CHAPTER 102: A FORK IN THE RIVER OF TIME

Hermes could hardly believe his eyes.

There, standing on the wet sand as the tide licked at his boots, was Dante Quasar himself, beaming like he had only just returned from a pleasant stroll rather than piercing his way through the fabric of time itself.

The old man’s cloak fluttered in the sea breeze, his battered hat tilting at an impossible angle, and the familiar sparkle of mischief lit his eyes.

But before Hermes could reach him, a guard in the King’s livery stepped into their path.

He saluted Glasán and bowed low. "The King calls for you, Ridire na Mara. He says it is time... time for you to make your decision."

Glasán’s face softened. He looked at Hermes, the sea light in his green eyes. A smile tugged at his lips.

"My mind was already made up since we first met."

Hermes’ heart skipped, but before he could reply, Glasán had turned away, striding after the guard back toward the halls of Ailech.

The moment shattered when Dante whistled.

"Ah, young love." The old traveller chuckled. "But that’s another story, eh?"

Hermes’ head spun with too many questions at once.

He strode to Dante. "Where have you been, Mr. Quasar? Do you have any idea what’s been happening here?"

"Oh, I’ve been here and there." Dante said cheerfully. "From three years to three hundred years ahead. Quite the sightseeing tour. You’d be surprised how well the Somner household keeps their records—well, half keeps, half hides. Families are funny like that."

Hermes’ eyes narrowed. "Records?"

"Yes. And with those, I estimated the time lines I would be visiting in my time-hopping trip."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice despite being the only people in this empty shore. "In the year 873, I found that Glasán’s little sister died by stoning. Not just that... she was transformed. A merrow. And before the villagers could drag her out, she used Sirentone to bring down an entire barracks of men. A thousand soldiers gone in a night."

Hermes’ stomach twisted. "That girl? But she was human when we last spoke to her..."

Dante shrugged. "Then something must change her. That’s not my business to discover, but yours. You four are the time detectives, and I’m just the dashing informant."

Hermes could not decide if he wanted to shake Dante or thank him. "And you didn’t think to—"

"Save her? Stop it? No, no, Hermes. I use my powers to have a bit of fun, not to change the future. That’s why I left it in your hands."

Before Hermes could protest, Dante had already wandered further down the sands, leaving footprints in the tide line.

His tone was light, but his eyes were grave when he went on.

"Thirty years after this... Glasán’s half-brothers gain Sirentone too. Hungry for recognition, they flee to England. Work with the Anglo-Saxons. They are called Sumners—summoners in Old English. They capture criminals, drag them before kings and bishops. But not without quarrel. Jealousy runs through them like blood. Feuds that do not end. Their children inherit both the gift and the grudge."

Hermes’ chest tightened. "And Glasán?"

"He makes it his life’s mission to hunt them. He binds his own children with an oath—that no other branch may live, that only his bloodline shall carry Sirentone. They call it a curse, not a gift. And strangely... it never passes to women. Ever. It seems something happens even before then to harden his heart against them."

Hermes swallowed. "Muirenn."

"Perhaps," Dante said, tilting his head. "Perhaps not. But she is a clue."

Hermes’ mind flashed to that vision he had seen in Glasán’s thought-bubble. The cave, the whispering wind, the Rift his mother had led him to. Sirentone swallowed whole, like a breath too heavy for a human chest.

"They said his mother was a merrow," Hermes murmured. "But Apple told me if she was of the Void, there would have been marks on Glasán too. Features. Traits. Yet he looks no different from any man."

"Then why does Muirenn transform, while he does not?" Dante asked, echoing his thought. "Why only the women?"

Hermes had no answer.

Dante sighed, as if releasing the weight of centuries. "And here is where it bends further. Glasán becomes King of Ailech."

Hermes froze. "King?"

Dante nodded. "After the half-brothers’ betrayal, after years of hunting and feuding. He marries King Áed Findliath’s daughter. Purely political, of course. But there are whispers that she once nursed him back to health after a Viking’s blade near killed him. In that version of history, he has power enough to hold his bloodline above all others. His word is law. The oath survives because of him."

Hermes’ hands curled into fists. "But... I saved him. I was the one who stood between him and the blade. So if I take that place..."

Dante’s grin vanished, replaced with a softness Hermes rarely saw. "Then you see why I am here."

The waves rolled in, cold and relentless. Dante looked out across them as if he could read futures in their foam.

"The stream has split. You created a change, Hermes. A fork in the river of time. Glasán was meant to marry the King’s daughter. You have given him another choice. A different life. And now the future trembles."

Hermes pressed a hand to his temple. "So if he never marries her, he never becomes King. If he never becomes King, he would not have the same influence to hunt the Sumners. Then the half-brothers... they keep growing stronger. They spread. Sirentone in many hands. There would be chaos."

"Or... freedom," Dante said gently. "Many hands may mean many tragedies. But it may also mean many heroes. The truth is, I cannot say. The future is not a single road, Hermes. It is a map that redraws itself every time you breathe."

Hermes staggered back a step. His chest ached with the weight of it. All this change for the sake of Somner, of one man...

But now it’s not just about him. It’s the fate of the world that was at stake. A power like Sirentone could do that, especially when it was in the hands of many.

"How am I supposed to decide what future is best for him? For them all?"

Dante clapped him on the shoulder. "You’re not supposed to know. You’re supposed to live it. Do what you think is right, and accept the shape it gives to the days that follow. Most of the time, there are no right or wrong answers... just answers."

Hermes found wisdom in those words, but then—

Dante winked. "Take it from a man who’s travelled time more times than time itself."

Hermes blinked. "That doesn’t even make sense—"

But Dante was already gone. The air shimmered, and where he had stood was only sea mist and a trail of footprints filled with water.

Hermes stood alone on the beach. The tide roared, the sky greyed, and his thoughts swirled heavier than the clouds.

He did not know which choice was the right one.

He only knew he would not choose alone.

He would speak with Somner, with Glasán, even with Apple if he had to. Whatever path they walked, it had to be together.

And so he turned away from the shore and set out to find them.

Unbeknownst to them all, Somner was also making a fork in the river of time by talking to Muirenn.