The Masters of Time

Dragonheart was the summit of the world, a towering pillar enshrouded in mist. Standing two-thousand feet high, its delicate craftsmanship was woven graphite, intricately carved in the shape of dragons and old gods. It was the tower of kings; only the mighty sat at the top, chosen by destiny.

The Light of the World sat on his crystal throne, glimmering in all his brilliance. He donned a splendid white robe of silver-trimmed cloth, cream coloured, with a matching crown of diamonds that shone like the sun. His face was weary, but in his eyes was a piercing glare; the charismatic aura of a ruler. In his godliness he commanded space and time, never doubting or second-guessing his decisions. At his feet lay four servants clad in dark robes, oathsworn to his bidding.

“Do you have something to say, Kiran?” The Light One’s voice pierced the air like ominous wind. “That timeline is no more. Our one enemy, the Elder, is lost to the sands of time, and with that, his legacy is finished. The Earthern Realm and the Fifteen Seas are reborn anew, and humankind has been cleansed of its sins. Do you doubt my process?”

“There is nothing to doubt, Light One.” Kiran stood at seven feet, a soldier who had lived most of his life in servitude. Kiran had known the Light One when he still had a name, before he ruled over humankind. Before he became drunk with power and lust. Those were simpler days, he thought, when the whims of a boy did not have disastrous effects over all living things.

The Light One scratched his head. “And so begins the paperwork for the new timeline. Jad So. Have you felt anything different; anything peculiar, perhaps? An aspiring hero exalted by destiny?” The Light One’s eyes pierced the room like daggers, sharp as the words he uttered under his breath.

The servant named Jad So responded. “Light One, the Elder may indeed have left behind a legacy to spite us. He was training someone, a young man. Green as they come, it's doubtful he’ll be a threat to anyone.” The So clansmen were a distinguished kind, and it was ironic that the most distinguished of them was nothing more than a glorified servant.

“So be it.” The Light One swirled his goblet, the wine revolving inside it. “But I will leave nothing to chance. Destiny chooses queerly, sometimes, but the results always show themselves in the end. If we turn a blind eye we may be usurped on the morrow.” He coughed faintly. “Where has this Jereas Portaled?”

“Beaconsfield, just after the War of Ages.”

“Hmph. A laughable timeline at that. Even if he distinguishes himself King of Fealdar he will not be able to reach us.

“However, best to nip this problem in the bud before it has the chance to fester. The Shadows operated after The War of Ages, did they not? Send them after this unfortunate soul. Bring him to me alive, so I may learn the final teachings of the Elder that troubled us so.”

“As you wish, Light One.”

Rantha’k had always been the careful kind. It was required for his job, after all. He had to maintain a facade of the ordinary tax-paying Fealdarian when his occupation was exactly the opposite.

On his return from the First Sea he was a changed man. No sooner had he docked his boat back to the mainland did he begin crafting the plan for a Portal. A door into another world, where one could traverse at will. There were infinite possibilities, endless privies he could grasp with his bare hands. But it all required utmost care and nurture.

Rantha’k had toyed with the idea before. Theoretically. In all his waking moments he would be on the prowl for knowledge. There was nothing more pleasurable than that little spark of joy when he secured small pieces of it.

Some would call it magic, he thought. A ridiculous notion. Magic had been lost at the War of Ages, if it even existed at all. Many sources doubted it, and first-hand accounts were usually not reliable. The amount of times he’d reached a dead end at the hands of an insane commoner were staggering. He no longer took that bait, but if he did, he would call others to do it for him.

There were few people around that he could trust. The fewer who know about his secrets, the better, the safer. Experimental science would deem him a heretic; a sorcerer to be burned at the stake. It only took one man’s loose tongue to condemn him. Luckily, he did not confide in a man.

“Kaledred, my love. You’re back. Let me guess, another false alarm.” He wasn’t expecting much, to be honest.

The beauty two feet ahead of him wiped the sweat off her brow with a cloth. She was tall and womanly, with a thin face to accompany her well-defined body. Her hair curled down to her chest, and her eyes always looked scheming. The lady Kaledred, a perfect partner for Rantha’k.

“Ha. Next time, it’s your turn. How long can we keep this up, Ran? A wild goose chase for information.”

“We are funded, my dear. By no less than Fealdar themselves. We will develop this portal. A leap for humankind into the abyss.” He kissed her on the arm, always appreciative of her beauty.

She sighed. “Grit and a way with words, Ran. That’s how you get by, isn’t it, when your words are converted into free labour. I found something.”

He wasn’t going to fall for it this time. “Really now? Was the insane patient a woman instead of a man this time?” He tried to hold back a laugh.

“No, you fool. There was activity in the farmlands. The Waves could be felt from far away, possibly the largest and only Portal to have been opened to this realm.” He looked up in anticipation and excitement, and she smiled. “You want proof?

He jumped up at once. “Show me.”