The sound of her voice pierces through me like a hot blade in the cold flesh of despair.

  — My son, it's time! Get ready for school!

  My grandmother.

  My grandmother.

  The shock makes me shudder. My body moves reflexively, but my mind refuses to accept it. How can it be? How can that voice, the one that once fell silent forever, be here now? How can it be that sweet yet strong tone, the timbre that comforted me in the darkest moments of my existence?

  My legs are weak. My chest burns. My heart beats too hard, as if it wants to explode inside me.

  Is this a dream?

  A cruel mirage?

  But the smell...

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixes with the aroma of bread warming on the wood stove. It's real. My sense of smell never lied. This smell, this sensation... it's all my past.

  I swallow hard.

  My hands tremble as I touch the rough, familiar bedspread. I look around and recognize every inch of the room. The old dark wood wardrobe. The timeworn walls. The old radio in the corner, the same one my grandmother used to leave on while she made lunch.

  This can't be happening.

  But it is.

  Reality pulls me into itself with an insane force, as if I'm diving into an ocean of living memories.

  And then, the question forms in the depths of my mind, venomous, cruel:

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Was my existence so pathetic that something greater intervened out of pity?

  My fingers touch the ring on my finger. It's still there. That demonic hand marked me. It trapped me in this impossible cycle.

  But... what if it’s not pity?

  What if it’s something worse?

  What if it’s a game?

  A game I have no choice but to play?

  Fear tries to consume me. I try to push it away. I breathe deeply, forcing air into my lungs, as if proving to myself that I am alive.

  And then, one truth crashes into me with brutal force:

  It doesn't matter now.

  Whatever happened, whether it's a miracle or a curse, I’m here.

  And if I've been given another chance, I will seize it.

  I want to live.

  I will live.

  The morning air is sharp with freshness, laden with the damp scent of the earth and the woods. The sky still holds the soft hues of dawn, as if time itself is unsure between night and day. But inside me, everything is a storm.

  Where is he?

  My legs move before my mind can process. I need to see my grandfather.

  I rush out of the house, the dirt ground creaking under my bare feet. The cold wind slaps against my face, but I don’t stop. My eyes sweep over every corner of the farm, every twisted tree, every piece of wood worn by rain and time.

  But there’s no sign of him.

  The shock hits me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightens, my knees weaken.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  That damn hand...

  It gave me a second chance, but it took the one thing I wanted to fix.

  My grandfather is gone.

  As if this game were manipulating the pieces, deciding for me what could and couldn’t be changed. As if he was doomed to die, no matter what I do.

  I swallow hard. My heart is racing too fast.

  I close my eyes. Breathe deeply. Think.

  If my grandfather is dead, it means everything is following the same path. It means that, in a few weeks, my grandmother will sell this house. We’ll move to the city.

  And then…

  Covid.

  That invisible shadow that swallowed the world, dragging thousands into oblivion.

  My eyes widen. My breath catches. Now I know exactly when I am.

  Time is running out.

  If everything follows as it did before, thousands will die.

  And I...

  What can I do with this knowledge?

  What can I change?

  That hand didn’t give me any power other than time. It didn’t give me strength, didn’t give me answers. It just tossed me back here, like a rat in a maze, waiting for me to run and struggle until the inevitable.

  But I’m not a rat.

  If this curse brought me back, if it trapped me in this hell of choices and consequences…

  Then I’ll play.

  And this time, I’ll win.