The year was 2147. Humanity had expanded to Mars, yet Earth remained home. That was until the Rift appeared. It began as a strange shimmer in the sky over the Pacific Ocean, like a crack in reality itself. Scientists initially dismissed it as a bizarre anomaly—something to study, to understand.
Then came the voices.
Dr. Elara Voss, lead researcher at the Rift Research Station, stood before a vast observation window, staring at the tear in the sky. The station floated precariously close to the anomaly, its jagged edges pulsating with eerie blue energy.
"We keep receiving transmissions," said Raul, her assistant, his voice unsteady. "But they're… unsettling."
Elara's brows furrowed. "Play them."
Raul hesitated, then pressed a button. A garbled voice crackled through the speakers, distorted and fragmented:
"…Warning… time is… collapse… the Rift… open too long…"
A chill crawled down Elara's spine. "Run it through the quantum filter."
The machine whirred, cleaning up the interference. The voice became clearer.
"This is Elara Voss. If you're hearing this… you must close the Rift. It is not a doorway. It is a wound. And something is coming through."
Elara's breath hitched. Her own voice. A warning from the future.
Raul paled. "That's… you."
She turned to the Rift. The glow had intensified. And for the first time, something moved inside it.
A pulse rippled through the station. The walls groaned. Elara grabbed a railing as blue light flooded the room. Alarms blared. Monitors flickered erratically.
"We have to shut it down!" she shouted.
"It's too late!" Raul cried, pointing.
A figure emerged. Humanoid, but wrong. Its body shimmered like liquid metal, shifting fluidly. It had no eyes, no mouth—only a smooth, reflective surface. Yet Elara felt its gaze pierce through her.
Then, it spoke—not with sound, but directly into her mind.
"You have meddled with forces beyond your understanding."
Elara's throat tightened. "Who are you?"
"We are the Forgotten. Trapped outside time. Your kind has opened the wound again. The balance must be restored."
Raul swallowed. "Balance?"
Before the entity could answer, the Rift widened. More figures emerged, identical to the first. The station trembled. Gravity warped. Papers, chairs, even entire consoles lifted from the floor, spiraling toward the Rift.
Elara spun to the control panel. "We need to contain it." Her hands danced across the interface. "I can reverse the energy flow, collapse the Rift before more come through."
Raul hesitated. "And if it fails?"
She didn't answer. If she failed, the Rift wouldn't just expand—it would consume everything.
Her fingers flew across the controls. The Rift pulsed, as if resisting. The entities turned toward her, their forms rippling with agitation.
"You cannot undo what has begun."
Elara gritted her teeth. "Raul, divert all power to the containment field!"
He nodded, typing frantically. "On it!"
The Rift flickered. The blue glow dimmed for a moment. The entities quivered, their bodies distorting in frustration.
"Your actions are meaningless."
Elara ignored them. The station rocked violently. Sparks rained from the ceiling. Sirens screamed. Her heart pounded as she initiated the final sequence.
"Activating energy inversion… now!"
The station shuddered. The Rift twisted inward, folding like collapsing fabric. The Forgotten let out a silent scream, their forms flickering violently.
"It's working!" Raul yelled.
Then—the largest entity lunged. Its shifting mass reached for Elara, its featureless face inches from hers.
"We will return."
With a deafening roar, the Rift imploded. The creatures vanished. Silence followed.
Elara exhaled shakily. The air smelled of burning circuits. The station, barely holding together, had survived.
Raul slumped against the console. "That… was too close."
Elara nodded, staring at the empty void where the Rift had been. Her own voice echoed in her mind:
It is not a doorway. It is a wound.
The danger had passed.
For now.
Days later, as repairs continued, Elara still couldn't sleep. The Forgotten's words haunted her. What had they meant by 'balance'? Had she truly stopped something—or merely delayed the inevitable?
Raul entered, setting a cup of tea beside her. "You're still thinking about it, huh?"
Elara nodded. "I don't think I'll ever stop."
Raul sipped his tea. "Maybe that's good. Maybe knowing how close we came will keep us from making the same mistake."
Elara managed a small smile. "Maybe."
But the consequences had already begun. Her hands trembled when she wasn't paying attention. Sometimes, she swore she could still hear the distorted echoes of her own voice whispering warnings in the dark. And then there were the dreams—visions of shifting figures watching her, waiting.
And worse—sometimes, in the reflection of the station's reinforced windows, she saw something else staring back at her. Not her own reflection, but something impossibly wrong, a shimmer of liquid metal just behind her shoulder—gone in the blink of an eye.
Then the nosebleeds started. Sudden and violent, staining her hands as she worked. The doctors found nothing wrong. No anomalies. No explanation. Just like the Rift itself.
She began losing time. Waking up in places she didn't remember walking to. Sometimes, Raul would find her standing in front of the control panel, fingers hovering over buttons she had no memory of approaching. And the worst part? Sometimes, she heard her own voice whispering in her ear, but when she turned, no one was there.
She started recording herself at night. The first few nights, nothing happened—just restless sleep, the occasional murmuring. But then, on the fourth night, she played back the footage and saw herself sitting upright, eyes open, whispering in a voice that wasn't quite her own.
"The wound is not closed. It festers. We will return."
Her breath caught as the screen flickered, and for a split second, her reflection in the monitor wasn't her own.
She smashed the recorder.
Outside the reinforced windows, space stretched endlessly. No Rift. No distortions.
Only stars, distant and silent.
For now, the wound was closed.
But deep inside, Elara knew: The Forgotten's warning hadn't been a threat.
It had been a promise.