Pointing to the Great Lakes on the map Gertrude finally answered my question. “There is a pod of freshwater dolphins which specialize in the time element, who reside within the lakes.” Her beak opened into a humorous smile as she continued. “They are quite skillful in evading and maintaining the element of surprise when facing overachieving adventurers or hunters. I myself have entered into a trade relationship of sorts with them, by which I can obtain varying levels of Time stones.”

Her eyes crinkled as if in fond recollection while letting off a chuckle. “Interacting with them can be quite the mix of precocious and playful of requests. I’ve been asked for something as simple as playing a few games of tag with no-holds-barred with them, in exchange for a potent time stone. Other times, they have bargained with a vengeance for one of my more precious artifacts in exchange for a few of their very common underwater flora.”

Bemusement colored her next words. “I believe it is my willingness in indulge their whims, which grants me continued favor.” Her neck stretched out pridefully as she added, “I’ve heard from their much gossiping that I have been their longest lasting trade partner.”

My lips twitched and then tightened in suppressed humor, as I watched her impression of a Galapagos tortoise stretching their neck out smugly, reflecting her self-gratification in that achievement.

It was also difficult for me to imagine her bulky and unwieldy form, zooming about in the deep waters of the great lakes, as she played tag with elusive and playful dolphins. I could see how such requests might prove difficult for the more standard traders and adventurers to accommodate in their travels.

I don’t believe I would be remiss to assume such requests had alternative purposes, such as allowing the intelligent creatures to better determine the trustworthiness of their visitors. It really made me see her in a different light. She gave me the impression of a rugged and aged grandmother who was still very much playful and spry, engaging in the whims of her grand and great grandchildren, all for a simple hug amidst their delight.

By the end of her discussion on the topic, she had finished brewing the Time stone potion and handed it to me. Placing her clawed hand gently over the top of the vial she cautioned. “I can give you a little insight into what you may gain from this as it has been relayed to me by the dolphins. Those initiated into the Time element tend to experience and gain something tied to their strongest emotions.”

Her eyes took on a brief faraway look before returning to the moment. “I will not ask that which is strongest for you, as it is often a personal topic and unneeded to be discussed at this time. Just simply accept that what you experience cannot be changed in this moment, and seek to learn from it.” Then she removed her hand from the vial.

I felt troubled inside at her words, yet my gift stirred with anticipation at what this portended. With an honest “thank you,” I downed the contents of the ever-changing colors of the vial.

As the liquid flowed into my stomach, I felt a tug on my emotions. Why was I here, and for what purpose did I truly undergo these painful trials? . . .

The question lingered on my thoughts like a feather caught on the surface of water. Stuck and unable to escape. Then images began to fill my mind in which I was drawn into with a vengeance.

* * * * * *

Regret. . . Out of all the passionate feelings that a light could have been shined on in my life, other than hope, that was the one with the greatest influence.

My sight rushed through several key scenes of my entire life, scenes which had been a large part of shaping who I now was.

It started from the earliest moments which I could remember. Most of those memories flew by as I had already come to grips with the failings of the past, or my concerns had faded into blissful oblivion with the wearing away of time. Other memories lingered a bit longer as I had not fully made peace with them yet.

One particular incident was in my early childhood when we had lived in the Arizona desert. Routinely suffering through the heat of the longest season of deep summer, the only geological perk it had in my opinion was the longer outdoor swimming season. My youthful mind did not complain as it was simply a part of life and I had little to compare against it.

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Most of my attention was drawn to early reading and the unique presence of a very special garden in our front yard. It was a beautiful and raised diamond shaped garden-bed that nestled itself within the embrace of the entryway. Measuring a few square meters in size and covered by an opaque shade screen overhead, it was a paradisical oasis to my young mind. Although beautiful, the garden itself was not what held my interest, so much as the inhabitants. There were near a dozen box turtles who played at being deceptively entertaining and miniature shelled residents.

I had been one of the defacto caretakers of the turtles for years before we moved. It was not until we had uprooted ourselves and transitioned to Texas that tragedy occurred. As an adolescent out of school for the summer, I had been sent off to a summer camp shortly after that move. Upon return, I had learned that the temporary housing for the turtles my parents had relegated them to, had turned into an effective oven with the overhead sun shining on their outside enclosure.

I was about 11 years old at that time and there were many tears shed for my lost shelled friends once I learned of their demise. Knowing a long turtle’s life, they would likely be well and alive today if things had gone differently.

