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Erin wandered the dirt paths of the Roanoke Colony under a warm afternoon sun that filtered through the towering trees. The air began filling with the sounds of settlers at work—chopping wood, tending gardens, and children’s laughter mingling with the calls of distant seabirds.

She picked up snippets of conversations that floated through the air. The settlers’ voices, mingling with the rustle of leaves and distant calls of working men, carried a weight that seemed disproportionate to their quiet, hopeful community.

As she passed a group of women tending a garden, Erin paused to listen, their words tinged with concern.

“Thomas said the corn’s not taking to the soil as it should,” one woman murmured, glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot.

“Nor the potatoes,” another added, her brow furrowed as she plucked a weed from the earth. “We might not have enough to last the winter at this rate.”

“And the Powhatan? Any word from them?” the first woman asked, her voice lowering even further.

“The talks didn’t go well, I heard. They’re not keen on trading as freely this season,” the second replied, a hint of fear creeping into her tone.

Erin moved on, absorbing the undercurrent of anxiety that seemed to underpin even the most mundane activities. She approached a group of men who were constructing a new building, their conversation similarly edged with unease.

“We’re doing all we can to strengthen the defenses, but if it comes to a fight…” one of the men said, hammering a nail into the wood with more force than necessary.

“Let’s hope the pact holds, that’s all I can say,” another chimed in, his voice a mixture of hope and skepticism. “Croatoan claims he has the power to protect us, to ensure our safety from whatever may come.”

“You actually believe that Croatoan superstitious nonsense?” a younger man asked, skepticism etched across his face as he handed over a plank of wood.

“What choice do we have?” the older man responded, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. “It’s not just about us. It’s about our children and their future here.”

Erin, intrigued, decided to probe further. She approached the men with a casual air, nodding towards the building. “Looks like sturdy work. Is this to be a new storehouse?”

The men looked her over, assessing her foreign accent and unfamiliar face, but one offered a nod. “Yes, and quarters for some of the families. You’re new here?”

“Visiting. I’ve heard impressive things about Roanoke and its arrangements with the local tribes,” Erin ventured, hoping to coax more information out.

“Yes, well, ‘arrangements’ is one way to put it,” the younger man said, a hint of unease in his voice. “We’ve made a pact, with Croatoan. It’s meant to ensure our survival here, but not everyone’s convinced it’s the right path.”

“Survival is often bought at a price,” Erin mused, watching their reactions carefully.

“That it is,” the older man agreed, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of resignation and defiance. “Sometimes, the price is steep, but the alternative might be steeper.”

As Erin thanked the men and walked away, she reflected on their words. It seemed this pact with Croatoan, whoever or whatever that was, was not just a simple agreement but a deep, binding promise that involved significant, perhaps mystical, elements. This entity was believed to be a guardian of the land, promising protection from all manner of calamities in exchange for a profound sacrifice, though neither of the men felt comfortable stating what that sacrifice actually entailed.

The settlers turned out to be unusually kind and accepting of Erin and her cover story, welcoming her with questions born of curiosity rather than suspicion. Much later, under the cover of darkness, Erin followed the small group of Roanoke’s leaders to a secluded grove, the sounds of the nighttime forest muffling their cautious footsteps. A lantern hung from a low branch, casting ghostly shadows as they gathered in a tight circle.

John White, the colony’s appointed leader, cleared his throat, his face gaunt with the burden of responsibility. “We are here to discuss the pact made with Croatoan,” he began, his voice low. “The terms are clear, but the price… the price remains a matter of great concern.”

One of the elders, a stern-faced man named Thomas, nodded gravely. “The price is our disappearance—our erasure from this timeline…”

“But not our death,” John White interrupted. “And in exchange, Croatoan promises not only our safety but the prevention of future calamities we cannot yet foresee.”

A woman named Eleanor, who Erin heard was known for her keen sense and courage, spoke up, her voice tinged with fear. “Are we truly prepared to vanish? To cease to exist so that others may thrive? It’s not just about us—it’s about our children, our legacies.”

Erin, standing slightly apart, felt the weight of their words. “I know I am a stranger here, but if I may be permitted to speak,” she said, stepping closer to address the group, “In my travels, I’ve seen the consequences of such pacts—how they ripple across time. Each choice casts a long shadow. Have you considered all possible outcomes?”

John White looked at Erin, his eyes searching. “You speak as one who has seen much. Tell us, then, are such sacrifices common? Do they actually avert greater disasters?”

“There are no guarantees,” Erin replied carefully. “Only possibilities. And every significant change brings unintended consequences. Sometimes, the cost of what is lost is greater than what is gained.”

A murmur ran through the group as they absorbed her words. Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And yet, if Croatoan is to be believed, our sacrifice could prevent catastrophes that claim even more lives. Is it not our duty to consider the greater good?”

Eleanor’s voice softened, “But at what cost to our humanity? If we vanish, who will remember us? Who will tell our stories?”

The discussion continued, each leader wrestling with the enormity of the decision. Erin listened, her heart heavy with the knowledge of similar crossroads faced by civilizations long forgotten. She interjected when the fear of the unknown threatened to sway their judgment too far, reminding them, “You must not act out of fear but out of hope. Consider not only what you prevent but also what you preserve.”

As the meeting drew to a close, no decision had been reached, but the seeds of doubt and the possibility of alternative solutions had been planted. Erin hoped these would germinate into a choice that preserved both their presence and their future.

