Rouge hated waiting.

Usually, it presented no problem as he would invariably know – well, know most of the time – when a certain event was going to become part of the River of Time.

But sometimes, even knowing all that brings no comfort.

Sometimes, one needs to embrace uncertainty, if only to get used to the sensation.

“After all, Future has too many variables,” he muttered under his breath as an old man of frail health but peak mental condition entered the small riverside diner that proudly declared its own name to be ‘Crossroads of Destiny’.

A being such as himself doesn’t meet his doom every other day. So perhaps the owner had a touch of aditarun blood in his ancestry, though even the greatest aditarun Enfolder in history, young Julibar, lacked Rouge’s talent in traversing the River of Time, and especially in reading the Strands of Fate.

Read the Strands he did, and decided to let himself be confronted by the man who would one day be the cause of his death.

After inquiring with the owner, the old man came over to stand in front of Rouge’s table, eyes and Crown burning with questions. “Is the seat taken?” he asked, despite there being several empty ones around other tables.

“Not at the present moment of time,” Rouge said, sipping his cold coffee. A truly remarkable invention.

Settling into the seat opposite, the man gave a nervous smile. He was even more perceptive than Rouge had imagined him to be. Most mundane humans fail to sense the threat his kernel signature hinted at.

“Can you recommend a good beverage? Afraid I’m new to the area.”

“Coffee’s good. They even brew using their own beans.”

The man took out a small hand-held metallic device and started fiddling with it, hands nonchalantly kept under the table. Whatever the device indicated seemed to confirm his suspicions, and he gave a single firm nod to himself.

After waving the waiter over and placing his order, the old man rubbed his chin in a gesture that indicated he’d shaved his beards off recently. Glancing around at their surroundings, he said, “Never thought such a place could exist.”

Mist from Jiang waterfall suffused the air, and an arc of rainbow could be discerned in the distance. Seated as they were on a ledge overlooking the large pool at the base, the man stared up in wonder at the eight-hundred-feet tall frothing river of Monsoon-fed waterfall. Even in the Northeast of Aiminia, where waterfalls were more common than gushing rivers, Jiang was a majestic sight, combining both in a grand spectacle.

“It’s a pretty dull and dry place, the city I’m from,” the man confided.

Rouge decided to play along, at least for the time being. “And where is that?”

“Morihndil, a small city at the edge of the Redstone Desert.” A casual pause followed. Then, the man’s dark eyes met his green ones. “Been there?”

“Once. Not too long ago. Found the redstone quarries intriguing, and the women alluring.”

“Too boring for my taste. But that’s the nature of my job.”

“What do you do?”

“Did. Was a Guard Captain, one of only four in the city.”

“Not too much action at the back end of nowhere,” Rouge said, giving an understanding nod.

“Precisely. Until a couple of decades ago. One winter night, it all changed.”

“Oh?” Rouge prompted.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Do you like stories?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, then this may interest you.” Seeing an affirming nod, he continued. “In a city with a recorded grand total of four murders in the previous decade, that one night witnessed fifteen more. All perpetrated by a ghost, it appeared at first, since he seemed to be able to slip in and out of warded rooms without anyone the wiser.”

“Perhaps he was good at circumventing sigils? No ward is full-proof, you know.”

“That’s what I initially thought. But then I analyzed the last room, the bunker under the house where the owner had sought succor, vainly, and died horribly. Even consulted a Sigilmaster and Builder.”

“That must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

A confused frown crossed his face. “The Builder was a friend.” The man’s tone turned heated. “The only way anyone entered and left was through a Portal, and even then, it’d be mighty difficult. Naturally my thoughts turned to the White Ghost, despite it being far too gruesome to be the work of that madman. But, he was in Jivanpur at the time, in the custody of the Guards no less, though his incarceration didn’t even last the full day.”

“It never does. The man’s a menace.” Though a highly entertaining one.

“The Sigilmaster consulted with a Ranger, and reached a conclusion that ended the investigation within the bell.”

“And what conclusion would that be?”

“No crime was perpetrated within the premises. Ever. Even the bodies vanished from the morgue.”

“Someone got to your superiors?”

“Yes.”

“But you kept investigating.”

“I couldn’t let go. Never in my thirty years in the Guards have I ever faced such a set of paradoxical events that together seem to hint at the existence of something that was absolutely ludicrous.” He thumped the table, earning one or two disapproving glares. But he hardly noticed, still in the grip of obsession. “I couldn’t touch the killer. So instead, I looked into the victim. What I found staggered even a veteran such as me.”

“Not all people deserve to enjoy Aimin’s green earth,” Rouge said, a bit of steel entering his voice.

“Especially someone who….abuses his own daughter, the gentlest soul I’ve ever come across.”

Truer words have never been spoken. “But still, you didn’t let it go, did you?”

The old man shook his head. “No one should be above the law. Else, the whole system breaks down.”

“Idealistic and naïve way of looking at the world, though I do agree with the principle behind it.” Unless it affects me, or those I hold dear.

“Imagine my surprise when after burning through my inheritance, and all the bridges of friendship I’d carefully cultivated, I finally caught up with the killer, only to learn he’d just died. I even saw his body in the morgue, just to make sure.”

“But closure eluded you.”

“Someone like that doesn’t die a peaceful death,” the old man insisted vehemently.

Funny. Rouge did just slip quietly into the night. At least that time.

“So I started down that rabbit-hole all over again, finding clues where everyone else saw coincidence, design where any sane man would only expect chance.” His tone quickened, though it still remained barely above a whisper, the roar of the distant waterfall making sure no ears other than Rouge’s picked up the words.

“A being who can Enfold inside a warded room, one who can frighten officials that aren’t even afraid of the Hawk. Someone who makes Rangers wary, whose deeds have become legendary even in their Archives.” The man gave a pause, eyeing Rouge with a mix of accusation and supplication. “A being that can anticipate any and every eventuality, staying always one step ahead. One who can shed his mortal coils, quite literally. Against such a foe, what can a mere mundane human do?”

Staring deep into Rouge’s dark green eyes, he gave a sliver of smile. Then, after seeming to accept his Fate, whatever it was, he uttered the words that would spell not his doom, but Rouge’s. At least this body of his.

“Accept his fate,” the old human man said in answer to his own question. “Leastwise, I’ve gotten my answer now. Knew it as soon as I beheld you.”

With eyes shut, a sigh escaped, taking with it years of delusion, paranoia, and obsession. He did indeed look like a man content to die. Fortunately for him, today wasn’t the day his Strands were going to be sliced off.

“Fate is a fickle mistress, even to those adept at Manipulating its flow. So consider the mystery solved, and see where destiny takes you.”

“Will I have the privilege of meeting you again before I die?” the old man asked, voice having gone from intensely accusatory to fervently devout in the span of a couple of sentences. Humans never ceased to amaze Rouge, even after so many centuries.

“Yes. But you won’t know it’s me,” Rouge said, getting to his feet, eyes and mind distant. “Neither will I, since I’ll be close to death and delirious with pain.” Then, his eyes cleared, and he gave the dumbstruck man a final parting smile. “Try the Singrelian dark blend, with cream. Worth every penny. Or rather silver. Sorry, picked up a few bad habits from my father.”

The old man’s eyes widened in shock, but he regained his equanimity quickly, showing admirable poise. “I’ve always loved darker blends.”

“Not all twists of Fate can, or should, be Manipulated. Or anticipated, even by me. This encounter, for instance, was far more….” he searched for the correct word. “Entertaining,” Rouge shook his head, “Illuminating, than I had envisaged. It was indeed a pleasure meeting you, Dorianil.”