The Timebound

  “Right, let’s take a bus back,” I start.

  “A what?” he blinks, trying to process that word. He then snaps his fingers -- “Oh, right, an elongated car.”

  That’s... an interesting way to think about it.

  “Hey, I see that look, don’t blame the fact that we lived in an apocalypse!” That could be a source of the trauma necessary to result in something like Dissociative Identity Disorder, though their condition seems more unique than standard cases. Considering Raibu’s lack of surprise, he and Aliza probably share memories, and Aliza may have been talking to one of her other alters earlier. If that’s the case, then it seems like they’re all consciously active at the same time. I want to confirm something then:

  “Was it you who created the Dandeflour mixture?” I ask, glancing at the potions line along his belts. “Compared to Aliza, you seem to have a preference for the alchemic, rather than brute force.”

  “Yes and no,” he waves off. “Beating people with a hammer is fun sometimes, but you are right I like brewing stuff! And boy, your own recipes have been very interesting to work with, I must say.” He’s not nearly as hyper as Aliza, but he’s certainly more jovial. “It’s such a shame the others wouldn’t let me use a hand buzzer.” ... Well, he’s a bit more of a prankster.

  His personality aligns with that of a Spirit -- his apathetic nature for humanity, his rather high magic reserves and power, and a passing interest in human artifacts while being knowledgeable about them as a whole. Even Aliza shares these traits. Spirits are known for being demi-godlike entities, occasionally messing with our world just to see what happens. Yet, I don’t get the feeling they are a Spirit; despite how many traits seem to match, Aliza and Raibu strike me as too human. Even when Spirits try to blend in with humanity, they let go of their human form when provoked. When Aliza got annoyed, she didn’t do that; she didn’t turn into a wisp.

  Plus, as much as Raibu and Aliza are trying to hide it, I can tell they’re trying to concentrate. Spirits don’t need to focus on maintaining their disguises, so their current form is clearly caused by something else. Maybe they’re afflicted with a curse created by a Spirit, or were raised by one?

  “I see where Velvet gets it from,” interrupts Raibu, stretching his hands behind himself. “Both of you overthink the finer details of everything. I get it’s hard, but relax! The bad times are over.”

  “If you knew me, then you’d know simple sayings aren’t enough,” I counter, tired of being lectured by a kid. Was my future me really in the right state of mind to give them my memory?

  “Oof, yeah. That reincarnation curse ain’t good.”

  “So I tell you about myself.”

  “I mean, yeah -- you trusted us,” he answers. “I could go into why, that would be spoilers, so yeah -- sorry not sorry!”

  I sigh. “I’ll hold off on my questions about our relationship until the end. But can I ask ‘why me’?”

  He just returns a smile: “Why not?” Of course he’ll keep shut about this: arrogant little prick. “Besides, we’ve still got work for our ending. When’s your ceremony again?”

  “What ceremony?” Does he mean the Ceremony of the Chosen?

  “Something with a C...”

  “Chosen?”

  “Yes, that!”

  “It’d be... the day after tomorrow,” I answer. “Oh,” I realize. I was the Chosen in that timeline, hence why I’m suddenly important. That makes sense. Wait, what would cause me to be the Chosen? I’m never the main character, I’m supposed to be a side character. Think Wynette, what would result in the Chosen being a side character...

  Ah! I was sent away, only for the true Chosen to be discovered later on in time, and thus sent to complete the original mission. There we go, that’s perfect logic. At the very least, I can now take comfort that nothing matters.

  Hence why it’s so irritating that Raibu is even here in the first place. He’s like me in the first iteration: someone naive who hoped that fate could change. The bus pulls up in front of us, a shoddy-run down one. Not as if all the buses are bad though: just the parts that go to bad neighborhoods. Guess where I live. I step right in, hoping Raibu won’t follow me.

