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Time is an ocean with no bottom.
The current of time pushes downwards, deeper and deeper into the water column.
In the ocean, the top one hundred metres are the only place where photosynthesis is possible; this thin, rich slice of light is where the party is, where life can flourish to its truest potential. Below that line, detritus feeders sustain themselves on the scraps of nutriment that drift down from on high.
And so it is with time.
The universe’s fate was sealed from the instant of the Big Bang.
In the period these words are read, the reader finds themselves in the stelliferous epoch- that top one hundred metres of the universe’s ocean, that thin slice of light where stars are being born and life can flourish.
But time is an ocean with no bottom, and it pushes ever deeper, ever farther into the dark.
None can swim up against the current. None.
We must, in all our actions, take care not to upset this delicate balance or to push ourselves into places we do not belong. Tread softly and take only your impression of the time and place. And do not delve too deeply into what will be.
The creatures of the deeps do not want us there.
-A Basic Overview Of Time, Authors Ryze & Coptin, page 210.
Grian plunged into the past headfirst, his entire being splashing into the timeline as he hooked onto it.
The green-eyed watcher, Sariel, was being worryingly sloppy. Showing eyes? Showing eyes to the subject he was watching? That was a rookie mistake, and a mistake Grian only made so often because of his “boat anchor”.
He reached out with his mind, latching his consciousness onto the distortions that Sariel left in his wake. Like a canoe drifting across a glassy lake, the other Watcher left ripples behind him as he retreated into the past. Ripples that Grian could follow- like running down the intersecting timelines of people during an interaction, he could swing from wave to wave like monkey bars.
There was another reason Grian was following Sariel, and one he wasn’t…entirely proud of.
Between Watchers, the act of “blinking” an eye was…offensive. To an outsider, it was a harmless gesture- if he blinked at Mumbo, it wouldn’t mean anything, really. Sort of like the middle finger; if he gave the finger to any of the Hermits, they’d understand the offense he meant. If he flipped off someone from a culture where the middle finger wasn’t a stand in for vulgarity, it would be meaningless.
And frankly, being told “You are beneath my notice” by one of the people he’d-
Well.
Grian was a little bit steamed.
He grabbed onto the timeline, bouncing back and forth across different events as they blurred by. He was following Sariel’s green-stained line, his eyes narrowing-
Until Grian’s eyes and conscious mind went tumbling into a crack between universes, and he gaped in shock.
He frantically hid his own eyes, not that it meant much- there were thousands of eyes watching this place at any given second of any given day.
Sariel was nowhere to be seen, and yet, the trail he’d been stalking down ended here, going cold in the air above the grand gallery.
And what a gallery it was.
Every brick laid by an acolyte’s hands. Every beam placed with care by an eager trainee. The ceiling sparkled with light from the glowstone lamps shining through the stained glass, a crude parody of the sun this world didn’t have.
Because this wasn’t a world.
This was a vast, ivory tower, stretching for hundreds of floors from top to bottom. Sealed, desperately, within a bedrock sphere ten layers thick. Pumped full of oxygen and life, lit by glowstone lamps.
A message in a bottle.
Adrift in the endless ocean that was the void.
And the bedrock, oh, the bedrock. One of the few true ‘duties’ a full Watcher had was inspecting it daily for cracks, for leaks and pits and chips.
They couldn’t allow a breach. That was a violation of their agreement.
And as Grian craned his eyes down, he realized with a cold dread just when and where he was.
He was in the heart of the Watcher’s citadel.
Adrift in the void.
On the day of his own Convocation.
A boat anchor is an encumbrance.
To our kind, we must be ready to cast off our fetters. Your physical form binds you to what is and what has been; it is a chain, holding you down. When you are ready, you will be given the gift of freedom; we will relieve you of your chains, if you so desire.
Be ready. Rejoice.
You will drift the ocean of time unmoored from all burdens.
-A Basic Overview Of Time, Authors Ryze & Coptin, page 407.
Grian stared down at his past self, eyes wide as saucers. He was standing exactly where he remembered, hundreds of Watchers filling the space around him. Towering walls of quartz and oak, lit by ceiling lamps of glowstone with chains of coloured glass spiralling off them in all directions. He watched his past self swallow down in fear.
He was, for the moment, physically alone in the vast white space.
