The Cursed Talent

**The Cursed Talent** 

**Part 6: The Echo of Creation**

Aki awoke to a familiar yet unsettling sense of weightlessness. He could feel the darkness pressing in, but it wasn't suffocating; it was more like a void that wrapped itself around his body, caressing him with a strange, eerie comfort. His eyes fluttered open, but there was nothing to focus on—just a never-ending expanse of blackness that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. His thoughts felt slow, as if they were submerged in thick fog, and yet, in the distance, a faint light flickered.

He reached out instinctively, his hand moving through the air as if it had a mind of its own. The light grew brighter, and with it, a pull—a gravitational force that tugged at his very soul. He had to go toward it. It was the only thing that seemed to matter now, the only thing that could answer the question burning at the center of his chest: *Who gave me this curse?*

With every step Aki took toward the light, his mind seemed to clear. The weight of the decision he had made—the price he was willing to pay—flooded back into his consciousness. The hourglass, the sands, the shattered pieces of time… it was all leading him here. To the source. To the creator of his cursed gift.

He didn't know how long he had walked, how much time had passed. Time had no meaning here. But at last, he found himself standing in front of what could only be described as a doorway. The light emanated from it, its brilliance so blinding that Aki had to squint to see what lay beyond. But as he stepped closer, the door began to open on its own accord, revealing an ancient chamber bathed in the soft, golden glow of a distant, unseen sun.

The room was vast, its walls covered in symbols that seemed to pulse with life. Each symbol was unique, some intricate and beautiful, others jagged and chaotic, like broken pieces of a puzzle that had never been meant to fit. In the center of the room stood a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette, cloaked in shadows, their face obscured by a veil of light. But Aki could feel their presence, a suffocating aura of power that made the very air around him tremble.

"You've come," a voice said, deep and resonant, as if it emanated from all corners of the room at once. "I wondered how long it would take."

Aki swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as the realization hit him. This was it. This was the one who had bound him to this fate, the one who had cursed him with the power to repair, but at the cost of his own life. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything, but his thoughts were tangled in knots. He had so many questions. So many things he needed to understand.

"Why?" Aki finally managed to say, his voice shaking. "Why me? Why give me this power if it was only going to destroy everything?"

The figure before him stepped forward, and as they did, the veil of light seemed to dissipate, revealing a face that was both familiar and foreign at once. It was a face he had seen in his dreams—almost like his own, but distorted, as if viewed through a broken mirror. The eyes that stared back at him were ancient, filled with an unfathomable depth, as though they had seen the rise and fall of countless worlds.

"You still do not understand," the figure said, their voice softer now, almost pitying. "The power you possess is not a curse, Aki. It is a gift. A gift that is as old as time itself."

Aki recoiled slightly, his stomach turning. "A gift?" he repeated, disbelief rising in his chest. "How is this a gift? Every time I use it, I lose a piece of myself. I can feel my life draining away. How can that be a gift?"

The figure tilted their head, as though considering Aki's words carefully. "You see the cost, but you do not see the purpose. There is a delicate balance in all things, Aki. Time, fate, the flow of the universe—it is a fragile web, and every action ripples through it. You have been given the ability to repair that which has been broken, to mend what was torn. But in doing so, you are called to pay the price. Because time itself demands balance. The web cannot be altered without consequences."

Aki's breath quickened as he stepped back, his mind reeling. "Balance? But who decides that balance? Who decided that I should be the one to bear this burden? Who gave me this power?"

The figure sighed, a sound that seemed to carry centuries of sorrow. "I did," they said simply, their voice heavy with the weight of the revelation.

Aki froze, his body stiffening. "You? But… why? Who are you?"

The figure took a step forward, their presence overwhelming, filling the space with an almost oppressive force. "I am the Weaver of Time," they said, their voice low and resonant. "I am the one who shapes the threads of fate, the one who determines the flow of existence. It was I who chose you, Aki. It was I who gave you the power to repair."

Aki's mind spun. The Weaver of Time? The one who controlled everything? The one who wove the very fabric of the universe? It was more than Aki could comprehend.

"Why me?" he asked again, his voice strained. "Why choose me to bear this power?"

The Weaver's expression softened, their eyes filled with something that resembled regret. "Because you were the only one who could. Your heart, Aki, is pure. Your will is strong. But you are also… flawed. And in your flaws, there is the potential for greatness. You are both the solution and the problem, the savior and the destroyer. It is only through your suffering that the true balance will be restored."

Aki's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "So, you want me to suffer? To give up my life, piece by piece, to fix a world that doesn't even know I exist? That's your plan?"

The Weaver nodded slowly, a somber expression on their face. "Yes, Aki. Because the world does not need to know your existence. It only needs the repairs you make. And through your sacrifice, the world will continue. Time will remain in motion. And balance will be restored."

Aki's chest tightened as a cold realization gripped him. His power wasn't about saving people. It was about maintaining a balance—a balance that came at the cost of his life. He had never been a hero. He had never been the one who would change the world. He had been a tool, a mechanism designed to keep the wheels of time turning.

"You are nothing more than a cog in the machine," Aki said bitterly, his voice laced with venom.

The Weaver's eyes glinted with something—perhaps sadness, perhaps acceptance. "Yes, Aki. That is exactly what you are. And you always have been. But even a cog has a purpose. Even a cog can change the course of time, even if it is through its own destruction."

Aki's mind was numb, his thoughts crashing together in a chaotic swirl. He had no more words, no more questions. Only one thing remained: the overwhelming weight of his purpose. He had come here for answers, but now that he had them, the cost was more than he could bear.

In that moment, he understood. There was no escape. There was no salvation.

There was only the price of creation.

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