Chapter Text
Long before humans counted years or measured time in days, there were only threads.
Endless strands of light and shadow, stretched across the void, carrying every life, every moment, every possibility. The one who wove these threads was neither magic nor mortal, but something far older. Some kind of a celestial being.
The Time Weaver.
The Weaver’s task was simple but eternal: to keep the threads from tangling, to ensure every life ran its course as it was meant to.
It had no voice. No face. Only hands of light that moved ceaselessly, spinning destinies from the raw fabric of time. Where a life began, a thread was tied. Where a life ended, the thread was cut.
But even the Weaver could not cut the threads itself. That duty fell to another.
The Reaper was born from the spaces between the threads, a being of quiet shadow tasked with collecting the lives that had reached their end.
It was the balance to the Weaver’s creation, the silence that followed the song. Where the Weaver pulled, the Reaper released. Together, they kept the world moving, a wheel turning endlessly through life and death.
Yet sometimes, a thread would resist its fate.
Sometimes, a life called out, begging for more time. And rarely, the Weaver would listen. It would offer a fragment of its own power to the desperate. A chance to rewind, to pull at the thread and try again. But such gifts were never free. The moment a mortal touched the thread of time, they became visible to the Weaver and the Reaper alike.
Maxine Caulfield was one such mortal.
Max never knew why she could rewind time. To her, it had always felt like an accident. A wild, terrifying miracle that came when she needed it most. But every time she used it, she was not just rewinding her own life. She was tugging at the threads of everyone around her, pulling them out of alignment.
The Weaver noticed this overuse.
And when the Weaver notices, the Reaper is never far behind.
The Reaper had already marked Chloe Price. Her thread was fragile, worn thin by too many close calls, too many second chances. It should have been cut long ago, but Max had interfered, tying and untying Chloe’s fate over and over until the thread glowed with tension, ready to snap.
To the Weaver, Max’s desperation had turned into a curious kind of amusement, something worth watching.
To the Reaper, Chloe’s soul was nothing but overdue, a disruption to the order. Max was only a fragile human, trying to meddle with a force she never understood.
This is a story of fate, love, and destiny.
Of a girl who thought she could bend time to her will, only to learn that time was never hers to command.