  “Oh yeah, I’ll need to room with you,” he adds, his boots clunking as they hit the steps. “I never knew what your room looked like -- hope it looks good!” I can’t wait for him to be disappointed by my hole in the ground. I just pay my fair by swiping the credit card from my orphanage. “Oh, and here’s the fare!” Raibu adds, coins clinking behind him. I take a seat in an empty row on the front of the bus, Raibu sitting right next to me. It’s not like I could stop him. I just look out the window, passing by the modern buildings, ones made of fine polished steel, the sunlight cleanly reflecting off their windows. God, who’d want to live in a city of skyscrapers? People think this looks good? It’s so ‘human’ that it’s disgusting; it’s the desire for progress without actually understanding progress.

  Is that a glint in the alley? Why is there a-

  WAGH! My stomach lurches as the stale air of the bus is replaced with that of the alley stenched with trash, giving me no time as I’m shoved against a wall, my face pressed against cold metal. “Your money,” some hot-shot in a mask threatens, a knife against my throat. My breath doesn’t falter from the threat, just the shock of the teleportation spell. I should have seen this coming: people are making use of that eye-contact teleportation spell to kidnap and mug people. How does someone as knowledgeable as me fall for something as stupid as this?

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “I’m a broke ass student about to graduate in two months,” I groan, feeling the knife press against my skin.

  “Oh please, a girl like you can handle pain.”

  “What, because I’m black, you snowy ingrate?”

  “I-I’m not white!”

  “You certainly talk like one, white boy.” God, can these muggers get anymore creative? “And let me guess,” I add, “You’re going to assault me because ‘oh, I happen to look pretty.’”

  “I wasn’t going to, not until you said it,” he says, trying to put an edge in his tone. He fails, just coming off as a cringy adult. Seriously? He’s so deprived of creativity that he needs me for ideas on what to do?

  “Time for the hammer down!” A meaty *thump* resounds behind me, followed by a body falling to the ground. “Aww, I needed a hammer pun,” Raibu complains. “Knock up? Wait, that’s too sexual. I may lean that way, but-”

  “Just shut up,” I add, pulling on his sleeve. “Just teleport us to my orphanage. You know where it is.”

  “Roughly,” Raibu confirms. He holds my hand, and in the blink of an eye, the setting changes from a ‘pristine group of buildings’ to worn down houses. The paint on them continues to fade away, this town looking dead and deader by each year. As horrid as these conditions are, they are more honest than the lights of the city: if a society chooses to cover up poverty with wealth, then it has fundamentally failed. Why is it only me who understands this? “Yeesh, how did the apocalypse make this look better?” Raibu interjects. “So happy the scent of rosemary is pleasant. Anyways,” he starts, holding a bar to me. “Chocolate?”

  “” I swat the bar to the ground. I’m not eating from the results of slavery.

  “Yeah, I hate them too. I mean, not for the political stuff, but because it’s creamy and too weird. It makes everyone else here feel funky,” tapping his head to motion to the other alters. “So, this shack... any good memories?”

  “None in the slightest.”

  Raibu whistles, “Oof.” The kids are annoying, but the adults are even worse. At least the children are children and don’t have a choice; but the adults are supposed to be adults. They should help the rest of us, not sit on their asses all day drinking and playing with each other. Hell, they’ve even made some of the children who reported problems to ‘disappear’, often saving the abuser over the abusees. I guess the large lying shits don’t care about justice, just the bottom line ... much like everyone else in this world. I continue to walk to the courtyard, ignoring the decrepit wooden front door barely hanging on its hinges. “Hey, isn’t your home inside?”

  “Nope,” I answer, laughing. “They don’t have enough space, so I’m only legally subscribed. So, I ended up making a hole in the ground!” I pull apart some of the terf, opening a burrow in the ground. “Welcome home,” I beckon.

