Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 * Part 5 * Part 6 * Part 7 * Part 8 * Part 9 * Part 10 * Part 11 * Part 12 * Part 13 * Part 14 * Part 15 * Part 16 * Part 17

Erin stood at the heart of limbo, surrounded by representatives from each lost colony. Their faces were a tapestry of hope and determination, each thread woven with the vibrant hues of their respective histories. With a steely glint in her eye, Erin surveyed the circle formed by the Ninth Legion, the Norse settlers, the Anasazi, and the Roanoke colonists. She naturally assumed the role of leader, a role that now seemed as much a part of her as her own spirit.

Together, they had crafted a desperate plan, rooted in ancient rites and cosmic theories that each of the puppet-masked entities had revealed to them. Their goal was audacious—to rebalance the cosmic scales that had not only bound them to this ethereal plane but also prevented the calamities foreseen in their respective times. Each entity, though enigmatic, had offered the groups guidance but also cautioned against the unforeseen ripples such an attempt might generate.

“The ritual,” Erin explained to the gathered assembly, her voice carrying clearly, “Involves channeling the unique energies each of our groups has brought to limbo. These energies, when combined, should generate a force strong enough to recalibrate the disturbances we’ve experienced.”

Marcus of the Ninth Legion nodded, his expression grave. “And if we fail?” he asked, the weight of centuries in his tone.

Erin met his gaze, her resolve unwavering. “Then we face greater upheaval. But our current existence is untenable. We risk more by doing nothing.”

The ritual centered around a construct that they had formed in the heart of limbo—a convergence of artifacts from each culture, laid out in a precise geometrical pattern that mirrored the celestial alignments the puppet-masked entities had revealed to them. This was not merely a physical arrangement but a focal point for their collective wills and energies, designed to tap into the fundamental laws that governed this plane.

As the ceremony began, each representative took their place, their hands extending towards the artifacts. Chants in multiple languages—Latin, Norse, ancient Puebloan, and English—rose into the air, blending into a powerful symphony of human endeavor. The sky above them darkened, then exploded with color, as if the cosmos itself responded to their plea.

Energy pulsed through the formation, a visible current of light and shadow, weaving around the artifacts. Erin, at the center, felt the surge of power coursing through her, linking each person in a circuit of shared fate and purpose.

Just as the energy reached its peak, a tremor shook the plane. The very fabric of limbo trembled, the landscapes around them beginning to blur and merge in chaotic ways. It was happening—their actions were reshaping the realm, but it was clear that something was amiss. The balance they sought to achieve was tipping too far, too fast.

“Wait!” Erin screamed, as the ritual spiraled out of control. “I have a wish! For pushing the button, I’m granted one wish!” Which was something she had completely forgotten about until this very moment.

The puppet-masked entity from her email flickered before her, its form stabilizing amidst the chaos. “You are entitled to a single wish, Erin Kamoche. What is your heart’s desire?”

The chaos around her mounting, Erin knew there was only one choice. Summoning the last of her strength, she called out, “Send us back! All of us! To our homes in our respective times!”

In an instant, the tumultuous landscape of limbo faded and she, Mark, and the children were thrust back into the stark reality of their home. But it was not the peaceful refuge they had left behind. The world greeted them with a violent shudder, the ground beneath their feet heaving and splitting as an earthquake tore through their town.

Their house groaned ominously, the walls cracking as if in agony, windows shattering into cascading showers of glass. Erin grabbed Emily and pulled her close, shouting over the roar of the earth’s upheaval for the others to follow. Mark, holding Jenny and Bobby by the hand, shepherded Cindy ahead, rushing out the door just as the frame buckled behind them.

Outside, their neighborhood was a scene of chaos. The streets were fissured and gaping, swallowing cars and streetlights. Screams and car alarms filled the air, a cacophony of terror and confusion. People were running, some stumbling out of their homes, others trying desperately to reach loved ones. Overhead, the sky was a swirling maelstrom, dark clouds roiling as if angry at the world below.

