“You know now. You started this—Ivernia, everything. It was always meant to happen this way.” I use all my strength to keep the structure secure. My hands ache from the effort. “You have a purpose. Find it.”
Around us, time happens. Seconds pass. It’s an unstoppable, finite thing. Substantial and wonderful. Andgod, I love this place—but I’ve had it all wrong. Preserving memories and history and moments—that’swhat’s important. The here and now, the intangible bits we claim. All of it right in front of us. Because change happens. Places are destroyed and rebuilt and altered and renovated. And although it may look different, it doesn’t lose its meaning. Those memories become a fundamental part of us. Theymakeus.
Of course it matters. It all matters. Everything.
My father’s words come to me then, rising from the pages ofhis journal.But if I had to put my firm belief in anything, it’s that we must know when to relinquish and embrace the unknown.
Our eyes lock. Perseverance floods through William as he places his hands over mine, holding tight in his reassurance. It happens in an instant. The funnel reaches its brightest apex. The wind stills. For a brief blip in time, the world freezes. A slow-motion churn, a hushed, unnatural quiet befalling in the wake. His eyes pitch toward the sky, lips parting through a gasp, and before either of us can say anything more, a blinding flash floods my vision.
And I embrace the unknown.
My throat opens to release a scream, but I can’t hear it. Can’t feel anything around me—not the cold, not the ground beneath my knees, not my hands fastened around the isoborometer. A warmth strikes my core, a snaking sensation curling outward, and then—
Opalescent sunlight glazes through treetops. Tall pines loom overhead and offer puddles of cool shade. A young girl tramples through a dusty trail. Only, the young girl is me. I’m watching my father join my younger self, pointing toward Ivernia in the distance. I know where we are. We’ve hiked this trail dozens of times. It’s the one that leads to the summit. And as he ruffles the top of my head, so full of life, the memory dissolves into a new scene.
This time, he’s sitting on a blanket beside my mother. We’re enjoying the crystal-blue day on the Ivernia green, and I’m holding Madelene’s hand as she toddles across the grounds. Jareddrives a remote-controlled race car toward us, and I save her by scooping her into my short arms and plopping her beside my parents for safety. She squeals and darts toward our brother, but I linger behind. It’s strange to see myself so young. I lie on my back, rolling out of reach when my dad tries to slather sunscreen on my cheeks.
And I blend and bow into a new setting, this time my eighth-grade graduation in Pennsylvania. I’m in a floral dress I hated—one my mom loved. Madelene is the first to rush over, smothering me in a hug and tugging my sleeve as she reveals our parents have bought me a stunning yellow bouquet. My dad tackles me into a bear hug, and I recall feeling like I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. Instead, I tightened my grip around him.
I fade into a new memory. My family is in the kitchen, and it’s the day before I leave my suburban neighborhood for a school—one that’s both familiar and unnervingly new. My dad’s playing eighties music; my mom is making sure I’ve packed everything; and Mads is standing on a chair, belting her heart out, while Jared records her on his phone. It’s chaotic and loud and I love every second of it, so much so I wonder if I’m making the right decision. And then—
Hazy, fragmented clips of reminiscence flash before me. Footsteps thundering over rickety wooden planks on the dock. Peals of laughter after leaving the movie theater. My fingers braiding Madelene’s hair. The first taste of cold ice cream on a fall day. Softly chirring crickets as the sun winks out beyond the horizon,forming a silent good night. The gentle warmth of sun-dried skin after an icy dip in a friend’s pool. A pale moon suspended in beauty within the night sky. The scratch of my father’s fountain pen. The cool AC smell in my mother’s library. That stomach-sore feeling that lingers after a hard laugh.
Pieces of my life—of me—arranged like an intentional collection of atoms. Each moment mine.
A swell of emotion rises in my chest. Even though I’m desperate to hang on, something tells me to let go.
Not something. Someone.
My father’s voice.
Let go.
And I feel it in an inexplicable way. I’m not letting go of him, not the memories or time, but of fear.
So I let go.
How I release my hands, I’m not sure, but when I do, everything goes dark. My lungs fill with frigid air. Snow has started to fall, cotton-like flakes drifting in the mild wind. Everything is buried beneath a whispered hush. My knees are frozen from kneeling in the snow, and I am alone.
An ache throbs through my hands as I push myself upright, wobbly on my feet. The shifting lights from the aurora begin to dim. The pattern no longer curves and twists. Instead, it fades away.
I spin around, eyes searching across the snow-covered field. “William?”
He’s not here.
“William!”
As I squint toward the school, the lampposts regain their light. The electricity no longer pulses. Darkness creeps in as the last of the aurora fades, leaving the clear night full of winking stars.
My gaze drops to my hands. There, on my left thumb, is my father’s ring. I spin it, as if to make sure it’s real.
Does this mean we’ve succeeded? That our current reality isn’t lost to time?
My initial elation is knocked sideways by a sudden wave of grief. A sting bites inside my nose. This is what we wanted, wasn’t it? I hadn’t expected the loss to ache like an internal bruise, because this means William got to live out the rest of his life, to choose and lead and wonder, until he was no longer part of this physical world. What a surreal, extraordinary adventure it was to know him. Carrying those memories is enough.
But my panic isn’t fully extinguished. I bolt toward the school, trying to tamper down my rising fear. What if Sumner wasn’t far enough away from the vortex’s boundary? He’s always annoyingly correct about calculations, but what if something massive happened, wiping away his existence here? I meant it when I said I’d never forget him, but I don’t want to experience a reality without him.
In the distance, someone shouts my name. Relief sinks into my bones as a shadow rushes forward, the crunch of heavy footsteps sounding through the night. My pace quickens, chest heaving.
