If you've ever debugged a production environment at 2 a.m., you know the moment when you find the bug. That sickening, horrifying moment when you realize the problem isn't a simple typo—it's a catastrophic failure that should have never, ever happened.
Yeah. That was me. Standing at the roots of the World Tree, staring at what can only be described as a cosmic traffic jam.
"Okay, what in the name of spaghetti code is this?" I muttered, squinting at the glowing web of roots in front of me.
The roots—or signals, as my tech brain had decided to call them—were no longer pulsing in neat, orderly rhythms. No, these were spiraling out of control, branching infinitely like some multiversal recursion error no one put a cap on. The energy flowed faster than it should have, splitting into smaller and smaller strands until they blurred into chaos.
Ratatoskr, still perched on my shoulder in his now-chibi form, let out a low whistle. "Looks like the Tree's having an identity crisis."
"Identity crisis?" I repeated, arms crossed. "More like infinite-loop territory. I've seen servers choke to death over less."
The owl, perched on my other shoulder—now equally chibi-fied, with tiny wings and impossibly big golden eyes—blinked slowly. "The Tree is creating realms that should not exist."
"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered.
The roots pulsed harder, and then it hit me—like a dev suddenly realizing they pushed a broken build to production.
"Wait. These signals aren't just creating random multiverses," I said, pointing at the insane fractals of energy. "They're splitting too fast. There's too much load. It's like an unhandled loop that keeps doubling itself. Eventually, the system's going to crash."
Ratatoskr scratched his tiny chin. "A hard reset would probably wipe out existence, so let's not do that."
"Thanks, Captain Obvious," I shot back.
The owl's tiny voice hummed in my head. "The cause lies in an event that should not happen—an error within a single reality."
I froze. "What do you mean?"
"Some events are immutable," the owl explained, still perched like a feathery god of wisdom. "Moments that define all realities. One such moment has been altered by an interference that does not belong. It has created endless ripples."
"Define 'interference,'" I said, narrowing my eyes.
"An unknown force."
"Awesome. Super helpful."
"I did warn you," Ratatoskr said cheerfully. "Unwanted quests are always like this."
I turned my focus back to the roots, staring at the spiraling mess of glowing pathways. Deep within, one thread pulsed differently—slower, darker, almost glitching against the rest.
"There," I said, pointing to the anomaly. "That's the problem. That's where it all started going wrong."
The owl tilted its tiny head. "You must travel to the origin point. Correct the event. Fix the error."
Ratatoskr cheered. "Time travel! I love a good paradox! Well, unless it kills us, but let's roll the dice."
I sighed heavily. "Let me guess. I'm the guy who has to go fix it, aren't I?"
The owl's golden eyes blinked. Ratatoskr grinned.
Yeah. That's a yes.
It didn't take long for the roots to create a portal—a swirling, shimmering tear in the air that practically screamed, plot device. I stood at the edge, staring into the swirling void that had a distinct "weird space-time anomaly" vibe.
"What's on the other side?" I asked.
"An ancient time," the owl said. "A major event everyone remembers—yet one that can never be allowed to change."
"Great. Vague and ominous, just how I like it."
"Don't worry!" Ratatoskr chirped, adjusting his chibi cloak. "We've got this. You, me, and Feathers here? Best team ever!"
"If we survive this, I'm deleting you both from my mental cache," I muttered, stepping toward the portal.
The owl fluttered its tiny wings. "We must go together. The interference is strong. You will need us."
I took a deep breath.
Time travel. Fixing history. A World Tree on the brink of collapse.
I was a developer, not a hero, and definitely not a time-traveling savior. Yet here I was, about to jump into the void with a chibi owl and a squirrel bard sitting on my shoulders.
I looked at the portal, then at my companions.
"If this ends with me fighting dinosaurs, I'm going to riot."
And with that, I stepped through.
The world shifted.
When the swirling void cleared, I found myself in the middle of an ancient city—stone streets, towering monuments, and people clad in robes bustling about like they had important lives to live. The air smelled of firewood and earth, and somewhere in the distance, drums thundered.
"Whoa," I whispered, my breath catching.
"Welcome to the past," the owl said calmly.
Ratatoskr, perched on my other shoulder, grinned. "Look at all these fine ladies and gents! I'm going to fit right in."
I groaned. "Focus, you two. What's the event?"
The owl's gaze turned sharp. "The interference is near. You will know it when you see it."
Ratatoskr strummed his lute—chibi-style, somehow—and smirked. "Time to save the multiverse, hero. Let's hope you debug better under pressure."
I sighed and started walking toward the crowd. The event—whatever it was—was waiting for me.
Note to self: Never underestimate how far one error can spiral. And maybe install some cosmic-level logging next time.
To be continued…