The Timemaster

No one knows where he came from. No one knows when he will leave. But everyone knows this: whoever sees him is either already too late—or about to become permanently behind schedule. The Timemaster. He sits upon a throne forged from shattered clocks and rusted seconds, welded together from the final moments of those who believed they still had “five more minutes.” The machine is driven by gears no one ever built, lubricated with the cold sweat of wasted opportunities. He has sat there for ages. Motionless. Watchful. Rigid as a clock hand on stimulants. Around him turns a mechanism made of centuries, vibrating to the rhythm of his mood. And his mood has never once smiled. His gaze? Look into his eyes and you will see everything at once: every decision, every crossroads, every “maybe tomorrow.” Most of all, you will see your finest mistakes. And that is not even the worst part. The worst part is this: He travels. Not from place to place—that would be far too ordinary. He leaps from moment to moment as if they were puddles. He was there when time first began to tick. He was there when Atlantis sank—right on schedule, of course. He whispered to Marie Curie, “Oh, come on. Read the label later.” And when the dinosaurs died out, he stood nearby, slowly applauding and saying only: “Timing, folks. It was all about timing.” Some claim he can see the future. Wrong. He writes it—with a pocket watch whose hands move only when someone, somewhere, thinks: “If only I had…” While you consume time like electricity left running on standby, he uses it like a moving walkway in a duty-free shop: a year here, a minute there, a mocking déjà vu in the middle of the apocalypse. His palace? A labyrinth of echoes. There, the years weep. Hallways built from what-ifs, doors that can be crossed only by those who never hesitated—and never look back. And if you meet him—and you will, someday, somewhere, perhaps even yesterday—he will ask you only one question: “Do you want to go back? Or do you want to get it right this time?” Whatever you do, do not answer: “I don't know.” Because if you hesitate, you may never again understand what now even means.

Hours Spent: 3
Software Used: DAZ Studio 4 With IRAY