The lantern at the edge of Hollow Bridge had burned without oil for three hundred years, its pale blue flame never wavering against rain, wind, or the passing of seasons. Every child in the valley grew up hearing the same warning: never stare into the fire after sunset. Some claimed it reflected your final moments, while others believed it revealed the face of the one destined to betray you. Elias had dismissed the stories as superstition until the night curiosity got the better of him. The instant his eyes met the flame, the world around him fell silent. No crickets, no rushing river, not even the sound of his own breathing remained. Then the lantern whispered a single name. His own. Since that evening, every midnight the lantern had spoken another name, and by dawn that person was gone without a trace. The village had begun to fear the bridge, but Elias feared something else entirely—the possibility that the lantern wasn't predicting the disappearances, but choosing them. The old stone bridge stretched across a river so dark it reflected no stars, its cracked surface etched with faded runes that glowed faintly whenever moonlight touched them. As Elias stepped onto the first stone, a cold breeze swept through the valley, carrying with it the scent of rain and wildflowers from a season that had ended months ago. Halfway across, the runes erupted into brilliant blue light beneath his feet, and the river below began to flow backward. On the opposite bank stood a young woman in a silver cloak, leaning casually against a weathered milestone as though she had been waiting for hours. Her amber eyes met his without surprise. "You're later than I expected," she said, offering a small, almost amused smile. "The world ended seven minutes ago. Most people just haven't realized it yet." Before Elias could answer, the sky above them cracked like glass, revealing countless golden threads stretching into the darkness beyond, each one connected to a different human soul. One by one, the threads began to snap.