“Stay together!” Erin yelled, her voice barely audible as the ground continued to shake. They huddled together on the lawn, watching in horror as buildings around them began to crumble, bricks and beams succumbing to the relentless tremors.

Just as Erin thought they might make a run for the open park nearby, a new terror manifested. The ground beneath Erin’s feet trembled violently as the earthquake’s roar filled the air. Her family, once scattered, now clung together tightly outside their crumbling home, terror etched across their faces. As they braced against the shuddering earth, a blinding white light suddenly pierced the sky, descending rapidly toward them.

The searing white-hot light enveloped everything—the chaos, the noise, the fear—swallowing the world in a silent, searing flash. For a moment, everything existed within this blinding void, devoid of time, devoid of space. Then, as abruptly as it had arrived, the light vanished, and Erin found herself sitting alone at her computer, the familiar email open in front of her, her finger paused in mid-air over the dreaded email button that caused this entire nightmare.

Silence enveloped the room—a stark contrast to the apocalyptic cacophony she had just experienced. Erin blinked, disoriented, as the realization dawned on her: she was back at the moment before she had made the choice that would unleash chaos upon the world.

“What happened?” Erin asked the puppet-masked figure in the video window on her laptop.

Puppet-Mask twitched in its usual jerky fashion, yet its unsettling face took on a solemn expression as it spoke. “You pressed the button, then made a wish to return to the moment before your decision, while retaining all memories of the consequences. You have witnessed what might unfold—a single path of destruction from many possibilities. Now, armed with this foresight, you find yourself once again at a crossroads of time.”

Erin’s heart pounded as she processed the enormity of her situation. The vision of the world’s end, her family’s terror, and the utter devastation were fresh in her mind, as vivid as if she had lived them. She understood now with painful clarity that her actions carried consequences far beyond anything she had imagined.

Her hand trembled slightly as she hovered over the button. The choice was hers, and hers alone to make. With the knowledge of potential apocalypse weighing on her, she found herself caught in a torrent of doubt and responsibility.

“You wished to know the impact of your choice,” Puppet-Mask continued, its voice a calm in the storm of Erin’s turmoil. “To reset this path, to choose differently, or to follow through knowing all that might come to pass—the burden is yours to bear. Choose wisely, Erin Kamoche.”

Erin took a deep breath, steadying herself. The room was quiet, the weight of the decision palpable in the air. She looked at the button, then at the world outside her window, serene and oblivious to the potential chaos it faced. With a deep and sobering understanding of the consequences…

She knew she should not press the button. Should not risk the lives of her family, her friends, and the entire world. She should find another way, a path that would not lead to destruction but to understanding and unity.

Erin was about to close the email and turn off her computer, but her thoughts flashed on the lost colonies. They were trapped in limbo after making selfless sacrifices to heal the cosmic rifts and restore balance without being able to return to the world and homes they knew.

Plus, a calamity needed to be averted, a sacrifice needed to be made. If she turned her back on this responsibility and so did the next person in line to receive the email, how many people could ignore the button before the world was doomed?

With her heart pounding and her mind racing, Erin faced a gut-wrenching decision. Would she close the laptop and live each day as if it were her last, clinging to hope while bracing for the worst? Or would she press the button and use her final wish to safeguard her family and the world, sealing her own fate to join her lost colonist friends in an eternal limbo?

The seconds ticked away as her mind swirled with thoughts of her loved ones, the future of humanity, and the unknown mysteries of the afterlife.

In the end, Erin decided there was never really a choice at all. There was only one thing to do.

The End?

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 * Part 5 * Part 6 * Part 7 * Part 8 * Part 9 * Part 10 * Part 11 * Part 12 * Part 13 * Part 14

Erin’s senses returned slowly, each feeling magnified by the surrealness of her surroundings. The ground beneath her was neither solid nor entirely ephemeral, but a strange mixture that felt like walking on a cloud made of sand. She stood still for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the landscape that unfolded around her.

