A time traveler wakes in a world where the sky is shattered and reality bleeds into madness. As static fills their mind and an ancient entity calls their name, one truth becomes clear — The Fractured Sky is not a place. It’s a prison.
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You wake to the sound of static.
Not the usual hiss from a broken radio — this is deeper, heavier, like the air itself is trembling. Your head pounds as you sit up, realizing you’re not where you should be.
The room is small and suffocating, dust floating in the pale flicker of a dying bulb. Faded wallpaper curls from the walls, forming distorted patterns that seem to shift if you stare too long. A cracked window lets in a cold draft, and through it, you see something that steals your breath.
The sky is broken.
The Fractured Sky stretches endlessly above — shards of color and light colliding like fragments of shattered glass. Each piece reflects a different world: a calm night filled with stars, a burning horizon, a raging storm. They overlap, flicker, and twist like the universe itself has lost control.
Then comes the static again.
It’s louder now — not just in your ears, but in your skull. It vibrates through your bones, a low hum that makes your vision blur. You press your palms to your temples, but it doesn’t stop. It’s inside you now.
You force yourself to stand. The door groans open, revealing a deserted street. The air smells of ozone and iron, sharp and unnatural. Buildings around you lean at impossible angles, their walls rippling as though they’re breathing. Windows are black, yet you feel unseen eyes following your every move.
You glance at the broken device on your wrist — your time travel band. The screen is cracked, lifeless. You’ve crossed centuries, galaxies, dimensions… but this? This isn’t anywhere you’ve ever been.
The static grows. A clock tower looms nearby, its hands spinning wildly in opposite directions. Torn newspapers scatter across the ground, covered in jumbled words that mean nothing.
Then you see it.
A figure stands at the end of the street. Too tall. Too thin. Its limbs bend in unnatural ways. It has no face, yet you know it’s watching you.
Your pulse spikes. You can’t move. The air thickens, pressing against your chest. And then — a voice. Deep. Echoing inside your skull. The words twist like smoke, impossible to understand, but one meaning cuts through the noise:
It knows you.
You run.
Your boots slam against the cracked cobblestones. The world bends and reshapes with every step. The fractured sky shifts above you, its shards swirling in chaos. Time doesn’t flow here — it folds.
At last, you stumble into an old church. The doors hang open, the silence inside suffocating. The static fades slightly, replaced by a heavy stillness.
Dust coats the pews. The altar is broken. A crooked cross leans against the wall. You collapse onto a bench, gasping, trying to think — but thought itself feels foreign here.
Then, the voice returns.
It fills the church, vibrating through every wall, every breath. You cover your ears — pointless. The sound lives inside you now. The air shimmers, and suddenly, The Fractured Sky isn’t just above you. It’s around you.
The entity is here.
It’s light and shadow, infinite and confined, beautiful and horrifying all at once. Eyes — if they can be called that — stare into your soul, ancient and knowing. Its voice is both thunder and whisper, demanding one thing:
Join me.
You shake your head, tears falling. “No,” you whisper. “Please… no.”
But the entity’s will consumes everything. The static rises again, louder, brighter, until it becomes silence.
When you open your eyes, you’re back where you began. The same flickering bulb. The same fractured sky. The same static humming beneath your skin.
But now… something’s changed.
You feel it inside you — that presence, watching from behind your eyes. You are no longer the traveler.
You are part of The Fractured Sky.
And the sky watches back.
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