Grian remembered those robes. Scratchy, awful, heavy. They draped and covered his new wings, useless as they were. At that point, he’d only had them for a few months, and he’d never had a chance to try flying. That, plus the purple jewelry they’d made him wear, huge strings of gold and amethyst…
Grian wished he could close his eyes and look away. It wasn’t that this…memory…was painful, per se.
It was that he’d looked particularly stupid that day and he was slowly cringing himself to double-death.
Ostentatious bling bling was…not a good look on him. He looked like a small child who’d raided his dad’s closet for his best embroidered poncho. Couple that with the fact that he hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, and Grian could see his past self’s bags really were that visible. Hadn’t even bothered to comb his own hair, he’d been so tired.
Grian shuddered.
A bell sounded outside the room, and the vast doors swung open.
Grian shuddered, several dozen of his eyes swivelling up while more kept themselves trained on his Past Self’s face. He couldn’t intervene in this. If he let an eye slip out now-
Except, he couldn’t have let an eye slip out. Because he’d have remembered seeing his own eye. And if he hadn’t seen it, then that meant he didn’t which meant-
Grian wanted to scream.
Mostly in frustration.
A parade of Watcher acolytes filed into the room, mostly ones more junior than him. They’d all received the blessing, of course- one wasn’t allowed into these hallowed halls without it. Grian’s eyes lazily drifted over the crowd- there was Artac, he’d expressed his blessing as a crown of antlers bursting from his head. And, oh yeah, that chick was, was, what was her name again? Well, her plume of peacock feathers was how her soul had expressed the blessing.
Grian watched as his past self fluffed up his wings, and felt a pang of sympathy. He remembered being in that spot.
He remembered spending hours the night before staring at his flesh-and-blood hands.
The other acolytes took their positions, an orderly crowd occupying the back half of the room in a semi-circular fashion. No chairs, of course. They’d stand and they’d like it, unless their bodies couldn’t handle that.
The crowd held their breath when the bell rang again, the stately mosh pit splendid in their embroidered robes. It was a riot of colour- but he was the only one wearing any jewelry.
One of the elders stepped forwards out of the crowd. Grian remembered her face, but not her name. The acolyte had been there longer than himself, walking forward on long, thin legs, bent back and tipped with the hooves of a deer.
She took a position in front of Grian, waiting patiently.
The air behind her began to swirl, and Grian realized, madly, that he could dive down there himself. He could totally just-
And the white halls glowed with green.
Thousands of them swirled out of nothing, shifting, sliding clouds of unblinking green eyes. And from behind them, hands in their tens of thousands unfurled. Just like his own wings, the hands spread and flexed, see-through and glowing like the sun. The hands shifted in size, and some of them grabbed at the eyes, flexing and rotating them, peering down at himself and the elder acolyte.
Sariel himself had arrived.
“The Disciples Of The Truth greet The Verdant One,” Grian heard himself say, along with every other acolyte in the room, a great echoing refrain as the Galactic rattled off the elegant glass chandeliers overhead.
There was a pause.
“The Verdant Watcher Sees His Disciples,” Sariel said, the utmost formality dripping off his words.
Everyone in the room twitched.
This was a formal occasion, of course. Any good Watcher would be referred to with the formal It under those circumstances.
Sariel hadn’t.
Why hadn’t Grian remembered that?
Grian watched his past self swallow nervously. He remembered the fear- not the fear of the ceremony, but of what would happen…after. And that little…slip of the tongue from Sariel had done little to calm his nerves.
Sariel turned his gaze towards Grian, thousands and thousands of eyes staring down at him.
And all around them, flashes of light.
A firework blast of blue bathed the whole room in its light as the Finned One, Ryze, appeared out of nowhere. Thousands of fishlike fins, translucent blue, unfurled with the eyes caught between.
Grian remembered reading Its work in his very well-thumbed textbook. When it was just an acolyte like him it had penned thousands of words, building towards-
A blast of purple beside Sariel, and Coptin appeared, a writhing collection of tails thrashing in the air. Purple, rounded tails from a cat, thrashing and flicking in the air as Coptin unfurled their thousands and thousands of eyes.
And more Watchers appeared, sliding into the room from the higher planes they occupied. Some Grian watched slide in from the past, barely casting a passing glance his way, while others slid in from the then-future, visible once they crossed that shifting wall that obscured his vision.