Directly in front of her, the harsh, craggy cliffs of Greenland towered, their imposing gray faces streaked with white, as if they wept frozen tears into the void. To her right, the arid expanse of the American Southwest stretched endlessly, the red and orange hues of the desert vivid against the oddly bright sky. Here and there, the ruins of Anasazi dwellings rose from the ground, their ancient stones holding the memories of a people long vanished.

Turning slowly, Erin saw the lush, dense greenery of Roanoke to her left. The trees were tall and imposing, draped in a mist that seemed both out of place and entirely appropriate in this strange limbo. The air here was moist and rich with the scent of earth and leaves, a stark contrast to the dry air of the desert behind her.

Behind her, the crumbling remnants of Roman forts stood guard over the landscape, their once-imposing structures reduced to broken walls and fallen stones. The air was cool and whispering echoes of Latin commands seemed to float on the breeze, a ghostly reminder of the Ninth Legion’s lost glory.

The entire place was a tapestry of landscapes, each piece vibrant and alive yet somehow subdued, as if all of nature held its breath. The sky above was a canvas of swirling colors, not quite day and not quite night, adding to the disorientation. Erin felt a mixture of awe and a creeping unease as she took it all in, her heart pounding with the realization of where she was and what it meant.

Erin inhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves. Fear mingled with her innate curiosity as she began to walk towards the nearest landmark, the Roman ruins. With each step, the ground felt more solid, and her surroundings became clearer. She reached out to touch a cold, moss-covered stone, half-expecting her hand to pass through it. But it was solid, real, at least as real as anything could be in this place.

“This is like a realm of echoes,” she murmured to herself, “Echoes of lives, echoes of places, all suspended here.” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet, and she half-expected someone to answer.

Erin moved toward the intersection of the landscapes, where the climates and visuals collided in a dizzying array of nature’s artistry, preparing herself for the encounters to come. She knew that understanding this place was the key to navigating not just the limbo but potentially finding a way back to her own reality—or forward to whatever fate awaited her next.

Venturing deeper into the convergence, her first encounter was with the remnants of what she somehow knew was the Ninth Legion, made up of over 5,000 men who fought in the Gallic Wars, Cantabrian Wars, and the Roman Invasion of Britain in 43 AD and simply vanished without a trace. But here they were, arrayed in a defensive formation near the ruins of a Roman fort. They moved with a disciplined melancholy, repeating training drills that seemed ingrained in their very essence.

Erin approached cautiously, calling out and to her surprise, her words were understood, and their reply strangely enough came in clear, perfect English. The weary-faced centurion who stepped forward introduced himself as Marcus Flavius.

“We stand ready to defend, but there is naught to defend against,” Marcus explained, his voice tinged with frustration. “Our fate has brought us here, to this nexus of nowhere and everywhere. We train, we guard, but against what, we do not know.”

Erin gathered all the information she could before pressing on, crossing into the cooler, mist-shrouded cliffs where the Norse from Greenland had established their semblance of a village. The Norsemen and women were robust and hearty spirits, their appearances rugged and their eyes reflecting a saga of both seafaring and sorrow. Here, Erin met Astrid, a chieftain’s wife, who spoke—again, in perfect English—of their final days before vanishing.

“The ice grew thick, and the seas betrayed us,” Astrid recounted, her tone resigned yet peaceful. “We carved runes, seeking guidance from the gods, but the answer led us here. Now, we hunt, we feast, we wait.”

As Erin moved on, she wandered into the warm, arid stretches that mirrored the American Southwest, where the Anasazi tended to crops beside their cliff dwellings. Unlike the others, these people were quiet, and introspective, blending into the landscape as if they were born from the very earth itself. Their leader, a wise elder named Chayton, shared his people’s story with solemn grace.

“The great droughts came, and the kivas could no longer predict the rains,” Chayton told her, speaking as if every word were a precious droplet of water. “We made our offerings, danced our dances. Then, one night, the spirits of the mesa called us to join them here, in this between-place.”

Finally, Erin soon came across familiar faces—the Roanoke settlers, looking just as disoriented by their surroundings as she felt.

