I used to think time flowed. One moment leads to the next in a river rushing forward. That’s the simplest story we tell ourselves: the past is gone, the future’s out of reach, and we are stuck in the present. But I’ve seen enough to know that time doesn’t flow at all. I believe it’s more of a solid block—a four-dimensional tapestry where past, present, and future all exist simultaneously.
We travelers can float over the neat illusion of the river, if only for an instant. It’s not that we move through time. Time’s already there, laid out in a cosmic novel. The way I see it, our consciousness simply riffles through to a new chapter in that book. That’s what time-travelers are able to do: slip between slices of spacetime that were always there, skipping from one chapter to the next.
This begs the question: if everything is there already—past, present, and future—does that mean our lives are fated? Was Qin Shi Huang always destined to search for immortality, only to meet his end by my blade? Did I have any choice in my missions, or am I just playing out a role someone else wrote? If the entire universe was laid out in the moment of the Big Bang, then maybe every outcome is as inevitable as sunrise.
But the universe is an immense place—maybe infinitely big. If it is truly infinite, perhaps every outcome is our fate. I find comfort in that contradiction: that every possibility exists, even if we only experience one thread at a time. If each possibility exists, maybe I’m not doomed to be just one version of myself.
All I know is that when I jump through time, I can feel the edges of that block. It’s similar to pressing my palm against a glass wall. It’s there, but I’m still free to move my hand along its surface, choosing my slice of “now.” Maybe that’s enough. After all, no one—not even the Phylax—cheats death to live forever. We only see the bigger picture for the briefest of moments, stepping from one chapter to the next.
The Taklamakan Desert stretches out before me, an unforgiving expanse that swallows the horizon. They call it the Sea of Death. It is a place where the sand buries secrets and devours the unwary. Tales speak of travelers venturing in and vanishing without a trace. Now, it is my turn to cross this desolate wasteland, a journey that demands everything I have left.
The wind whips sharp dust against my skin. On the horizon, ominous clouds churn, an oncoming threat. It’s a tempest, a reflection of the one roaring within my soul.
I don’t know how long I’ve been riding. My horse’s pace has slowed to a plod. I lean forward, patting its neck, urging it on. The creature has held up admirably, bearing me across the rough terrain without complaint. Sadly, I can feel its strength waning until it finally stumbles.
I pull on the reins, trying to steady it. It is too late; the horse’s knees buckle. With a pained whinny, the animal collapses onto the ground. I scramble to the animal’s side as it lies still. Exhaustion glazes its eyes. Desperation grips me as I kneel beside it, dirt sifting into my boots. I pet its neck, feeling the shallow pulse slow, then stop.
My hand hovers over its neck, uncertain whether to offer comfort or simply acknowledge its passing. A harsh voice in my subconscious tells me to get up, to move, to survive. Except I can’t. Not yet.
I reach for the saddlebag, then pause, staring at its lifeless body. It carried me this far. I owe the horse more than leaving its discarded carcass in the desert. For a moment, I think about burying the animal. Unfortunately, the dunes are endless. Time isn’t mine to waste.
I don’t feel this way for people. Not anymore. Sadness for animals, especially this horse, is different. They aren’t pawns or enemies. They are pure.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to my feet. I sling the satchel over my shoulder and grab the remaining food. My steps are heavy as I walk away. I don’t look back—I can’t. Their deaths stay with me in a way human ones never do.
I look toward the horizon. The storm clouds loom larger, their dark masses threatening to engulf this wasteland in their fury.
Steeling myself, I adjust the strap of the waterskin across my shoulder. Each step sinks into scorching sand, draining what little strength I have left. The oasis town of Sachu lies somewhere ahead, hidden beyond the endless dunes that test my resolve.
I trudge onward. It’s not the heat that bothers me. My thoughts keep circling back to the photograph I found in Xia’s bag—the image of myself captured in a place I have never visited.
I allowed her to get close, to help me when I was vulnerable. In doing so, I violated so many rules. I can see Philip’s stern reprimand. You let your guard down. Flashes of weakness will end you. The fact that she vanished before I could confront her reeks of more failure. I should have known better.
At least I am surrounded by emptiness now. The vacant expanse gives me time to think. I appreciate this time alone. Here, there are no distractions, no deceptions—only the raw reality of survival.
The wind kicks up more, stinging dust against my legs. Like the Phylax, the arid plains are brutal, demanding everything. Despite its harshness, I find grim comfort in its simplicity.
If one isn’t careful, the waves of sand can play tricks on the senses, confusing even the most seasoned traveler. Out here, landmarks are rare. The sun can be a deceitful guide, rising and setting in ways that make it easy to lose track of direction. The wind erases footprints almost as soon as they are made, similar to how memories fade with time. Except for our most formative experiences, like the first time Philip taught me to traverse time.
After saving me from the Renegades, Philip brought me to a farmhouse in Greece to recover. It was a place far from their reach. He was patient with me, never demanding more than I could give. That didn’t mean I trusted him. After what happened in that church, trust wouldn’t come easy.
