𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

83 | ﴾ Epilogue ﴿

The year was 1135 A.D.

An interloper had arrived to that annum from a futuristic designation. He stood tilted against the dark bricks of an impressive castle fortitude. Brave and illiterate men in rambunctious metal armor clambered past him in a barrage of clinking and clattering. The sky over the Celtic Sea was awash with a deeply rich orange, due to pollution aerosols produced by an entire country on fire.

The dark blue sea continued to roil and smash against the mossy rocks at the base of the citadel, crashing in unlimited and relentless loops. The sound of shouting men and hooves of horses clopping dominated the atmosphere over what should have normally been the rinsing calm of the ocean tides on the coastline.

Theodore Nott stood out like a sore thumb in the Arthurian era, darned in a luxurious suit from the twenty-first century. Although his dual with Draco Malfoy had covered him in dust from blasts in the Ministry cladding, he was sensationally clean in comparison to the men and women skirting about in a panic as the fiery Creator descended onto their empire without a shred of empathy. His mop of brown hair was shiny, his skin crystal clear of filth and acne. He checked his pocket watch with his searing navy gaze, smirking crookedly at the hour.

He stood nonchalantly waiting for the precise moment to cross the famous castle bridge which spanned across the romantic sea-formed canyon in the center of the Doric establishment.

A woman in a filthy dress of Byzantinian influence scrambled up the exterior pathway that he was lurking on, her bare feet bleeding as she panicked from the attack. She held a shrieking baby out to him, her eyes imploring. She spoke in Middle English that was exceptionally difficult for Theodore to decipher, "Sire, for that we doth not hath sinned. The devil is nigh. Dost thoughst offer mercy to thigh wrathful force above?"

Theodore eyed the beggary woman up and down without a shred of sympathy in his handsome features. Instead he opted to press off of the fire-glazed brickwork with a curt snort out of his nose, raising his hand to wandlessly blast her off of the cliff face with her infant in her arms. The barbaric action not only went unnoticed, but was unfortunately meaningless and tragic. 

Any portion of his lingering humanity had been lost to his final attempt to emotionally and meaningfully connect with someone a decade prior; Draco Malfoy, his first genuine friend gone wrong.

As an undiagnosed psychopath, he had never intended to destroy his connection with the boy, but it was inevitable as he did not realize the effectively sinister behavior that he conducted in social settings. From there on out it had only spiraled out of control until they became mortal enemies in the end, and Draco had victoriously won their faceoff. Now, Theodore had every intention to move forward as a faithful servant to Ascelin, and as a dark lord himself.

Theodore had surrogate plans to fall back on. These were in fact much more dangerous endeavors that would change the fate of humanity in the historic dimension he had travelled to.

He shut the clasp of the pocket watch.

The hour had struck.

He sauntered down the brick spandrel bridge that would one day crumble away, garnishing sly carelessness with his hands jammed in his dress pants, toying with the modified golden snitch as he did so.

Uneducated, deficient men in silver cladding blasted past the beautiful boy heading towards the top of the fortified domain, where an ancient gateway belonging to the Creator of Light faced over the ocean from a high perch. It had remained as a shrine to King Arthur and his federation - bestowing inexplicable guidance and prosperity to the holy area. Unfortunately, it was fated to be desecrated that day, and forever more the people of the future would never understand the true significance of that cliff face.