“Erin,” one of the settlers, Thomas, acknowledged her with a nod. “You’re here as well. Have you learned anything more? Do you understand this place?”

Erin sighed, feeling the weight of shared uncertainty. “It seems we’re caught in some sort of limbo.”

“Limbo?”

“A place between places,” she explained. “A place that exists outside of time, perhaps a crossroads of sorts for people pulled from reality like we were. It’s like we’re stitched into the fabric of other lost times and places.”

Another settler, Eleanor, joined the conversation, her eyes scanning the strange horizon where a Roman ruin met dense, misty forests. “So, we are not the only ones who vanished from our homes?”

“I’ve met others,” Erin replied, her voice tinged with resolve. “People from different times and cultures, all brought here like you, under mysterious circumstances. It seems the thing you share in common is that you each faced a crucial decision or moment that led you here.”

“We need to understand why,” said John Smith. “Why we were chosen and more importantly, is there a way back?”

Erin looked at each of them. “If there’s a way here, there must be a way back. We just need to work together, share our knowledge, and piece together the puzzle.”

At least communication wouldn’t be a problem. In each conversation, Erin noticed that despite their diverse origins, there was no barrier in language. At first, she thought they were all speaking English but it made more sense that they were speaking a common tongue to facilitate communication.

Erin decided to organize a council of minds with representatives from the various groups—Marcus Flavius, Astrid, Chayton, and John Smith. The meeting took place under an ethereal sky, where light and darkness intertwined in a perpetual twilight.

One by one, they recounted their tales, each detailing the critical moments leading up to their arrival in this place. Marcus spoke first. He described how the Ninth Legion was faced with an overwhelming attack aimed at a village of innocents. Hopeless as the situation was, instead of retreating, they chose to stand their ground. “Before the battle, we prayed for deliverance,” Marcus recounted. “Our prayers were met by a figure shrouded in mystery, who offered us aid but at a steep price.”

Next, Astrid shared her colony’s ordeal with a devastating pestilence. “A strange man appeared among us, his face like carved wood,” she said, her voice heavy with the weight of her memory. “He warned that the sickness would ravage the lands, potentially eradicating mankind unless we offered ourselves in a sacrificial ritual to the gods. Believing it our only chance for the salvation of the world, we complied, only to find ourselves transported here.”

Chayton recounted a harrowing tale where his people were compelled to perform a sacrificial ritual aimed at ensnaring and eliminating a malevolent demon that preyed on the souls of the young. “Instead of banishing the demon, however, our ritual unexpectedly drew us into this plane,” Chayton explained, his voice tinged with sorrow yet underlined by a lingering sense of unresolved fate.

John White then spoke of the grim final days at Roanoke, marked by an inexplicable and growing darkness that began to afflict the colony’s youth. “It was a malignancy that prayers could not touch, tainting our land, our crops, our very spirits,” John disclosed. “Our salvation appeared in the guise of an entity that named itself Croatoan. It offered a solution, but the price was our disappearance — a pact that seemed our only refuge from the encroaching darkness.”

“The pattern was undeniable,” Erin said. “Each of you made a decision that involved great sacrifice, at the behest of a mysterious entity. It could be that these weren’t isolated incidents but part of a broader cosmic balance.”

The leaders exchanged thoughtful looks, their expressions shifting from curiosity to dawning realization. Erin continued, “Perhaps these sacrifices were necessary to maintain some sort of universal equilibrium. Maybe each act of preservation or plea for help was balanced by a transfer here, to prevent a disaster elsewhere or to maintain the fabric of reality.”

Marcus nodded slowly, his military mind assessing the strategic implications. “If that is true, then our actions, our sacrifices, were not in vain. They were part of a larger design, one that perhaps we are yet to fully understand.”

Astrid, her eyes reflecting the firelight, added, “And if we were brought here as part of this balance, is there a way to tip the scales? To return, or to fulfill our roles in a new way?”

