Brief Encounters

Timeline 1 (Part 24): The Book of Fates

Patrick's Point of View

It's not every day you get a chance to rewrite history—or in my case, destiny.

Harry was the perfect candidate. He wasn't calculated like William, nor was he shackled by the expectations of the crown. Harry was untethered, raw, and driven by emotion. If William was a fortress of duty and tradition, Harry was a wildfire—a blaze that could burn through the unshakable bond between him and Jeanna.

I didn't need to force his hand. That wasn't how this worked. Manipulation was a delicate art, and Harry was already carrying the seeds of doubt and desire. All I needed to do was give them light.

And I had the means to do just that.

The Book of Fates

I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it. No one was, apart from the select few who maintained it. But rules, like bonds, are made to be bent when the situation demands it.

The room housing the book was sterile, almost eerily so. No grandeur, no gold-gilded doors—just a plain space with a single pedestal in the center, holding the weight of every human life in its pages. The book wasn't mythical or glowing. It was simple, leather-bound, and worn from centuries of adjustments.

Adjustments like the one I was about to make.

I opened the book, its pages whispering as they turned. There it was, their story unfolding line by line.

I dipped the pen into the inkpot beside the book. This wasn't a regular pen, of course. This was the tool that shaped reality, every stroke carving a new thread into the tapestry of fate. My hand hovered for a moment, the weight of the action pressing down on me.

And then I wrote.

"Harry will stand in the way of Jeanna and William's  forbidden love, unable to hide the growing feelings he has for her. His struggle between loyalty to his brother and the pull of his heart will fracture their bond, setting in motion a chain of events that will test them all."

The ink shimmered briefly before settling into the page, as though it had always been there.

Why Harry?

Because he was the only one who could do it.

Anyone else would have been too obvious, too forced. But Harry? His connection to both William and Jeanna made him the perfect storm. His feelings weren't a fabrication; they were real, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free.

And when they did, it would be messy. Unpredictable. Human.

That was the beauty of it.

Jeanna would question her choices. William would wrestle with betrayal. And Harry? He'd be caught in a web of his own making, torn between love and duty.

All it took was a single line in the book. A gentle nudge to tip the scales.

I closed the book, the finality of the gesture reverberating through the quiet room.

It was done.

Now, all I had to do was wait.