Tearha: The Number 139

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Historian

Leaves danced in turns, the tiny sapling's stem slowly but surely widened and grew with each passing second. A new leaf unfurled from a fresh branch. A stray root bulged out from the dirt of the ground. The stem slowly turned from green into a light white, on the way to brown.

"This is weird," Tier noted as he shifted his hand in control of the growing plant, the stem bending towards the direction of his palm as if within it held the sun.

"Plant manipulation," his brother replied, a scanner beeping in his hand as he ran the camera over Tier. "The ability to control flora. Quite specific, this ability. I wonder how it works."

"Doesn't matter," Tier laughed as he stopped playing with the growing sapling. "As long as it works. What does it say about yours?"

He turned the scanner onto himself. After a second of running, the device let out a beep and he turned it back over and read, "Latency: Focal point temporal manipulation."

Tier asked, "What does that mean?"

The brother sat there for a moment, carefully considering the words. "I'm not really sure," he lied.

"You're useless."

"It's not like you're any better."

The siblings continued their insults and banter, chatters continuing under the autumn trees, amber leaves slowly sailing down as a breeze blew through the bustling park.

***

It was midnight by the time The Watcher woke. He had fallen asleep with the Black Tome in his lap, flipped opened to a page on the culture of the dark elves and marked on the paragraph he was at by a leaf. He had passed literal decades of his life by reading. Countless hours spent staring at ink on a pulped wood. He preferred the turn of the page with the touch of faint nature. It reminded him of family.

Miguel sat by the fireside, the flames sheltered by a makeshift roof strung together with the snow-soaked winter vines of the northern trees, preventing the light from being visible from afar. Upon noticing the man waking, the hume tossed an apple-sized purple fruit over. The Watcher caught it instinctively. After a moment examining the gel-like skin, he bit into the food.

"Juicy. Crunchy," The Watcher reviewed. "Taste like pear."

Stars in the sky shone brightly with faint pockets of galaxies that flickered less. Adelaide's form could barely be seen in a tree on the border of the forest keeping watch with Nadier at the base. A wolf howled in the distance. A late flock of birds faintly flew overhead. He took another bite of the fruit.

Miguel asked, "Had a good dream?"

"Yeah," The Watcher replied. "Is it always like this here? Dreaming about the past?"

"It is. We're not really sure why though. I theorise it has something to do with the universe's connection to time, but I must admit, I prefer this than the kind of dreams Earth has. Random nonsensical stuff. It's too much a workout on the mind if I'm resting."

"I don't think it's random," The Watcher replied. "From what I understand, the dreams are connected to the dimensional structure. Where I come from, we dream about different worlds and different stories, glimpsing the multiverse without ever knowing it exists."

"What about you?" Miguel asked. "Do you have stories?"

The Watcher took another large bite out of the fruit. With his mouth half full, he replied, "Sure. Loads of them. What would you like to hear? Harry Potter? The Old Kingdom? I even have the complete works of Plato memorized."

"How about the story of The Watcher?"

The time traveller swallowed grinned with purple teeth. "Nah. That's boring. Besides, you're living it right now, aren't you?"