Chayton, ever the mystic, looked around at the merging landscapes. “We are connected, not just by our fate, but by our choices. Our cultures, our times may differ, but our spirits were driven by similar forces—forces that valued the preservation of life, even beyond our own understanding.”

Erin’s mind raced with possibilities. “If we’re to find a way out of this limbo, or to transform our existence here into something meaningful, we must understand the full extent of these forces and our roles within them. Our next step is to discover the nature of this balance, and how we might influence it.”

Not. The. End.

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 * Part 5 * Part 6 * Part 7 * Part 8 * Part 9 * Part 10 * Part 11 * Part 12 * Part 13

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.

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 * Part 5 * Part 6 * Part 7 * Part 8 * Part 9 * Part 10 * Part 11 * Part 12

Erin stepped through the mists of time into an age where the earth groaned under the weight of human corruption. She found herself on the outskirts of a sprawling settlement, where the structures were as decayed morally as they were physically. The air was heavy, laden with the stench of rot and the clamor of incessant conflict. As she moved through the streets, her presence unnoticed, she witnessed scenes of stark brutality and desperation that made her heart clench in her chest.

Navigating through the market, Erin saw the palpable despair mingled with indulgence. Men and women bartered fiercely over necessities and trivialities alike, their faces etched with lines of greed and fear. Children, their innocence long faded, mimicked the adults, learning the art of survival in a world bent on self-destruction.

At the edge of this chaos, the massive structure of the ark loomed, an incongruous beacon of hope amid despair. It was here she found Noah, isolated by his faith and the enormity of his task. The old man hammered away at the wood as the townspeople mocked him, their laughter carrying a sharp edge of fear.

Erin approached him, her guise as a curious traveler accepted without question. “Why are you building this huge boat so far from the water, sir?” she asked, her voice carrying over the sound of his labor.

Noah paused, wiping the sweat from his brow as he turned to face her. His eyes, deep and sorrowful, met hers. “To save what can be saved,” he answered simply. “The Creator has decreed a flood to cleanse the earth of its wickedness. I build to preserve life, as commanded.”

“It is a big ship but how many can it possibly hold?” Erin pressed, her gaze sweeping over the ark.

Noah followed her look, his expression somber. “It will hold the righteous. I do not know the number, but all who deserve to be saved will find their way here when it is time.”

Time sped forward to the day the first light raindrops began to patter gently against the leaves, a soft, rhythmic sound that seemed almost soothing in the midst of growing unease. But it was what followed that truly captured Erin’s attention and held it in awe.

From the dense forests and hills beyond, animals began to emerge in a serene procession that defied the chaos brewing in the skies. They came in pairs, a deliberate and dignified parade that flowed towards the ark as if drawn by a silent call. Each pair moved with an inexplicable harmony, their steps synchronized, their eyes forward, exuding a calm certainty in their purpose.

First came the elephants, grand and solemn, their great ears flapping softly with each measured step. Their size and majesty commanded respect, and even the mocking crowds fell silent as they passed. Behind them, giraffes with their long, graceful necks arched against the gray backdrop of the sky, moving like creatures from a dream across the landscape.

Lions strode with a quiet dignity, their manes wet with the drizzle, eyes gleaming with an inner light. Zebras with their stark stripes blurred in the rain, flanking antelopes and gazelles that pranced with delicate steps. Wolves, their coats blending with the mist, moved silently beside foxes, each pair adding to the tapestry of life filing into Noah’s creation.

Birds fluttered down from the skies in colorful bursts—parrots, doves, and eagles—each finding a perch on the ark’s beams and braces. Smaller mammals, from squirrels to rabbits, hurried along, their small bodies energized with urgency.

As Erin watched, mesmerized by the spectacle, the sheer diversity of life—the scales, feathers, fur, and skins—brought a profound realization of the enormity of what was at stake. These creatures, driven by an unseen force, trusted wholly in the refuge they were promised. The scene was both surreal and heartrending, an echo of the world’s innocence that was about to be washed away.

