Preface

Tears ran down the man’s face. He desperately wanted to deny this was happening, but he couldn’t. The sadness and regret of what he was doing, what he was giving up, weighed so heavily upon him that it found its way through his many barriers to the surface. He sat alone in his library, his fingers absently tracing the cracks in the aged leather of his chair, the once-smooth surface worn from years of restless contemplation. The fire in the hearth crackled and hissed, its golden light flickering against the high bookshelves, where the scent of old parchment and dust mixed with the lingering aroma of burning cedar. Shadows danced along the towering spines of forgotten knowledge, stretching and shifting like specters of the past. The weight of history coiled around him, unseen but ever-present, pressing against his ribs like a specter, reminding him that time was slipping away.

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His gaze fell upon the compass resting atop the mahogany table before him. The brass casing gleamed under the dim light, polished by the hands of generations before him. He reached out, brushing his fingers across its surface, and as always, a faint hum of energy vibrated beneath his skin. The needle, unwavering, pointed not to the north but to something far older, something hidden, something meant only for the one who could unlock its truth.

For years, he had guarded it, protected it from those who would use it for their own ends. But now, it was no longer his to keep. His time had passed. The prophecy had spoken, and he could no longer deny its call. The compass did not belong to him.

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It belonged to Ethan.

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The man exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air. He had always believed the burden would be his, that he would be the one to stand before the Gate. But the years had proven otherwise. He had watched, observed, and come to understand that Ethan Cross was the one destined to hold the key. He had seen the signs long before Ethan himself could grasp the truth, though it was not only fate that had led the man to this realization—it was Maria.

The thought of her sent a familiar ache through his chest.

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It had been years since she had left this world, but the void she left behind had never truly closed. He could still hear her voice, calm and resolute, the way it had always been when she led the Guardians. While he had been the scholar, the keeper of knowledge, it had been Maria who had been their strength—their true leader. When he had faltered, it was she who steadied him. When the others doubted, it was she who reminded them of their purpose. She had been their compass long before the prophecy demanded another.

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And she had chosen to leave it all behind.

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The very first time he met Ethan, he felt a change. It was at the Geneva Summit on Consciousness and the Quantum Realm, where the greatest minds in science and philosophy collided in their endless pursuit of truth. The conference hall buzzed with the energy of intellect, voices low yet urgent as theories were debated over cups of espresso and glasses of scotch. The air smelled of fresh ink and polished wood, of minds eager to carve fresh paths into the unknown.

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He had been flipping through a schedule of lectures when a voice broke through the sea of murmurs.

“You know, most of the physicists here think consciousness is just an illusion.”

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He looked up to find a man standing beside him, dark-haired, sharp-eyed, with a casual ease about him that set him apart from the rigid academics that filled the room. There was something in the way he spoke, a quiet confidence, a spark of curiosity that went beyond equations and data.

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“That’s the flaw in modern science,” he had replied, setting down his espresso. “They fear what they can’t measure. But just because something isn’t quantifiable doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

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Extending his hand he said, “Andrew Park, and you are?”

Ethan shook his hand. “Ethan, Ethan Cross. Nice to meet you Andrew.”

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Their conversation had ignited from there, a back-and-forth of theories and philosophies that stretched into the late hours of the night. Ethan spoke of quantum entanglement, of the possibility that consciousness itself was an inherent part of the universe’s design, not just a byproduct of biology. Andrew, in turn, had spoken of the ancient mysteries, of the Hall of Records, of the knowledge hidden beneath layers of history.

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And that night, for the first time, Andrew felt something shift. The compass had chosen its bearer, even if Ethan himself had no idea.

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But he hadn’t been the only one to notice.

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Andrew let Maria know early on what he suspected, and as a result, she kept a close eye on Ethan Cross.

Months later, when Andrew told the rest of the Guardians what he had seen—what Ethan might be—Maria had already made a choice.

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“I’ll watch over him,” she had said. “Keep him safe.”

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It seemed logical. Ethan did not know the forces that surrounded him, the enemies who would stop at nothing to claim the power he would one day have access to. Maria would position herself in his orbit, guiding him from the shadows. But neither of them had predicted what came next.

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She had fallen in love.

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Andrew had seen it happening before she had even admitted it to herself. The way her voice softened when she spoke of Ethan, the way her resolve wavered when she was near him. For the first time, duty was not her highest calling—love was. And when she made her choice to leave the Guardians and stand at Ethan’s side, it shattered them all.

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She had been their foundation, and without her, the Guardians lost their way. Some left disillusioned. Others turned bitter, angry at what they saw as a betrayal. Andrew had tried to hold them together, but it had been futile. Maria had been their guiding star, and now she belonged to another world.

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She had chosen love over fate.

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And she had paid for it.

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Her death had not only broken Ethan—it had fractured him seemingly beyond repair. The car accident had stolen more than a life; it had ripped the soul from the man Andrew had believed would one day stand before the Gate. The night Maria died, Ethan had buried himself in his work, retreating into calculations and theories, hiding from the reality of what he had lost. And in doing so, he abandoned Sofi.

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Andrew would never forget the moment he found her, sitting alone in the hospital waiting room, clutching a stuffed rabbit with small, trembling hands. She had only been twelve. Too young to understand why her father, the man who was supposed to be her protector, had disappeared into himself.

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He had knelt beside her, his voice soft. “Sofi... I’m here.”

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She had looked up at him, and in her eyes, he had seen something he had never expected—resignation. Even at twelve, she had already known she was alone. Ethan’s many trips, and late nights, had already made this apparent to Sofi, even as a young child.

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And so, Andrew had stepped in. He had done what Ethan could not. He had been the steady presence in Sofi’s life, the one who made sure she was not forgotten in the wake of Maria’s loss. Encouraging her studies, he also connected her with others who shared her world view. Unfortunately, this world view was devoid of magic and mysticism, instead it was firmly grounded in facts and equations, Sofi’s way of making a statement about her father and his delusions. She was brilliant, just like her parents, and was now a respected astrophysicist, marrying Dr. Steven Carter MD, grounding her firmly on solid, predicable, and deterministic ground.

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Ethan never saw this, he simply let his guilt consume him, and as a result, emotionally isolated himself from Sofi. Even now, years later, Ethan was still lost. Still running from the pain. But fate did not wait for men to heal. The prophecy did not pause for grief. Ethan’s time was coming, whether or not he was ready.

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The fire crackled sharply, pulling Andrew back to the present. He looked down at the parchment resting beside the compass, his fingers ghosting over the inked words. He had read them a thousand times before, but tonight, they felt different.

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"When sands of time reach their final toll..."

The words had never felt so close.

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He stood, his joints stiff, and crossed the room. Pulling aside the heavy curtains, he stared into the night. The sky stretched out before him, dark and infinite, indifferent to the struggles of men. Somewhere out there, Ethan was living his life, unaware that the storm was coming for him. Andrew had made all the preparations, set all the wheels in motion. Only one thing remained.

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Andrew turned back to the table, picking up the compass one last time. It was cold against his palm.

It was never intended for him.

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Carefully, he placed it inside the wooden box, locking it with the delicate key. It was done. He set the final piece in motion. Taking one last look at the place he'd called home for so long, he put on his coat and gathered his things. He stepped outside, locking the door behind him. He placed his hand on the door, feeling the essence of it; the wood he helped shape in creating it. He made his way down the steps to his car.

And with that, Andrew Park slipped away into the night.​​