As they dispersed, the weight of impending decisions hung in the air, as thick as the mist that began to roll in from the surrounding woods, shrouding the grove in secrecy once more.

On the night of the pact’s fulfillment, the entire Roanoke colony, along with several members of the neighboring tribes, convened in a secluded grove. The area was bathed in the eerie glow of a blood moon, casting long, haunting shadows across the ancient oaks and whispering grasses. The moonlight seemed to pulse, synchronous with the palpable tension that enveloped the gathering.

A circle was formed, hands clasped tightly as the ritual commenced. Tribal elders began a deep, resonant chant, their voices weaving through the night air, mingling with a low, rhythmic drumming that seemed to echo the very heartbeat of the earth. Settlers joined in, their voices hesitant at first, then growing in confidence and unity. The combined cadence swelled, filling the grove with a sound as old as time itself.

The air thickened with a mist that crept unnaturally against the breeze, coiling around the ritual participants like a living entity. Fragments of whispered languages—English mingled with the Algonquian tongues—rose into the night, each word a thread in the fabric of their desperate plea for safety and protection.

As the chants reached a crescendo, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble subtly. Erin felt the vibration through the soles of her shoes, a gentle yet unnerving reminder of the forces at play. Her gaze was drawn to the center of the circle where, to her astonishment, a figure began to materialize. It was Croatoan, manifesting in a form that was both alien and familiar—a more primitive yet distinctly recognizable version of the puppet-masked figure she had encountered before.

Croatoan’s appearance was startling; its features were sharply angular, with a mask-like face that seemed carved from dark, ancient wood, inlaid with vibrant streaks of red and silver that glimmered under the moonlight. Its eyes, deep hollows in the mask, flickered with an inner light as it surveyed the gathering.

As the entity raised its arms, the settlers and tribespeople’s bodies began to shimmer with an ethereal light, their forms blurring and becoming translucent. Whispered goodbyes and prayers fluttered through the air, more felt than heard, as they slowly started to fade from existence.

Erin, overwhelmed by the power of the moment, felt the familiar sensation of reality thinning around her. However, unlike the others, she remained solid, anchored in the temporal flux. Croatoan’s curious gaze fell upon her, its head tilting slightly, a silent acknowledgement of her anomaly.

“Why do you persist when others do not?” Croatoan’s voice was a sibilant whisper that seemed to emanate from the air itself.

Erin, steadying her voice against the surreal encounter, responded, “I’m not of this time. I bear witness to these events, carrying the weight of knowing across ages.”

“A watcher, then,” Croatoan mused, its gaze piercing. “Bound by fate to observe but not alter. You carry many burdens, time traveler.”

The last of the settlers faded, leaving Erin alone with Croatoan in the moonlit grove. “What happens to them?” she asked, her voice a mix of fear and fascination.

As Croatoan’s form began to dissipate like smoke in the wind, its voice echoed softly through the grove, “They are safe. Preserved in a moment out of time, free from the calamities they feared. They sacrificed presence for protection—existence for essence.”

Erin watched, a mix of relief and melancholy settling over her. The grove returned to stillness, the ritual’s remnants hanging heavy in the air. But as the silence deepened, a restless thought took hold in Erin’s mind, prompting her to act on a sudden, bold impulse.

“Croatoan,” she called out into the thinning air, her voice firm despite the swirling mists of time. The entity paused, its fading halted momentarily by her call. “Take me with them. I need to understand more, to see where they’ve gone.”

Croatoan’s glowing eyes fixed on her, a curious light flickering within. “Why should you join them, a watcher bound by time’s weave?”

“Yes, I’m bound,” Erin conceded, stepping forward as the grove’s reality began to shimmer around her. “But I’ve also sacrificed, I’ve lost and I’m attempting to learn from my mistakes. I need this to find a way to save not just my family but possibly all of mankind in my own time.”

Croatoan considered her plea, the grove holding its breath around them. After a moment that stretched like eternity, it nodded, a swirl of mist enveloping its form. “Very well, watcher. Witness their sanctuary, their peace. Maybe there, you find your path.”

Relief washed over Erin, but she knew she had little time left in this place and she was moved by a profound need to mark the existence of the settlers she had briefly known. She rushed toward a prominent tree, the weight of their unrecorded sacrifice pressed urgently upon her heart.

Grasping a sharp stone from the ground, Erin pressed the jagged edge against the tree’s bark. Her hands trembled from the cold and the disorienting pull of being whisked away. With quick, determined strokes, she carved into the wood. She intended to inscribe the names of those who had vanished but realized with a sinking heart that time would not allow more.

With a final, desperate stroke, she carved “Croatoan” into the bark—a poignant, if incomplete, clue for those who would wonder what had happened to the lost colony. It was not enough to honor all who had been lost, but it was something—a marker that might one day lead others to uncover the truth of this place.

Her surroundings began to dissolve more rapidly, the serene grove warping into a whirlwind of colors and shadows. The sounds of the forest dimmed to an ominous silence, and the chill of the night deepened as if the very air was being sucked into the vortex with her. Erin braced herself against the perplexing pull of time, her mind racing with the implications of what she had witnessed and the mysterious forces that governed such cosmic pacts.

Croatoan’s final words echoed in her mind as reality slipped away: “Witness, and perhaps, change.”

Not. The. End.