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The next scene was brief as it showed me a little older, going into a friend’s home after locking up my bike to their tree out front. By the time I left an hour or two later, my bike had been stolen. I never went back to that friend’s home as something vague yet pronounced had not sat right with me while there. This was even before I learned of the theft.

More and more small to medium regrets flew past me like one of those ancient film reels of my life. To be honest, most of those memories resolved into lessons learned and promises made to do better and be more careful in the future. I wasn’t irreparably damaged from those despite many of them being very sad to me at the time.

As I reached adulthood, I found myself repeating certain actions, which to this day fill me with regret with a passion, but still it wasn’t the worst. Or it wasn’t that which hit me hardest.

The latest and greatest regret then shifted into hyper focus. As if I was again there in person. . .

I felt myself step into the warm and grainy sand at the beach in Hawaii. Soon after, a wave of ocean water crashed into me, knocking me flat off my feet.

I felt myself move without any control over my actions while I re-experienced the most horrifying and guilt-ridden moment of my life. I watched as an unwilling silent first-person observer, each action and step taken which had led my sister and I to that trail to the waterfall, and the fateful ending which she had suffered.

Moisture gathered at the edges of my eyes as the dread of this moment rose within me. I railed against myself in varying stages as my feet continued to take me down this path of my personal hell.

Denial struck me first. . . Maybe this was somehow all just a horrific dream, and that I’d wake up in the bed of the hotel in Hawaii, with my sister safely in the next room over.

Anger came next. It filled me with disgust and self-loathing at this sick cosmic joke. My guts twisted in rebellion at the potion’s choice to make me re-live this heart wrenching moment again, especially when I was already so harshly plagued by its memory.

As was part of the stages of grief, bargaining came next. I pleaded with whatever heavenly being or existence might be out there. Such belief stemmed from a combination of how I was raised, the feelings which could be inspired within me through the power of my gift, and seeing the small and large miracle like moments in life.

Despite seeing the many horrors visited upon the good hearted within the world, I still retained a bit of hope that there was some benevolent and all powerful being out there who wept at our misfortunes.

Maybe despite being omnipotent, they had to allow nature to run its course in order to grant us a higher reward upon our deaths. In this moment however, I cared not for whatever ephemeral reward it might offer for the guilt and suffering I went through. I would have traded it all to undo this single moment in time.

I made great promises of sacrifice. Offered all the savings I had, promised to dedicate myself to medical missions, and more, as I hoped that it would sway the powers that be to change that which had already happened.

It was all for naught. . .

Depression came next. I knew that I deserved this, as I was the one who should have stopped it. A brief idea of giving up my own life flashed in front of me as I considered options to end the torment which plagued me. However, my sense of responsibility near immediately tossed such thought aside as the rubbish and careless waste it was. Responsibility for one’s actions should not be shirked in the form of suicide, but by taking accountability in the form of personal sacrifice.

I had told others in the past, that if ever I committed a sin worthy of death, I would not kill myself straight away. Instead, as I actively strove to make any amends and reparations possible, I’d constantly be on the lookout for a situation where I could sacrifice my life for the innocent life of another.

Finally, came acceptance. I knew that a mistake. . . a very terrible mistake had occurred. One for which I took the great majority of responsibility for. What happened to my sister did not warrant my death, yet it did require great sacrifice in correcting the wrong done to the best of my ability. Although I would always hold a torch up for the resulting pain my sister experienced due to my negligent actions, I would continue to dedicate much of my life and efforts towards finding a cure for her resulting illness.

It came down to a soul penetrating desire, that even though I had flaunted many invisible or ethical and moral warning lines in the past, that in the future and for this event, I wish I could have been given an indisputable sense of warning or foreboding by which to caution me away from what threatened to come.

In that moment of realization and yearning, something Deep pulsed within me. . .

The wish appeared to grow within, like a newly formed artesian spring, flowing ever-outward to encompass the entirety of my being.

Despite this growing change from within, I was still forced to watch the follow-up scenes of the tragedy. I watched in grief as my body broke past the flimsy red plastic tie, which barred my adventurous little sister and me from advancing down a restricted side path on our hike. I saw as she got a seemingly harmless splinter from an unmarked grave within the scenic cave by the falls. I then watched the impending fallout.

A mutated leprosy disease which shouldn’t have existed, ravaged her body and my soul.

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The vision ended with an unspoken wish hovering on the air. A desperate wish that I had been warned to change the path which I had been fated to tread.

At the conclusion of the trial of Time, I felt something odd, like a seed, untouched by all around it form within me. I knew not what it might turn into, but my gift pulsed within. It was as if to tell me this seed was only in the beginning stages of development, waiting to sprout into fruition with the right catalyst.