I recovered over the next couple of weeks and then decided to slip away. It wasn’t about Philip; I wanted to be on my own. When I set out to leave, I was surprised to find him sitting on the front porch, waiting. The late hour concealed his presence.
Philip clapped to get my attention, then signed, Leaving so soon, lad? He turned to face me. Before you go, can I show you something? Just one thing. After that, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you.
I stared at him, naturally suspicious. What could he want to show me? I figured it was nothing more than some last-ditch effort to change my resolve.
Reluctantly, I agreed.
Philip rose from his seat. His movements were gentle. He feared breaking my fragile trust. When he placed his hand on my arm, I initially pulled back; however, his light touch reassured me.
Don’t be afraid, lad, Philip signed. This is something you need to see.
He gestured for me to follow, leading me into the cool night. We moved through the sleeping city. I kept my distance from him, my skepticism lingering. Yet, curiosity tugged me forward.
We reached the base of the Acropolis, its towering cliffs rising against the twilight. Philip paused, tilting his head toward a narrow path that climbed upward. I followed him as we scaled the rough terrain, carefully avoiding loose stones that could slide away and betray our presence.
At the entrance to the Acropolis, Philip stopped. Guards patrolled the area, their flashlights were restless fireflies in the distance. Philip guided me along a less obvious route, slipping between ruins that served as makeshift cover. I followed his lead.
When we reached the top, the city spread out below us, shimmering in the sea of silver. The Parthenon loomed nearby, its grandeur softened by age. The ruins of older structures stood as remnants of what they once were. Philip motioned for me to stand beside him.
Again, he placed his fingers on my arm, this time gripping me tightly.
Then, the strangest, most disorienting, beautiful thing followed. Time spread in front of me like the pages of a book. To my left, the past shimmered. To my right, the future stretched until 2051, when everything abruptly ended.
Beyond that, there were no pages, merely an abrupt void where the story should continue. I was too amazed to ask questions then, so I didn’t understand its meaning until later. I remained in awe as I stood above the flow of time.
My senses spun as the present blurred with the past. Philip’s grip tightened. His stare never left me, perhaps gauging whether I was ready to understand the enormity of what he revealed. This is your gift, his expression seemed to say.
When he finished the theatrics, the current slowed. I tried to steady myself, to make sense of what happened. We were standing in the same place in Greece, except with an entirely different landscape. Beneath me, the ground felt firmer. When I looked out, the sight was breathtaking.
The Parthenon stood in its prime. Its marble columns gleamed in the sunlight, adorned with vivid carvings of gods and heroes. Nearby, the Erechtheion glowed as if blessed by Athena herself. These buildings were not ruins. They were alive with unparalleled grandeur.
My mouth fell open in awe. Nothing could have prepared me for the magnificence of these structures in their full glory. The city of Athens spread below us. The Agora bustled with the energy of ancient life.
Come, Philip signed, gesturing toward one side of the hill. We have a challenging walk in front of us.
The experience dazed me. I fought the urge to pull away from Philip’s grip, wary of falling victim to another manipulation. Yet, I felt cracks forming in the walls I had built. Deep inside, a serene voice whispered that this was something good—something familiar, like a nearly forgotten song from childhood.
As we walked down a steep path, Philip fell into step beside me. You can travel through time too, he signed. It’s why the Renegade sect wanted you—to use you to manipulate time for their gain. They try to accumulate power, wealth, and control over everything. That’s not the purpose of the Phylax.
I said nothing. I was still trying to process that we had stepped back into ancient Greece. All of it was overwhelming.
Philip explained, The Phylax exists to protect humankind. In 2051, at precisely 3 a.m. on July 1, the Sigma Event occurs. It’s the end of humanity as we know it.
I stiffened at his words. What caused it?
Philip continued, We believe humanity destroyed itself. We triggered our own collapse through war, greed, or sheer negligence. The Sigma Event is the result of everything we failed to stop. His signs became more forceful. Our mission is to find the error, correct it, and prevent the Sigma Event from happening. No one can travel past 2051 because there’s nothing left beyond it.
He spoke with a heavy sense of responsibility that was muffled by my loitering skepticism. The Renegades told me too many lies by the time I was thirteen. I wasn’t ready to believe Philip yet.
We walked for a while, the sounds of ancient Athens rising around us—the clatter of carts on cobblestone streets, the distant hum of voices, the melody of lyres playing somewhere in the city. The grandeur engulfed me.
Our steep path was overgrown. Eventually, it led us to a scattering of stone fragments. Philip pointed toward the base of the cliff, signing the word descend.
We climbed down to a spot where it appeared a giant boulder rested on a plateau. As we drew closer, I saw that it was actually a deeply worn groove in the stone. Nestled within the rut was a heavy door. Its design was simple and timeless.
Standing before it, an unusual feeling stirred within me. It was something I had never experienced with the Renegades. Belonging. I couldn’t explain it, but deep down, I knew this place was for me.