Bursts of orange and brown and white and black, blazing like balls of starlight brought down to Earth. An entry-level acolyte without the Blessing in that room would have gone mad from the sight of so many Watchers, fully revealed and slithering back and forth across the fourth dimension.
It was Sariel who spoke, in a voice that echoed and warped. Thousands and thousands of tongues all as one- echoing voices, just like his own, from the future and the past.
“We are gathered here to observe the uplifting of a new member. It has passed all of the tests laid before it. It has excelled and has strived to cross the distance. It has faltered, it has stumbled, and yet it has overcome. It is worthy, then, of the final blessing. It is worthy of the final test. Are we all in assent?”
“Yes.” The other Watchers agreed, a rolling wave of sound.
“And you, Acolyte. Are you in assent?”
“Yes.” Grian heard himself say, the words distant, weak, echoing off the walls of the room.
As alone as he was.
“You are prepared for the trial?” Sariel asked carefully.
“Yes.” Grian heard himself agree.
“Then if there are no objections…we shall begin.” Sariel said.
Two green eyes detatched themselves from Sariel’s main mass, drifted down, and slapped themselves over Past Grian’s organic eyes.
He winced.
Because his past self threw his head back and SCREAMED.
Just for a second or two. A wail of shock, like he’d rammed his shin into a pole. He remembered that pain- it felt like he’d just been slammed facefirst into a marble countertop.
And then the screaming stopped.
The hall fell silent.
“Do you see the face of our ocean, child?” Sariel asked softly, “What islands do you see in the waves?”
And Grian watched as his past opened his mouth
and-
he remembered he remembered that shifting sea he remembered drowning in its currents he remembered every single could-be and never was and maybe possibly he remembered seeing every single death every single second spiralling out and out from that second a million billion potential grians washed away in the river’s currents as the ocean’s tides turned back and roared in a tidal bore up the channel he remembered every future where he joined them as a purple ball of emotionless light he remembered he remembered the universe he remembered-
“It all ends in ice.”
Past Grian whispered those words. He whispered them to himself, in unison.
Because over the ocean’s horizon, all things ended in ice.
“Very good. You have passed the test. You are ready. You are ready for-“
And then Grian- past Grian, the flesh and blood man, his eyes still covered by Sariel’s own green, shuddered.
“I see a- a- I see a- tower.” The English was a shock to everyone’s system, including his future self. It was like a gunshot at a silent auction- completely shattering the calm.
“I see a world…I see many worlds. I see the moon…falling. I see…I see…friends.” Grian croaked, “I see a man…a man in blue. I see a man…in black. I see…friends. I see… I see…a tower. I see a shining white tower. I see-“
“Enough.” Sariel said, pulling his eyes away.
Grian crumpled to the ground, gasping and blinking his watery eyes.
“You have done well, Acolyte. You have passed the test. You have seen the face of the future and you are still whole. You will do well. We invite you now to join us. To shuck your shell and become one with us.”
Grian stood up slowly. Legs trembling, eyes wide.
He opened his mouth-
“And- and if I do,” Grian asked, “What of the tower I saw?”
“The future you saw will not be.” Sariel said simply, “Such is the way of time. You know this well.”
Grian watched his past self straighten up.
He saw his past self close his eyes.
He remembered that moment. He reflected on it often.
“No.”
He’d never been prouder of his decisions.
Time, to your kind, is like a river.
Cause leads to effect, moment leads to moment, and the course of history wends its way towards an unknown ocean.
To the eyes you will have, Time will be laid bare in its truest form. The Past, you will find, is indeed that river- solid and stable, laid down by the overlapping stones of every decision made by every creature whose soul gives it life. But the future is where our gaze diverges from the norm, and where our Truth is laid bare.
As a river meets the ocean, so the past meets the future, in an ever-shifting instant of the Present. And it is in this present when all things are decided, when all futures are laid down. You’ve missed the Present Second to read these words. Or have you? For that too was a decision, freely made of your own accord. And it has shaped the river you’ve left behind you for making that choice.
The future is unwritten, and the course of the river is shaped by those laying down the banks in the present. And who lays those banks? Every living thing with a soul in its breast. For the gift of a soul is the gift to shape the future.
You have this gift.
And Our Kind do not.
