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Does not heal all wounds. My scars from the spellwork are a grim testament to the futility of my actions. Yet they do not heal. Not in the centuries I have searched for myself, though the time to reflect has mended outrage and tempered my focus.

Somewhere near Neo Rome I caught wind of mystics who’s renown exceeded the normal legacies of time. I’d been skirting the boundaries of Neo Rome for months and yet I’d seen markings of their power long before and long since. Not unheard of, but curious.

That they knew my plight and knew how to help was more curious. Centuries I’d spent plumbing timelines, haunting ruins and scouring libraries. For a time I had thought this a futile effort.

What they asked of me was more curious.

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Time is never still. It flows, ebbs and wanes. In the depths lurk shadows of untold behemoths, ideologies that should have faded in ages dark. Phantoms that grew on the supple detritus what drifted away from stable shores.

Had you told me this, I would never have believed you. But I have seen them.

My steps in the timeline are not without guile, hubris my eternal foe. I tread paths I have followed a hundred times. Each step careful, measured. Each breath held until the perfect moment. My quest for a simple thread what could lead us back to salvation. Though I fear my own actions pushed us toward an inevitable fate worse than imagined.

I can’t tell you how many I watched fall in my endless pursuit. A meager blur on every iteration.

Everstone, Fragments of Eternity, circa 3031

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When I awoke in Paragon City I was wracked by anger. Furious though I did not know who or what could have elicited such ire. In the aftermath of my recollection I like to think I understood. Though I’ll admit I probably am missing some cosmic needle in the stack, some full accounting of actions that resulted in my catastrophe.

With an unusual new power over Time I chased my legacy through the eons. From the vaunted halls of New Rome to the annals of the Precambrian Era. No shred of my beginning, nor my ultimate fate could be discovered. No birth records, no death certificates. I had ceased to exist as a member of any timeline. I had destroyed my own causality.

Within the depths of the Temporal Ocean I saw a force, a darkness so profound I have returned to the shores of Paragon City to rescue those who have fallen or been forgotten from the tempest of Time. To forge an alliance of those who could face this darkness and aide in it’s defeat.

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Time has it’s permutations, the ghosts of our past haunt us even today. The legacy of the Roman Empire echoes for millennia with it’s accomplishments. How we regard those ghosts colors how we’re seen to future generations and sets the tone for the continued haunting.

Dark Astoria is talked about for generations though largely forgotten thanks to the efforts of early-21st Century heroes who fought the growing menace under it’s streets. I like to think I did my part, disrupting ritual sites. Not glamorous work, but necessary.

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Melog lurched carefully behind me, my wife nestled in his massive rocky arms like a slumbering child. His thundering feet trod the path behind us as I lead the way to our ritual site. A small cairn deep in one of the parks that nestled between the towering heights of Paragon City.

The stars twinkled above, setting the stage for sorceries of a rare sort. A backdrop to my hubris manifest.

The Circle of Thorns number among some of the most dedicated and depraved practitioners you’ll ever read about. Readily known for kidnapping select bloodlines and robbing museums of antiquities, their antics have become so common it borders on comical were it not so dire. Possession of any part of the Malleus Mundi is prone to attract their attention and it did just that. As I slid into the third hour of my incantation they sprung to attack.

Energies had been coalescing around me for some time, the very essence of elemental forces seeping off the stone as it hung suspended in air above my prone wife. As the night moved into morning and the witching hours chimed, I could feel something slip free, the stone was releasing more than simple earthen motes, some inner nuance was coming loose. This revelation invigorated me and renewed my stamina for the last phase of the spell. Then they struck.

Melog was craft of one purpose, to serve me. His instincts mirrored my desire and as the hooded malcontents crawled up the hillside he rushed to meet them head on. He is but one servitor and the Circle never travel alone. As a handful of lessor acolyte were countered by Melog’s rigid girth, a more seasoned wizard circumvented his physique and snaked his way to my shrine.

This was all it took, my attention was pulled at a crucial moment and while for a time I thought I could hold the energies in suspension, I was proven wrong. The light released as my grip lessened was blinding, the roar deafening. I never know what happened next. The spell spiraled out of control and tendrils of unrestrained energy snaked around the hillside eradicating acolytes, Melog and finally.. me..

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