I have seen many pasts and many futures.

I have exhausted the libraries of everything that

could be and everything that could not be. All stories have their end, but this story was cut
short before its time. So much potential lost. This story was not meant to end like this, but
end it did…

Beaufort sat cross-legged in the centre of his bivouac, his various tools and trinkets laid out
in front of him like a dismantled machine, as he chose his items and infusions for that day. It
was a daily ritual for him that he’d effected since leaving Concordia, allowing him to clear his
mind for the coming day and start afresh. Back home he would be doing it as his work
bench, accompanied by the familiar and comforting churn of the machines that held
Concordia together, instead that familiarity was usually replaced by either discomforting
silence, or vexatious hubbub, the latter being more common, considering the company that
he kept.
As if to make his point, he heard a shrill cry come across the camp, in that voice that set his
teeth on edge and made his mutton-chops bristle:

“What is this?! What is this? We do not trust this…”

He closed his eyes and thought of home. He thought of home and the day he would be rid of
that irritating rat-man and his lack of respect for the artefacts of the disc. From his selection,
he picked out his catch-all tools - a palm-sized canister that contained purple, swirling dust;
his faithful gauntlet; a sphere that was so light it practically levitated. His hand hovered over
a palm-sized triskelion-like charm that glowed a deep blue. He had only used it twice. Once
during the ambush by the Godsbovvraz, and once to get them across the collapsed bridge
that led them to this forest. He went to pocket it, but stopped himself as he remembered
what he was hunting here…Green Wyrmlings, known for their noxious breath, even in their
juvenile form.
He put aside the triskelion for now, the blue glow fading as he siphoned the magic from
within and instead picked up a small disc with a death’s head emblem engraved into it. He
released the pent up energy he’d siphoned from the triskelion and felt the magical energy
flow from his chest, down his arm and into the disc which began to glow a sickly green
colour. He slotted the disc into his chest piece, ready for when he might need it, gathered up
the rest of his belongings and stepped out into the bright sunshine of the morning.

There. That was the moment that would change everything for him and his companions.
One simple choice that would decide their fates.