Title: Echoes of Eternity
In a dimly lit library buried beneath the ruins of an ancient city, the air stirred unnaturally. A faint hum grew louder, and with a crackling burst of energy, a man appeared, clutching a device on his wrist that sparked and whirred. His clothes were dusted with soot, and his face bore the weariness of countless journeys.
Before he could catch his breath, a calm voice echoed through the room.
"You’re late."
The man spun around. At the far end of the library stood a woman, her figure illuminated by the flickering glow of a lone candle. She looked ordinary at first glance—simple robes, dark hair tied back—but her eyes betrayed her. They were ancient, depths that no mortal years could explain.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice steady but edged with caution.
She closed the book in her hands and placed it on a table. "Someone who has waited a very long time to meet you. Call me Isolde."
The time traveler adjusted the settings on his device, scanning for anomalies. "You don’t look like someone out of place in this timeline, yet you knew I’d come. How?"
"Because I’ve seen you before," Isolde said, stepping closer. "Not here, not now, but in other times. You don’t realize how much of a ripple you leave behind, Traveler."
He frowned. "If you’ve seen me before, then... you must be—"
"Immortal," she finished for him. "Yes. A curse, if you ask me. Eternity strips the wonder from existence."
The traveler shook his head. "You don’t seem cursed to me. You’re thriving in this forgotten library."
She laughed softly. "Thriving? Hardly. I collect knowledge to keep the years from swallowing me whole. But you—why do you tear through time? Are you running from something? Or chasing it?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "Both, maybe. I want answers—about humanity, about time itself. And yes, perhaps I’m trying to outrun a past I can’t fix."
Isolde’s expression softened. "Time is not a thread you can untangle. It’s a river, relentless and unmoved by our struggles. Believe me, I’ve tried to bend it. It doesn’t listen."
"And yet," he countered, "you’ve stayed in its flow for so long. You’ve seen its every twist and turn."
"Seen, yes. Changed? No." She gestured to a nearby chair. "Sit. Let me tell you something about time and eternity."
He hesitated but obeyed, lowering himself into the creaking seat.
"Humans," she began, "are meant to be fleeting. Our impermanence gives life its urgency, its meaning. But when you stretch a moment too far, as I have, everything loses its color. You see the same mistakes, the same triumphs, the same endings, over and over."
He leaned forward. "But if you’ve lived through it all, doesn’t that give you the power to guide others? To stop the mistakes before they happen?"
Isolde shook her head. "No one listens to an immortal. We’re either worshipped or feared, and neither leads to anything good. Besides, time resists change. It’s a stubborn force, and those who try to rewrite it often pay the price."
The traveler looked at his device, its lights pulsing rhythmically. "Then why do I keep trying? Why do I feel like I can make a difference?"
"Because you’re mortal," she said with a faint smile. "You still believe in the power of a single moment. That’s your gift, and your curse."
For a long while, they sat in silence, the candlelight casting long shadows across the room.
Finally, the traveler stood. "Thank you, Isolde. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop trying, but maybe now I’ll tread more carefully."
She rose as well, her gaze steady. "If you ever tire of chasing answers, return here. I’ll be waiting, as I always am."
He nodded, activating his device. The air shimmered, and with a flash, he was gone.
Isolde turned back to her book, her immortal heart heavy with the knowledge that she would see him again—perhaps in a century, perhaps tomorrow. For her, time was a circle, and every meeting was both a beginning and an end.
