Time is never a linear river, it is crumpled paper.
Someone is playing a chess game in the folds, and every crease hides a conspiracy. The chance encounter you thought was a footnote of cause and effect had already been written; the inevitable outcome you were sure of was just the bait in the web of fate.
The threads of fate are woven into cocoons by invisible hands, and every choice is a preset trap. Someone is shuffling the cards on the backside of time, stuffing past causes into future consequences, making today's layout become yesterday's foreshadowing.
Cause and effect depend on fate in the dark. Some people use ten years to make a move, while others use an instant to break a century-old game. You think you are holding the steering wheel of fate, but in fact you have been nailed to someone else's chessboard, and you can even calculate the arc of your struggle accurately.
When the fragments of time begin to resonate, all the arrangements show their fangs - what you think of as yourself is just a link in other people's hearts; the cause and effect you desperately try to break free from is just the invitation to join the game.
And what is hidden at the end of time, is it the hand that overturns the chess game, or is it a deeper prison?