  “Well alright then,” Raibu shrugs, entering. He was supposed to leave me alone, but fine. We enter, Raibu choosing to place his hand on the ground. The scent of basil and thyme thickens, fluorescent chartreuse ants now rising from the ground and eating away at some of the walls. “Just creating a seat,” he explains, already making himself home in this barren space with not even a mattress -- just dirt made soft from some ancient magic in a forgotten time, as well as a hole for a backpack to fit in. Spare clothes remain on a towel, smidges of dirt continuing to fall on them. It always itches, but it’s better than wearing the same set of clothes or sleeping in a house that will fall apart any day.

  “Some other kids live here,” I add, somewhat monologuing. “Well, not here, but other burrows -- otherwise, they’d be on the streets. All because they want the money for raising a kid without accepting responsibility.”

  “Guess that makes their money dirty!” A silence rings out. “Get it? Dirty? Because it’s dirty around us?” I just lie down on my bed, not pulling a blanket as I grab one of my custom stones. “Nevermind,” he finishes, looking over my handiwork. “Ooh, these things! Aliza always loves using those heating stones for melting metal.”

  “They’re not as good as mine,” I brag.

  “No, they really aren’t,” he admits. What? Surely he-

  “You have my recipe,” I point out.

  “Yeah, but I never had your knowledge,” he points out. “So... can you show me?”

  “Umm... sure.” I get up. “First, we’ll need a stone. Got any in mind?”

  “Oh, sure.” He claps his hands. “Velvet?” A second passes, then another -- Raibu starts to impatiently tap on the wall, his fingernail scratching against the wall. “Velvet?” he repeats. “Talk about stone-cold- VELVET WAIT NO-” he looks up, only for a rock the size of his head to teleport, then fall down, smacking him in the forehead. He leans back from the impact as I catch the large stone. “I really need to tell them to tone it down,” he grumbles.

  “You all don’t get along?” I ask.

  “No,” he sighs. “We do, but... Velvet’s definitely a handful at times.” Oh boy, they’re going to be the most reasonable. Raibu, seeing my eyes roll, gets a bit frustrated: “Hey, it may not look like it, but Velvet was the reason Aliza only broke that girl’s hand, and why I only hit that guy with a hammer.”

  “And if they didn’t say anything?”

  “We’d have... broken their arm or ribs, I don’t know,” he says matter-of-factly. Jesus... They need some help. At least Velvet seems to be helping them, but why do I get the feeling they’re worse at times? “Anyways, the stone?” OH, right.

  “Here,” I say, moving myself over to him. I pull out my ribbons, or bandages, and slice apart the rock, forming a clean cut with one as hard as steel. “You just need a rock, but the larger, the more potential energy it can store.” It’s kinda like an object suspended above a gravitational body in that aspect, isn’t it? “Afterwards, you just need the carvings.”

  I move over to my ‘bed’, unearthing the ground right near where I'd rest my head to find a toolkit. I open the box, nabbing a chisel I then use to carve a triangle, then a second upside-down one to form a six-sized star. I add a swirl pattern, reminiscent of a sun’s waves radiating from the center. To finish, I stab the stone in the center, now glowing as it turns a blazing red.

  “So cool!” he applauds, clapping. “You think I can see your other recipes?” he asks.

  “In time,” I answer. “But right now, I just want to go to sleep.”

  “Isn’t it just the afternoon? Like, it’s 5.”

  “I don’t , I’ll do my homework later. Night.” I tuck myself in, trying to process what I did: I helped someone. I showed Raibu my own tricks willingly. Has it been that long since I had an apprentice? Was I really so lonely that I was eager the moment someone was interested in my ideas?

  But who am I kidding: once I die or become someone not worth saving, Raibu won’t bother staying around me. I won’t hurt myself over a reality I know is bound to happen.

  “Oh, and...” Raibu then covers me in a blanket, soft as silk. “Aliza ended up making this earlier. Just don’t worry about it, alright?”

  “I won’t,” I calmly answer, turning to look at him. He just suspends himself in the air, seeming to lean against an imaginary bed as he ‘tucks himself in.’ He really is reminiscent of a spirit, yet he’s too human to be one.

  I may as well see what tomorrow brings: what I can do right now is shut my eyes and wait for another long day.