Surrender it to us, and we will show you everything.
-A Basic Overview Of Time, Authors Ryze & Coptin, page 15.
“No?” Sariel echoed.
“No.” Grian said, his English defiant and sharp.
“I saw them. I saw that island. I saw those worlds, those people. Friends I’ll never get to meet. Lives I’ll never live. If I go with you, me as I know it will cease to be.” Grian said firmly.
“You will die,” Sariel replied. Not wheedling, not nasty. Calm. Even. Stating a fact.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Grian snapped, folding his arms.
“You will be forever chained to what was and what is. Your mortal form is an anchor. It will drag you down into the black abyss. You will meet the creatures of the deeps. You know this, yes?” Sariel said, still disturbingly calm.
“I know.” Grian said.
“You are certain of your choice?” Sariel said.
“I am certain of my choice.” Grian replied.
Silence.
The gathered crowd was shifting uncomfortably. The Watchers simply stared. Grian, staring on from high above, cringed at the tension.
“Then it is done. We will not hold an unwilling acolyte in bondage. You are released to do as you please. You are banished from these halls unless you seek to reapply. You may have the remainder of your wake cycle to attend to your personal items.” Sariel said simply, “Be free.”
And with that, every Watcher in the room vanished.
Past Grian slumped. Didn’t collapse to the floor, just- slumped.
Looking down from on high, Grian remembered the feelings coursing through him. Shame. Lots of shame. He’d come so far, and worked so hard, and at the last second simply said no. It had felt like hundreds of eyes were on him from all directions, judging him, watching him.
Uncertainty, sure. What would he do next? Where would he go?
But above all else, a sense of soul-deep relief.
He didn’t have to give up his hands.
He didn’t have to give up his body.
He didn’t have to give up his soul.
And looking down from above, Grian felt nothing but pride for his past self.
“That was the right call, mate.” Grian whispered softly, so quietly that nobody could hear him.
Everyone filtered out of the room, including his past self. To head back to the dormitories and gather up his things. Switch on his long-forgotten comm and take the teleport pad out of this locked realm.
Which just left current Grian, up in the rafters, wondering what he was supposed to do.
He floated down, still hidden, and stared around the room. It was very nice- lots of interesting building techniques he’d never gotten a chance to really study. Maybe he could start chaining glass panes together to make chains like that a reality? It was worth a-
A deafening snap filled the air, and thousands of his eyes focused his attention on the mass of green eyes and green hands that had appeared behind him.
“Sighted One,” Sariel said politely, “The Verdant Watcher sends his regards.”
Grian flared all of his wings in fright. Sariel knew he was there. Sariel had flipped him off, dove into Grian’s past, and was staring right at him.
And Sariel had just used Keralis’s title for him.
“The- the- The Sighted- the Sighted One- Sees The Verdant Watcher for what he is.” Grian stammered.
“Very good. You’ve been taught well.”
“Why- just why?” Grian stammered. Asking a Watcher “Why are you Watching us” was probably one of the stupidest things he’d ever considered saying, and it took considerable mental gear-grinding to switch course mid-sentence.
“It does not matter. I only have for you a warning.” Sariel said, and Grian gasped.
Cold shock flooded through his system. A warning was- a warning was insanity. A warning was INTERVENTION-
“You can’t. You can’t. They’ll kill you for this. That’s- you can’t.” Grian’s eyes going wider than normal, wings flapping in a panic.
Sariel’s hands balled up into fists, hundreds of thousands of them, tensing and gripping, some squeezing his own eyes.
“I don’t care.” Sariel said flatly, “Heed this warning, Sighted One. They are coming. They are coming for the deepest seas. They will drill the seabed for all it’s worth. And if they fail, they will poison the whole ocean.”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?!” Grian shouted.
“I only ask of you one thing.” Sariel said flatly, “When the moment comes for you to take a stand, you must choose cowardice.”
“What?!” Now Grian was shouting, hundreds of past Grians joining in on his rage, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not gonna-“
“Go.” Sariel said simply, cutting off Grian’s tirade.
And with that-
He vanished.
Grian stared at the space Sariel had been, tasting as he slipped into the future, long gone and long out of his sight.
“He’s gonna die.” Grian said to himself, “He’s- they’re gonna-“
He swallowed.
He needed to leave.