Upon waking up, Elios felt a stinging pain in his head—similar to a migraine.
"Oh, come on, man… I literally just woke up."
Rubbing his eyes furiously, trying to adjust to the bright light streaming through the entrance of the hollowed-out tree, he began to look around. There were things that were definitely different.
"Huh… I don't remember writing—"
Before he could finish that thought, his searing migraine intensified tenfold. But as he continued to focus on the changes happening around him, they became clearer and clearer.
Inside the hollowed-out tree, on the wall, there was a word written in crude, barely legible handwriting: 'Remember.'
I didn't write that… did I? And if I did—remember what?
Elios's face contorted, his brows knitting together as his hand came up to support his head. His golden gaze, filled not with serenity nor relaxation, was sharp—focused. The searing pain of his migraine was constant, but instead of dampening his thoughts, it acted as a clear path—as if the pain was clearing his mind.
As if on instinct, his body moved toward the corner of the hollowed-out tree. There, a simple book bound in red leather sat. But something else was there—something he didn't remember.
Multiple tips from different leaves stuck out from the top of one of the pages. As he focused more, the migraine only grew more painful. But he toughed it out, grabbing the book and flipping to the page where all the leaves were kept.
"One, two, three… twenty-five."
At the end of the page, his golden gaze landed on something—something that, for a moment, struck clarity into his mind. With the help of the migraine, the veil that clouded his thoughts and kept him from the clarity he so desperately sought was removed.
Twenty-five days.
A raw, overwhelming realization contorted Elios's face. He knew what this meant. He understood why things felt different—why it felt like he was fighting against some greater power every time he tried to focus.
A time loop.
Elios had always heard of these as a kid. They were common in sci-fi trilogies. But never—never—did he expect to actually encounter one.
If anything, he found it ironic. A man like him—someone willing to do anything for just a little more time, so he could make things right—was now stuck in a time loop.
Looking down at himself, he saw that his form was much, much frailer than before. Although compared to many others, he could be called skinny, he had at least enough muscle to avoid being immediately called out for it. But now—even those muscles were disappearing.
Because of the way I've been living… I haven't had the sufficient nutrients my body needs. And since I've been repeating the same day over and over again—although my mind didn't realize it, my body did.
The time loop cannot physically affect things. It can only affect people—or their minds, to be more precise. No wonder I look so malnourished.
Standing up, he moved toward the entrance of the hollowed-out tree.
Toward his usual gathering spot.
Now that he could actually focus—without the veil clouding his mind—he could see so many changes. The path was now clear, most likely from the countless times he had walked over it, shaping it into the surroundings.
The small mast was gone. The pothole was larger and filled with rainwater. The marks he had carved into the tree were no longer as prominent as before.
And The Cave.
He had some recollection of it, actually. The Cave was strange. He understood that, at some point, he had tried to enter it. But every time he did, his mind would go blank, and he would continue along a set path.
Deciding to deal with that later, he continued forward along the now much clearer path.
The place where he used to gather herbs, find delicious fruits—it was gone. There was nothing left. The bushes remained. The roots where the herbs once sprouted were still there.
But there were no animals. No fruits. No berries. No herbs.
Just him.
And the still, thick air.
"Damn…"
Just how long have I been stuck on this island? It's definitely been much more than twenty-five days. The food—everything here—even with other creatures eating it, it would have taken months to disappear.
Right now, there was only one thing Elios could do.
Wait.
He had one hope—that somehow, acknowledging the time loop would cause it to stop. Or at the very least, weaken.
Returning to the hollowed-out tree, he began to add to the singular writing inside the cubby he had made. Beneath the word 'Remember,' he placed the words:
'Time Loop.'
But as the sun fell and the moon began to rise, a wave of dizziness, sleepiness, and exhaustion shrouded his body. Walking wobbly toward the makeshift bed—one that looked overused and tired—he laid down.
And fell asleep.