Time felt heavier with each passing minute, as though every tick of the clock pressed against Aion’s shoulders. He had until nightfall to decide, and now that evening was looming, his unease intensified. For hours, he’d wrestled with fears and possibilities, but the deadline was here—he could no longer delay.

  His apartment closed in on him, each wall reflecting his pent-up anxiety. He paced back and forth, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. 6:37 PM. Less than two hours. Every second felt like a drumbeat pounding in his chest. He had run through a thousand scenarios in his mind: what life would be if he refused this offer. Would he spend the rest of his days wondering about the chance he’d let slip away? Or would he find solace in a normal life, free from the burden of five centuries in a frozen world?

  The thought of staying cooped up grew unbearable. He grabbed his coat and fled outside. The city teemed with evening energy: people heading home or meeting friends, the hum of traffic blending with snippets of laughter. Aion moved through the crowd, torn between belonging and distance. He imagined this throng of people trapped in stasis, each smile and laugh suspended mid-breath.

  Sunset painted the sky in orange and pink by the time he reached the edge of a small park. He paused to soak in the scene: the last stretch of daylight against a vibrant horizon. The fleeting beauty made his chest tighten. Would a scene like this still matter if time didn’t move?

  Around him, life continued in casual, unhurried moments—a young couple whispering on a bench, hands entwined; a child shrieking with glee as they chased a dog across the grass. Simple human experiences, ephemeral and cherished precisely because they ended. And here he was, about to step away from that flow, to become something apart from the normal stream of time.

  The sun sank lower. Warm hues gave way to dusk’s cooler tones. Aion drew a long breath, feeling an ache that mingled sadness with anticipation. This is the end of one life, he thought, and the start of something else. He closed his eyes, the evening breeze ruffling his hair, and let that certainty settle in.

  When he opened them again, the sun’s last rays faded below the skyline. Resolve crystallized in his chest. Fear pulsed beneath it, but determination held steady. He needed this—needed to discover if an extraordinary path would ease the restlessness he’d carried for so long.

  He made his way to a discreet, dimly lit café on a side street, the rendezvous the stranger had specified. Nerves prickled under his skin as he stepped inside. Only a handful of patrons sat scattered about, lost in hushed conversations or solitary contemplation. In the far corner, the stranger waited, expression unreadable.

  Aion approached, each footstep an echo of his pounding heart. He slid into the seat across from the stranger, meeting their gaze. The café’s soft lighting turned the moment surreal, making it feel disconnected from reality.

  “I’ve decided,” Aion said, voice wavering only slightly. “I’ll do it. I accept your offer—five hundred years.”

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  The stranger inclined their head in acknowledgment. “Have you weighed the cost? Once commenced, there is no undoing. No exit.”

  A flicker of doubt sparked in Aion’s chest. Yet he steeled himself, recalling the sense of longing that had shadowed him for years. “I’m sure. I can’t keep living as I was.”

  A contemplative silence stretched between them, broken only by the low murmur of other patrons. Then the stranger’s voice came, quiet but firm. “Know this is not an escape, but a transformation. You’ll be severed from the world’s normal flow—everything will be frozen in place. You will not age. Time will not advance for others. Five hundred years must run their course before life resumes.”

  Aion’s palms felt clammy against the tabletop. Hearing the terms laid out so plainly still rattled him. “What about pain? Hunger?”

  A flicker of a smile curved the stranger’s lips. “You will not need to eat or drink, and you will not age. But pain remains real, and you must take care. This stasis protects no one from harm.”

  Aion swallowed. The finality of it made his stomach twist. “And if… if I regret it?” he murmured.

  Empathy, or something like it, glimmered in the stranger’s eyes. “Then you endure. There is no turning back. Those who persevere may discover wonders and truths hidden by time.”

  Aion nodded, his heart an unsteady thunder in his chest. He sensed the enormity of his leap into the unknown, but a force stronger than fear pushed him on.

  The stranger rose, offering a hand. “Shall we begin?”

  Aion exhaled, placed his hand in theirs, and braced for the shift. The contact sent a jolt through him—like static charging every nerve. The café’s noises dulled to nothing, the lights blurred, and the edges of his vision seemed to ripple. The stranger held his gaze with a calm intensity.

  His pulse roared in his ears. In one instinctive surge, he almost pulled back—this was the moment of no return. But he resisted, eyes squeezed shut as the world felt like it was tilting, reality folding in on itself.

  Then, a sudden hush. Aion opened his eyes to a café suspended in time. Patrons were caught in mid-gesture, a swirl of steam frozen above a coffee cup. The hum of conversation had vanished; not even a breath of air disturbed the silence.

  The stranger gently released Aion’s hand. “Welcome to your five hundred years.”

  Aion blinked, heart still racing. He moved past a table where a spoon hovered inches above its saucer. Gingerly, he touched the steam, marveling at the textureless stillness beneath his fingertips. Wonder and dread coiled inside him, an impossible mix of exhilaration and apprehension.

  He turned back to ask the stranger something—anything—but they were already walking away, their form disappearing into the hush like a ghost. Aion felt a pang of loss, standing alone in this silent tableau.

  Steeling himself, he pushed open the café door. Outside, the city streets lay locked in perpetual dusk. A traffic light was paused mid-cycle; cars halted on the road as though some cosmic hand had pressed “pause.” Faces were turned skyward, or bent in mid-laughter, every instant held captive.

  Aion drew in a trembling breath, the enormity of his decision echoing within his chest. This was the world he had chosen: a place where no second would pass for anyone but him. Five centuries to explore, to create, to search for meaning.

  He placed a tentative foot on the sidewalk, stepping into a future only he would experience. Something akin to hope fluttered through him. This world was his to unravel, for better or worse. And for the first time in his life, he felt the pull of genuine possibility, a horizon untethered by the march of time.

  There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is.

  It is the sadness of understanding that life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments, that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion, that happiness is not a permanent state, but a rare, fleeting glimpse of something we can never hold onto.

  And in that understanding, there is a profound loneliness, a sense of being cut off from the world, from other people, from oneself.

  - Virginia Woolf