The first day he held the metal, time slipped. Morning bled into evening, evening into night, and when the sun rose again, Eric found himself still holding the metal in his hands, the day a blur of half-formed visions and disjointed thoughts. He returned to the cave the next day, and the day after that, only to find the same pattern repeating. The metal whispered secrets that twisted his perception of reality, altering his sense of time. Each day was a repetition, yet different, a loop where he was both trapped and free. The whispers grew louder, and he began to understand their language—vibrations that spoke of a forgotten past and an unfathomable future.

The metal had its own story to tell. It had been waiting, waiting for someone to listen. Through the whispers, it told him of an event, a cataclysm that was neither in the past nor the future, but both—a moment that existed outside of time. The metal urged Eric to prepare, to gather more of its kind, to forge something new, something that could withstand the coming storm. But as Eric’s collection grew, so did his confusion. Each piece of metal sang a different song, some harmonious, others discordant, and the melody began to overwhelm him.

Days blurred into one another, the same day repeating with slight variations, as if the world was a broken record. Eric tried to piece together the fragments of his visions, but they slipped through his fingers like sand. The metal, now almost alive in his hands, vibrated with an urgency that echoed in his bones. But the more he listened, the more he doubted. Was the metal guiding him, or was it leading him astray? Was he preparing for a future catastrophe, or was he simply living the same day over and over, a prisoner of time itself? The whispers offered no answers, only more questions, and Eric found himself teetering on the edge of madness.

Until the crow arrived.

Entered by: 0x35e3…530B