Page 71 of Chasing Eternity
I take a deep breath and turn my attention to the murals once more. “Arthur commissioned these pieces from some of the art world’s most renowned artists,” I say, directing my candle toward the scene that’s closest to the hidden door. “Just like the mural over his desk, he did so with intention. There’s a story here; it’s coded, of course, but I’m determined to decipher its meaning.”
“Go on,” Braxton says, glancing between the mural and me.
“At first glance, it looks haphazard, random. But I’m sensing there’s a pattern. Think of it like a graphic novel without the speech bubbles.”
Braxton grins, his blue eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.
“I think the journey starts here.” Gently, I tap a finger to the wall. “And I’m thinking maybe we can gain deeper insight if we place our hands on it, together.”
Braxton’s gaze is as deep as the sea, and when he places his hand over mine, a surge of electricity shoots through my veins.
“Now, focus on your breathing and clear your thoughts,” I say, repeating the steps my dad taught me. “As you merge with the mural’s energy, let your mind be a blank canvas, open to whatever impressions may come.”
Together, Braxton and I follow the mural in quiet contemplation, absorbing the tale of a boy born into scant means, a world where ascending beyond one’s initial circumstances seemed a distant dream.
Yet, Arthur was exceptional—naturally industrious, and remarkably insightful for his age. His most defining attribute, however, was his foresight, a vision not just for personal advancement but for societal betterment.
When he first saw the beautiful young kitchen maid at the household where he worked, Arthur was determined to transcend their shared lowly status. His brilliance and indomitable spirit, coupled with a burgeoning grasp of alchemy, allowed him to rise above his station. Together, they fell in love, wed, and built a modest yet joy-filled life with their daughter.
But tragedy struck when his wife became gravely ill. Desperate to save her, Arthur discovered a time portal, a gateway to different eras where he hoped to find a cure. Promising a swift return, he left his family, only to become ensnared in the labyrinth of time, unable to find his way back.
By the time he finally did return, years had passed. His wife was gone, and their daughter, Elodie, had been abandoned to the harsh realities of a Dickensian orphanage. Each attempt to rewrite this fate saw him clashing with time itself, always with the same heartbreaking outcome.
“My God,” Braxton says, once we near the end of the mural. “Arthur’s not just fighting against the random injustices of the world, but against time itself. No wonder he’s so obsessed with controlling it. It makes perfect sense.” He looks at me, his eyes wide with realization. “Well, in his twisted mind, anyway.”
When we reach the penultimate scene in the mural, we remove our hands from the wall and I say, “And here’s how his preferred story ends.” I gesture toward an image of a girl with flowing brown hair and green eyes—a girl who is unmistakably me. In this part of the mural, I am kneeling before Arthur, the Star cupped in my hands, presenting him with the final piece he needs to amend his past tragedies.
The image that follows depicts Arthur in a vision of sheer joy, his family restored, ensconced in a realm of splendor and radiance, a utopia free of all darkness.
Arthur envisions a perfect world, and it’s not that I don’t dream of such a place for myself. But I can’t overlook the countless lives sacrificed for him to achieve this goal—my father, Braxton’s father and grandfather, numerous Timekeepers across the ages, and all those lost in his early time travel experiments. And those of us here at Gray Wolf, taken from their homes, whisked away from our families and friends, the lives we’d been living, just so Arthur could edge closer to his dream.
We are all casualties of Arthur’s refusal to confront a universal inevitability—the pain of losing a loved one.
Arthur Blackstone is grieving, and though I empathize with the gravity of his loss, he has no right to dictate our choices or manipulate time for his personal benefit.
This struggle Braxton and I now face goes far beyond safeguarding time—it’s about ensuring society retains its freedom of choice.
Beneath my sleeve, the skin on my arm begins to itch. I lift it to find another golden circle has appeared. Looking to Braxton, I say, “I know exactly how we’re going to succeed.”
37
We are gathered—Braxton, Finn, Oliver, Keane, and I.
These are our allies. This is our team.
A knock sounds at the door, and Braxton’s head snaps up, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. As the door swings open to reveal Mason waiting on the other side, Braxton looks even less certain.
It’s not like I’m brimming with confidence, either. My heart beats unsteadily, grappling with the enormity of the responsibility we face. Mason is here at Gray Wolf because of me, because of a foolish mistake I made. And so, despite my uncertainty, including him in our plans is a risk I felt compelled to make.
If we’re going to succeed and put an end to this madness, it’s only fair Mason is given the chance to decide his own future and choose where he’ll go next. Home seems like the most obvious choice, but in this place, it’s as viable as opting for a life in eighteenth-century France.
As I look around at these faces, my thoughts drift to those who are absent from this gathering. Elodie, Killian, Jago, Roxane, Hawke, Freya, Charlotte, Maisie—their futures hang in the balance as much as ours.
Elodie, of course, will be reunited with her family, but what of the others? The countless unseen faces that populate the corridors of this academy, each with their own stories and dreams—what will become of them in the wake of our actions?
If I fail and Arthur’s plan comes to fruition, it’s hard to imagine him maintaining Gray Wolf in its current form. The entire foundation of this academy was built on his quest to reunite with his lost love. Once that objective is achieved, what purpose does this place serve? Where does that leave everyone who once called it home?
On the other hand, if I succeed, the future remains uncertain. While I have no intention of doing Arthur any physical harm, the reality is that anything could happen that might force my hand in ways I can’t currently foresee.