Emet paced the span of his chambers. The clutter of magical books and enchanted objects moved out of his way as he walked. The tomes and grimoires that held his attention floated next to him, held in the air by his magic and seemingly begging to be read. 

Alchemy may do it, but where can I get a philosopher’s stone?

With a flick of his wrist, a drawer opened itself high above. An ancient scroll floated down the damaged stories of his tower. Passed the dozens of broken shelves and cabinets that held magical nicknacks, through the ladders and walkways that sometimes went to nowhere, and near brooms and rags that were cleaning it all. When the scroll reached Emet, it unraveled itself to show a map marked with an “X”.

No. The only record is ten thousand years old and from the lost continent.

Transmutation and transformation.

Possibly. I could use Lemur or a Chipmunk as a base... 

He looked towards his miniature menagerie. It lay broken on the floor. The various animals he kept inside were missing.  Besides, he realized, a Theresa created with transmutation would not share the bond they shared. It would be a fake, masquerading as the real Theresa. No memories of their time together. He could feel his anger affecting his sorcery, the usual dim blue magic holding his grimoires aloft turned bright red.

“Conjuration? No. Sangromancy. No. Pyromancy, Aeromancy, Hydromancy - All useless! Magic cannot recreate the bond forged from a hundred years of battle. What is the point of it if it cannot do the one thing I need?” His anger boiled out, tendrils of magic reaching for anything and everything. The enchanted brooms and rags high above hastened their scrubbing until they could no longer, and all together dropped to the floors below with a clatter.

“One simple spell. That’s all.” he spoke aloud, in the now silenced tower. “One spell, and I will bring her back.” 

He paused in his steps. His pacing had brought him back to his cluttered desk, where the letter that put him in this mood sat. 

--

Emet,

I exhausted all of my best divination techniques, and unfortunately, I bear no good news. The crystal ball and incense both declared conclusive answers. My familiar, who bears the gift of future-sight, agreed with those conclusions. Why, I even tried dream meditation!  You must understand that even the greatest of mages are all simply bound by destiny. There is no future where you can bring her back to life. Your battle against her has ended, and it will stay over.

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                                Peter the Oracle

--

Divination. Lies. I have no intention of continuing to battle.

Emet's gaze pierced the letter and it began to burn. Bright orange embers steadily marched inward, revealing the clutter of objects below: spilled ink and broken quills, some hastily scribbled notes, and a pocket watch.

Chronomancy, Emet realized.

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A space in the center of the room was cleared out. The rug that usually belonged there now leaned haphazardly bunched up in the corner. The soon-to-be-setting sun outside made itself known through the west window, its beams of light reflected off the dust in the room. Emet sat atop the exposed floorboards, deep in meditation. A clock was drawn on the floor around him, deep red in color that is typical of ink used for magical rituals. The hands of the clock glowed as Emet poured his magic into them. Above him floated an enormous hourglass. It was far larger than any hourglass one could typically find, but its ornate details revealed its craftsmanship. It was used to measure time in the span of weeks, rather than minutes or hours like its smaller counterparts. 

The sun finished setting at the same moment the last grain of sand fell within the hourglass above. 

Then, it un-set itself. 

The clock hands Emet sat upon began to move counterclockwise, no longer simply painted onto the floor. The sand in the hourglass floated in a steady stream from the bottom to the top.

Emet opened his eyes as he watched time reverse. He saw a shadow of himself hurrying about, preparing the ritual. The carpet unbunched itself and put itself back to its rightful position. Even sat on it, he could not feel the carpet or the clutter of objects as they passed through him and found themselves back in their positions from days’ past.  

Emet smiled to himself and pushed his magic further. Time moved faster. The shadow of himself was no longer possible to keep track of. The light in the room flashed as the sun rose through the western window again and again. The clock beneath him was no longer simply ticking backwards, it was spinning. Emet smiled to himself.

Oracle, did you see this? A hundred years of battling against Theresa have made me the greatest mage in the world. I am no longer bound- 

His magic had run thin. The burning under his skin became too much to bear. He could no longer sustain the ritual. He pushed himself forward and tried to exert as much of his magic as he could, but time shifted back to its intended direction in an instant Emet toppled backwards.

He knew where he was before he could open his eyes. The familiar taste of enchanted smoke and burning flesh filled him. He opened his eyes to see the upper floors of his tower burning. The bookshelves and cabinets that usually held his vast collection sat empty; their contents spilled onto the walkways below. Animals squeaked and howled as they escaped from the fallen menagerie into the inferno that encompassed his tower.

There is no future where you can bring her back. The oracle’s words echo in the air around him. 

Theresa’s body lay on the floor beside him.

“Divination magic holds nothing but lies.” the greatest mage in the world told himself. He looked over at the corpse of his enemy and his love, before standing up and trying again.