Page 27 of Chasing Eternity

A tingling emanates from his hands into mine, growing into a wave of energy that envelops my entire being like a comforting, tranquil embrace. The sensation is so peaceful, I yearn to linger here forever.

In this altered state, the world transforms, and I find myself in a room with stone walls bathed in the golden light of flickering candles. A man with long white hair and a matching beard sits at a desk, writing on parchment. Though I can’t make out the words, I immediately recognize him. He’s the same man I saw just after retrieving the Moon from its centuries-old hiding spot, during the Unraveling in the Baptistery of San Giovanni.

“What do you see?” my dad whispers.

I describe the scene unfolding before me.

“Good,” he says, removing his hands from mine. “Now wait until you’re called.”

I do as he says, remembering how last time, the man peered at me through centuries of time, only for the vision to shatter when Braxton arrived.

This time, I watch as the quill drops to the table, the man lifts his head and raises a hand, calling me forward.

“Go to him,” my dad instructs.

“But how?” I ask, unsure how to proceed.

“In your mind, see yourself walking to him. But whatever you do, don’t lose the connection.”

I envision myself moving toward the man. As I approach, he rises from his desk, his presence towering and commanding. Placing his hands on either side of my head, a rush of energy surges through me, elevating my frequency to a much higher vibration. It’s as if a symphony of stars and the heartbeat of the earth are resonating within me, unlocking the wisdom in the deepest recesses of my soul.

Images, insights, and knowledge cascade into my mind, revealing centuries of arcane secrets in mere moments. I see ancient rituals, forgotten histories, and the delicate threads of time weaving the fabric of reality. When the flow subsides, the man steps back, his eyes holding a depth of understanding. Without a word, he returns to his desk and the vision snaps away, leaving me standing in my father’s secret room, the echoes of that cosmic symphony still vibrating in my bones.

I open my eyes, feeling awakened, transformed, brimming with newfound insight. When I meet my father’s gaze, suddenly, everything I’ve learned, all the knowledge I gained, slips away—except for one thing that continues to resonate in my mind like a whisper piercing through the haze.

“I know why I’m here,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know why I’m the first female Timekeeper.”

My dad nods, encouraging me to go on.

“My birth coincided with Arthur taking possession of the Antikythera Mechanism. His actions were mostly harmless until he discovered its power. It’s his ambition to control time and remake the world in his image that triggered my emergence. It’s as if the universe recognized the potential for tyranny and imbalance. And after centuries of male-centric brute force used to keep the pieces hidden, my feminine energy and intuition are the counterbalance—the force sent to prevent Arthur from attaining his darkest ambitions.”

My dad studies me for a long, silent beat. “It makes sense,” he says. “Is there anything else?”

“Nothing that stuck,” I say, my voice betraying my panic.

“The knowledge lives inside you now,” my dad assures me. “It would be too overwhelming to move through the world with that sort of energy stirred up all the time. Trust. Have faith. I promise it’ll be there when you most need it.”

I want to believe him, but I still have my doubts. He must see the hesitation on my face because he quickly adds, “You need proof. Luckily, we can do that.” He retrieves a blindfold and the archery bow. “Told you we’d revisit this.” He grins.

Once the blindfold is securely fastened over my eyes, casting me into darkness, my dad positions me before the target and places the bow and arrow into my hands.

“Trust your skills,” he says, “and the newly awakened wisdom within you.”

As the world beyond the blindfold slips away, leaving only the steady rhythm of my heartbeat, the tension building in my shoulders and arms, and the target I envision in my mind, I draw in a deep breath, pull back on the bowstring, and with a measured exhale, I channel my intention and release the arrow toward a destination unseen.

As the arrow slices through the air, a mere whisper in the silence, time seems to stretch and pause, resuming once more with the telltale thunk of the arrow finding its mark.

A surge of anticipation rushes through me, a blend of hope and anxiety tingling in my veins, as I wait for the blindfold to be lifted from my face.

“Ready?” my dad says. A second later, the blindfold is gone, leaving me blinking, once, twice, just to make sure. “Looks like my work is done.” He beams with pride, motioning toward the arrow now perfectly lodged into that tiny gold center. “In just a matter of hours you’ve achieved what took me over a decade to learn.”

A mix of triumph and sorrow beats inside me. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, yet knowing I’ll never see him again is making it impossible to leave.

“I don’t want to do this,” I say, voice breaking as I fight back tears. “I don’t want to go.”

“But you will,” my dad says. “It’s what you’re meant to do. I believe in you, Natasha.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, but I let them flow, making no attempt to wipe them away. Then, a new thought occurs to me. I look at my dad and say, “I can undo this, you know?”

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