Chronicles From The Future Novels & Stories

After roaming on a lonely way alone for an hour, I saw two people returning from the farm. "Hello ma, does this road lead to mama biggie's farm?" I asked to be sure I am on the right road. "Yes, keep walking ahead, though the farm is far", a response from one of them. I was relieved, the road is too quiet no wonder the elders do not want me to come alone. Waiting for Bianca is like waiting for tomorrow that would never come.

​We spent the first hour in a state of suspended shock, the kind of silence that only comes when the world you knew has been erased and replaced by something impossibly vibrant. According to Aris’s calculations, based on the celestial positions of the visible planets and the terrifyingly rapid reverse-spin of her mechanical chronometer, we weren't just in a different place. We were roughly one thousand years in the past. We were standing in the era of the First Sovereign—the golden age of the Legends that had been whispered around subway fires for generations.

The scent of the lilies and the buttery sweetness of the croissants on the table mixed with the salt air, but it was the heavy, predatory heat coming off the brothers that truly filled my lungs. I didn't reach for the food. I didn't even reach for the champagne. Instead, I turned slowly in the center of the deck, the sequins of my red dress catching the moonlight like a dying fire. "You went through a lot of trouble," I whispered, my voice sounding small against the vastness of the sea. "The flowers, the yacht... the blindfold." Richard stepped toward me first, his fingers reaching out to trace the line of my collarbone. "We told you, Blaire. Today is about the future. And in our future, you

"I do not wait for the future. I hold it in my palm." I realized, with a soul-crushing jolt, that my presence wasn't an intrusion. It was a requirement. He knew I was coming. He had known since the foundation of the world that a man from the future would stand at the foot of his cross. My arrival hadn't probed into history; it had finished it. My machine, my team, my entire life’s work—it was all designed by the very events I was currently watching, an endless, self-sustaining loop of divine orchestration.

After moving to the city alone, I rented a small room near a movie theater and picked up a job there doing odd tasks. In my last life, I loved watching movies. But whenever I suggested going for one, Nathaniel was mostly against the idea. He'd scold me mercilessly, saying it was a complete waste of time. Now, it felt like I was making up for that regret. I practically threw myself into work every day. Before I knew it, half a year had gone by in the city. I'd gone from just another worker doing grunt work to a junior manager at the theater.

He didn't turn around, but he reached back to find my hand, threading his fingers through mine. "They don't have anything weighing them down," I noted. Leo squeezed my hand. "Neither do we. Not anymore." I spent the afternoon in the Great Library, not with Zara and her tales of the "Before," but in the deep archives with Sofia. We were working on the *Chronicle of the Transition*—the official record of the ten million years it took for humanity to move from a species of conquest to a species of cultivation.

I wish you peace, happiness, and a future without limits. I stared at the screen, my eyes growing warm. I didn't know what that little app had really been—maybe a version of myself from another timeline, maybe the last mercy the universe had decided to give me. I typed two words and hit send. [Thank you.] A gust of night wind swept past. The text thread flickered into a jumble of code and vanished from my phone entirely—as if it had never existed. I lifted my head, looked at Ed, looked at this beautiful, vibrant city, looked at the dazzling future stretching out before me.

Made of books and scrolls and memories written on reality itself. "Welcome." A voice speaks from everywhere. "I've been expecting you, Aurora Sinclair. And your mates. And your quest for eternity." A figure appears. Neither male nor female. Neither young nor old. Just timeless. The Chronicler. "You know why we're here?" I ask. "I know everything." They smile. "I record it all. Your past. Your future. Your every choice. It's written here. In infinite books. Infinite possibilities. Infinite outcomes." "Then you know if we succeed." Zephyr's voices echo. "If we find a way to be eternal together."

“I’m Possibility. I grew from the seed you planted when the Totality stabilized it. I’m the embodiment of choice and potential, and I’m here to make your life interesting again!” She waves her hand and reality branches into three different visible timelines, all of them showing different futures. “You get to choose which future happens,” Possibility explains. “Isn’t that exciting? Oh, and also there’s a war coming. Werewolves from other continents heard about the Alpha Supreme and they’re sailing here right now to challenge your authority. They’ll arrive in three days. Just thought you should know!” She disappears in a flash of branching timelines and I’m standing there realizing that normal

The Ouroboros hadn't been sent from some distant star. It had been sent from our own future. A future that had created a god-killing machine and fired it back into the past to clean up its own messy history. A history that presumably included us. Jeff stared at the numbers, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. The air in the penthouse grew thick, the lights beginning to pulse in a slow, rhythmic pattern that matched the frantic beating of my heart. He wasn't just connected to the garden's past. He was a target from the future.