiving."

Over at Hiro's Hut

Dee teleported into Hiro's hut unannounced and accidentally landed in a cauldron full of fermented pickles.

"YOU'RE EARLY," Hiro beamed. "It's Breakfast: Attempt 5!"

Dee flailed his way out of the barrel. "Don't ask. Listen, Hiro, we've got a problem. Monday has... unionized."

"Oh no," Hiro said, setting down his spoon. "Again?"

"Yes. It's looping."

"Well, maybe it just wants to be liked."

"It's Monday, Hiro. The only creatures who like Monday are trolls, editors, and cursed philosophers."

"Maybe it just needs a rebranding," Hiro offered. "Like a new name! 'Funstart' or 'Yayday!'"

Dee stared at him.

Monday twitched.

The sun flickered and coughed.

Later, at the Shrine of Dates

The three met at the Shrine of Dates — an ancient ruin carved with the sacred sequence of time, once overseen by the Council of Days (before Saturday ran off with Sunday and caused a scandal).

Vampher arrived first, sipping blood-orange juice from a wine glass and pretending he hadn't been asleep.

"Let me guess," he drawled. "Reality's fraying again."

"Monday's mad," Dee explained. "And now the calendar's cycling like a thread spool."

"...You didn't eat a cursed sandwich again, did you?"

"It was perfectly sane until the mayonnaise blinked."

Vampher held up his hands. "No judgment. I once sneezed and accidentally turned June into snow."

Dee groaned. "That was you?! I blamed the moon!"

"I apologized, didn't I? Anyway. Where's Hiro?"

Just then, Hiro arrived wearing a shirt that said "Monday Can Be Fun!" and holding cupcakes.

"Everyone likes cupcakes," he said hopefully.

The shrine cracked slightly.

The Trial of Monday

Dee assembled a tribunal.

Time arrived with a briefcase. Logic arrived late but brought tea. Memory floated in and forgot why it was there.

And Monday, sullen and smug, sat with its feet on the table.

"You've looped the world four times," Dee said, exasperated.

"Five," Monday corrected. "We had a soft reset in Chapter 2."

"You're not supposed to be sentient!"

"Neither is Hiro's pie," Vampher muttered.

"Hey!"

Dee gestured. A thread unfurled. Scenes from the loops played in the air: repeating conversations, goats giving side-eye, existential bananas, Hiro forgetting his pants.

"Oh. That explains the wind," Hiro muttered.

Dee stood.

"We either convince Monday to cooperate... or we lose Time entirely."

Vampher raised a hand. "Can we bribe it?"

"Cupcakes?" Hiro offered.

Monday paused.

"...What kind?"

"Thread-infused rainbowberry with optimism glaze."

Pause.

Monday stood. Slowly.

It took a cupcake.

Tasted it.

Paused again.

"...Fine," it said. "I'll go back to being hated. But I want Wednesdays to be shorter. And Sundays to last longer."

"Deal," Dee said.

Time stamped a document. Logic nodded. Memory blinked and left.

Monday vanished with a final snarky "Have fun tomorrow."

That Night

Back in his grove, Dee rewove the Calendar Threads.

He sighed.

Fixed time again.

But as he looped the last strand, he noticed something.

One thread was frayed.

Not Monday's.

Not Time's.

But a deep, blood-red thread buried in the background — vibrating ever so slightly.

He leaned in.

Before he could touch it...

It slipped away.

Gone.

Like it had never been part of the weave.

"...Interesting," he muttered.

Somewhere Else

The Observer held the frayed red thread gently.

The Severed Loom had reached into the calendar—testing, tugging.

A small act. A test.

It had failed.

But only just.

The Observer smiled faintly and rethreaded the timeline, careful not to let Dee catch the echo.

The cupcake, however, was very good.