Philip signed to me that this place was called the Sanctum. After gaining entry, he greeted a small group gathered near the entrance. When they moved, their robes gently flowed with them. One stepped forward, raising a hand to greet me.
Welcome, Adam, the figure signed. We’ve been waiting for you.
My heart raced, but not with fear. These people radiated warmth, enveloping me in a soft embrace. This wasn’t the cold, manipulative organization that betrayed me; this was something pure, something real.
The ceremony that followed was powerful. The group formed a circle and pulled me into the center. They gently placed their hands on my shoulders as a gesture of acceptance, as if welcoming me home after a long journey. Their skin was warm, and their touch reassuring. The air filled with a subtle reverence, an acknowledgment of this pivotal occasion. It was nothing like the harsh, punishing rituals I had endured before. There was no pain, no fear, only peace.
The Archon approached, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made me feel small. The others melted into the background when he neared. The Archon held my branding mark, his touch sending a subtle warmth through my skin. His stare pierced my spirit; his voice was a thunderous anthem:
“The past binds us.
The future calls us.
The present bends to our will.”
Heat surged through my arm. A faint red glow spread across my skin, emanating from the branding mark. The warmth intensified, flowing from my arm into my chest, filling me with a radiant energy. Something shifted deep within me as the others stood around in a gentle communion. A long-buried part of me had awakened, an unfurling bud blossoming in spring. Warmth spread from my scar. With it came a seed of doubt. Could I trust this feeling, or was it another deception, a kinder mask for control?
When the ceremony ended, the members addressed me with serene smiles. Philip signed, This is your beginning, lad. You are part of the true Phylax now.
I nodded slowly. Was it gratitude, wonder, or optimism? I didn’t know how to articulate what I felt. But I felt it in every fiber of my being.
When we left the Sanctum, light faded into the evening. In the distance, the ancient city’s sounds disappeared. Philip signed, We are unable to move through time near the Acropolis. There are devices inside that prevent it. He paused before adding, Each of us can travel once every three years. It takes a lot of power to travel; it drains us. That means you will have to bring us back to 2023.
Before we descended the steep path, I asked, What do you mean?
Philip smiled softly. When the Archon held your scar, he unleashed your ability. You can travel through time, like me. Now that we’re here, it’s up to you to get us back, lad.
I blinked, stunned. What? I don’t know how to do that.
You do, Philip signed with patience. You need to unstick yourself from the present. Start here. He placed his fingers on my arm over the branding mark. This mark is a key to unlocking the power that flows through you. Use it to remove yourself from the here and now. You will feel like you are floating. When you let go, commit to that sense of drifting. The ripples of time will appear, spreading in front of you. That’s when the gateway opens. You can take us back to our present.”
The possibility of using this power terrified me. I recalled the pull I felt when Philip brought us here—the sensation of time shifting around me. Anxiety knotted in my stomach. The responsibility felt immense, almost crushing. Yet, beneath the fear, there was a spark of curiosity. If I could tap into that sensation, perhaps I could bring us back.
I closed my eyes to focus on the brand on my arm, feeling the rough edges beneath my fingertips. I imagined stepping out of time. For a second, I assumed it was ridiculous. Then warmth spread through my body. I saw the gateway to the past and future open up. It was the same as when Philip brought us here. I grabbed onto his wrist. We shot through time, landing at the exact moment we had left.
I stumbled, disoriented. My senses struggled to catch up with the sudden shift. Philip caught me before I fell.
You did it, Philip signed with pride. I knew you could.
I couldn’t believe it. I traveled through time. The power was mine.
Philip stepped back, giving me space. This is just the beginning. You have so much to learn, but you’ve already taken the first step.
I did not try to escape from Philip after that day.
The wind shifts, yanking me back to the present, to the endless void before me. Each step is a battle against exhaustion. I continue, relying on the survival skills drilled into me. It is second nature.
Then I see it: a raging tide of earth and wind closing in on me. The storm’s shifting sands churn in a monstrous tide. My pulse quickens with anticipation. It isn’t something to dread; it’s a test, an opportunity to absolve myself. If I can withstand this, I can prove I have the strength to continue.
The wind picks up, stinging my face with the first bits of grit. I scan the surroundings and spot a dune, its steep slope offering some shelter. I move quickly, crouching down on the leeward side as the storm sweeps in.
The wind roars, slamming against me with a force that rattles my bones. Silt lashes out in every direction, creating a swirling, chaotic dance that blurs the world into a murky haze. I hunch down, wrapping my cloak tightly around me, using it as a shield against the onslaught. The noise is deafening.
The wind tears at my clothing. Sand stings my skin. My inhalations come in short, ragged gasps. Doubts swirl with the gusts. The storm forces them to the surface and then scatters them into nothing. The wind howls. I greet it head-on, feeling the force of nature grind against my resolve. This is my test. Endure it. I must prove my worth.