“This is the covenant of life that will endure,” Noah’s voice broke through her reverie, soft yet firm against the patter of increasing rain. “Every creature here is part of the world’s rebirth. Just as they trust in the Creator to preserve them through the storm, so must we maintain our faith through the trials we face.”

The rain grew heavier, the drops merging into a curtain of water that began to obscure the animals from view as they entered the ark. The sky darkened further, and the wind began to howl, but the ark stood solid. Then the rain quickly thickened to a torrent and the atmosphere shifted. Panic took root as the sky darkened and the winds rose. Erin watched, heart aching, as families scrambled in vain to find shelter, their earlier mockery turning to cries of terror.

Noah ushered his family into the ark, then paused at the entrance, extending a hand to Erin. “Come, witness the truth of divine justice and mercy,” he offered.

Inside the ark, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of timber and the musky odor of animals settling into their designated spaces. The structure creaked and groaned under the strain of the burgeoning deluge, a wooden sanctuary amidst the chaos of the storm. Erin stood by Noah, peering out through a small window, her eyes fixed on the torrential rain that blurred the world outside into a watery abyss.

“Is it just, do you think, to punish so broadly?” Erin asked, the question gnawing at her.

Noah’s gaze was unwavering. “It is not for me to judge the Judge. I trust in divine wisdom. But I know this: every end is also a beginning. The flood will recede, and those who remain must build anew, learn anew.”

The flood peaked, the world outside disappearing beneath swirling waters. Erin stood beside Noah, watching the obliteration of an era. In the terrifying serenity that followed, she pondered the profound responsibility of choices—those made by Noah, by herself, by all of humanity.

Time sped up again to when the waters finally receded and the ark settled on dry land, Erin stepped out into a transformed world. Above, a rainbow stretched across the clearing sky—a vibrant spectrum of promise.

Noah’s voice, filled with a mixture of awe and solemnity, broke the tense silence. “The Creator remakes the world even as we speak, and we must bear witness to this renewal, just as we bear the burden of survival.”

Erin nodded, her thoughts heavy with the scenes she had witnessed. The mocking crowds, the gathering of the animals, the relentless storm, and now as the ark began to settle with the receding floodwaters, Erin felt a profound disconnection from the world she knew. The familiar had been washed away, leaving her adrift in a saga of creation, destruction, and renewal.

Just then, as the ark pitched slightly, Erin’s vision began to shimmer. The edges of her surroundings blurred, the sounds of the storm and the animals fading into a distant echo. She felt the now-familiar sensation of the flooring slipping away beneath her, not from the flood, but from the shifting sands of time.

Erin felt the familiar sensation of time shifting beneath her and her heart raced as she realized her time in this era was ending. The lessons of the flood—of unchecked corruption, divine wrath, and the hope of new beginnings—still echoed in her mind as the fabric of reality thinned. The sturdy wooden walls of the ark blurred and melted into a dense, heavy fog. The disorientation was more pronounced this time as if each temporal leap further untethered her from her own reality.

When the world finally stilled, Erin found herself standing in another place, another time. The transition left her disoriented, her senses struggling to adapt to the sudden change. As her vision cleared and her equilibrium returned, she took in her new surroundings. Gone were the ancient landscapes of Biblical times and the resonant voices of prophecy. Instead, the air was cool and filled with the earthy scent of an autumn forest. The sounds were those of a quiet wilderness—rustling leaves and distant bird calls.

As her senses adjusted, Erin realized she was no longer dressed in the traveler’s garb suited for an ancient floodplain. Her clothing was now that of a late 16th-century settler, rough-spun and practical, blending with the surroundings of a nascent colonial village.

She stood at the edge of a small clearing, encircled by dense Virginia woods that stretched untamed in every direction. In front of her lay the modest beginnings of what she somehow knew to be the Roanoke Colony, with wooden homes haphazardly arranged. The colony was quiet, eerily so, with no signs of the bustling activity one might expect.

The stark stillness unnerved her. Erin stepped forward, her feet crunching softly on the leaf-littered ground. She needed to understand why Helen had brought her here, to this place of all places.

Not. The. End.