Salem landed with a soft thud on a surface that felt like a trampoline layered over broken glass. The air smelled metallic, like a hospital, but charged with electricity, and the light around him flickered in erratic pulses. Each pulse revealed something different: a city skyline warped into impossible angles, a hospital corridor lined with floating doors, and a child coughing in the distance, wearing a mask that shimmered with faint, coded symbols.
He pushed himself up, brushing phantom dust off his clothes, only to notice the sky above bending unnaturally. It was both day and night, simultaneously. Neon signs flashed snippets of time, like a broken clock: 2020. 1975. 2063. And somewhere between those numbers, his own face stared back at him, older, scarred, and strangely calm.
Salem gr
