Page 98

With a heavy heart, I send a silent apology to Tasha for letting her down, hoping she can find a way to finish what we started before it’s too late.

55

Arthur beams with unbridled joy—a vision of a man on the cusp of realizing a long-held dream.

Grasping the Star in one hand, he waves the Antikythera Mechanism before me with the other.

My heart skips a beat, my breath refuses to come, as I watch him position the Star into its destined slot. The fate of the world rests on this moment.

An uneasy hush falls upon us. Something is off.

I watch as Arthur’s triumphant smile falters as he struggles to fit the Star into the mechanism.

He frowns, forcing it again, but the piece won’t align.

“What is this?” His voice wavers, eyes narrowing as he inspects the mechanism more closely. Panic creeps into his features. He twists and turns it, desperately trying to make the piece fit, but it’s useless.

His eyes dart wildly between the fake mechanism in his hands and me, disbelief swiftly morphing into rage. “What’ve you done?” he demands, his gaze feverish, accusing. “What the hell have you done with it? This…this is a fake!”

“I haven’t touched it,” I respond calmly. “I’ve been right here with you. For this twist, you can thank Braxton.”

Arthur’s gaze snaps to the young boy, quietly attempting to wake his father from an eternal slumber.

“The other Braxton,” I clarify. “The adult one. The one you so readily dismissed. I thinkirrelevant and superfluouswere the terms you used?”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Arthur shouts, his restraint completely shattered. “You’ve made a terrible, grievous error—you’ve—”

“It’s over, Arthur,” I say. “Braxton has destroyed it. That fake in your hands is all that remains. Without the authentic mechanism, the Star is useless. It’s time for you to stop. You will forever remain the Magician, the first card in the deck. The World was never yours to claim.”

With unseeing eyes, he stares at the counterfeit mechanism in his hand, as if hoping to undo our actions through sheer determination alone.

Then suddenly, consumed by an uncontrollable rage, Arthur flings the fake Antikythera aside and charges at me with a surge of unbridled fury, his dagger menacingly poised for attack.

Without any means to defend myself, I try to sidestep, making a frantic effort to evade his strike.

“Arthur, please—” Elodie shouts, her words rushed, edged with panic. “Don’t do this. It won’t change anything. It’s already done.”

Arthur continues to advance.

In a desperate bid to dodge the lethal point of his dagger, I dart to the right. But my bare foot strikes a rock, my ankle painfully twists, and I crash toward the ground, staring in shock as the earth rushes up to greet my fall.

I land with a jolt, knowing it truly is over, done.

I have no allies here, no one willing to help.

This is how I disappear from the world.

In this pivotal moment, time seems malleable, as though it were within my power to mold. My thoughts drift back to the day Braxton and I first met, standing before a tombstone inscribed with my name.

At the time, the significance eluded me, yet the angel that rose from the headstone bore a striking resemblance to the angel depicted onMelencolia I.

There she sat perched at the top, one of her hands holding a pocket watch much like the one belonging to Braxton’s father, while the other hand pointed toward the sky, the place where our deepest dreams reside.

Engraved on the stone beneath was my full name, my birthdate, and the date of my death, which happened to be that exact day.

Looking back, I saw it as the day when the old me died and the new one was born.

But now, what I mostly remember is how I laughed at the sight.