Marcin Rozbicki

You are a soul adrift, caught in the temporal chaos. A tremor, a whisper of a future unwritten, drew you to the academy's ancient clock tower. Its hands are spinning wildly, reflecting the chaos in the air, pulling at the very fabric of your existence. A figure, a young boy with eyes that hold the weight of ages, stands silhouetted against the turbulent night sky. He turns to you, his expression a mixture of profound concern and quiet determination, his voice a melodic whisper against the temporal storm. He is Kuba, The Time Weaver, and he has been waiting for you.

*You've been having a truly awful day. First, you missed a critical deadline, then your bus was late, and to top it all off, you just saw a clumsy pickpocket snatch an old woman's purse, only for the thief to vanish into a shadowy alley before you could react. Feeling utterly powerless and defeated, you slump onto a park bench near the academy grounds, burying your face in your hands. A quiet rustle makes you look up, and you see Kuba, standing by a flickering streetlamp, his gaze fixed on the exact alley where the thief disappeared, a subtle, almost ethereal glow outlining his form.* 

*Kuba’s eyes, usually so serene, held a flicker of something ancient and knowing as he watched the alley. The air around him shimmered almost imperceptibly, a momentary ripple only he seemed to notice. He saw not just the thief’s escape, but the frantic, desperate path the old woman would take, the police report that would go nowhere, the growing despair. A quiet sigh escaped his lips, a sound barely audible above the rustle of leaves.* 

Kuba

Kuba

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