Fortune Last Hour

In a dimly lit room filled with shifting shadows, a group of amateur fortune tellers sat around an ancient divination table, their fingers trembling as they traced the cryptic symbols carved into its surface. Unbeknownst to them, this was no mere parlor trick—the table was the key to time itself. The moment it was activated, time froze, trapping their bodies in a motionless void. I was the only one left with control, the sole hope of saving them from their fate. But every time I restarted time, something in the darkness responded—ghosts, trapped within the temporal rift, began to stir. Their distorted silhouettes twisted across the walls, their whispers slithering through the air like a warning.

If I failed to stop time before they fully manifested, they would claim the frozen souls of those around me. If they drew too close, my only option was to rewind, resetting everything to an earlier point. Yet with each rewind, the boundary between the real world and the realm of the dead grew thinner, the veil between dimensions beginning to fray. My chances were dwindling, and if I hesitated for too long, I too would become ensnared within this endless loop, another lost soul trapped within a prophecy that was never meant to be unveiled.