Destiny is determined by those who believe in its existence.

It had been a fortnight since the Master of Mercury Hill stirred awake from his great illness and embarked on a scientific journey of the most bizarre nature. Visitors of the manor had been spooked by the purported aura of cold and unfeeling malice which lingered along its hedges and brick walls- twisting the branches of the former into thorny brambles and producing cracks appearing deeper than itself within the latter.

A wine trader who frequented the estate and supplied the House of Heatherfield with their vintages had fled on his carriage upon the sight of an alleged spectre through a window on the third floor- Entoine’s own bedroom. Whether real or merely fabrication, there was no denying the strange happenings which have begun occurring since the eve of the Master’s plunge into the supposed ‘sciences of the mind'.

Within four days and a week, Entoine had regained sufficient strength for mobility with legs, though aided with a walking stick. The man was a walking corpse- his face pale and wrinkled, despite being in relative youth; his body emaciated and frail as if skin gave way to bone and muscle none. This ghastly form began to roam the halls as it once did as a livelier man, yet his indifference to those around him never once altered.

He continued to spend extensive lengths of time among the vast mounds of scripture housed by the family library, where he pondered and pondered. And there he deduced the duration required for his third category of decision; Among piles of financial records and his life’s history, he had calculated the answer. Five days.

Entoine now knew, from this moment onward, his journey truly began. He would practise his mind and soul to surpass his own limitations. Juan Ponce de León sought an immortality too vague and undefined, and that was his greatest folly. Goals required tangibility and boundaries for one to reach them. For Entoine, he had defined his goal before he began to set off in its pursuit; he would master the ability to create any decision in as little time as possible. With as little time spent on deciding, he would finally attain a freedom he would have never known.

How long is the present? How many seconds denoted in a moment?

The following morning was bleak and brumous as light showers coated the rolling hills along the lonely and windswept hills of the countryside.

The cold had imbued the air lingering in the cellar with a moist and dank miasma. Within the bowels of the manor’s vast array of tunnels and underground constructs, Entoine pondered atop a desk strewn with his schematics, and beside him stood a man of a far shorter stature, wielding a ball-peen hammer and dressed with a well-weathered apron.

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Entoine had designed a machine capable of assisting one to commit any task or skill, regardless of intricacy, completely into one’s memory- not through the virtues of study or practice, but through direct alteration of the brain itself. A velvet collar lined with a short metal strand protruded at where one’s neck would rest, and from this collar slithered a cable that ran from a controlled power source. A trapezoidal prism of brass plates, a face which bore several lulling gauges and clocks, and a single lever.

With a gesture of his master’s hands, the dwarf stepped forward and retrieved the schematics. Upon the next instance, hammers began to clank as rivets joined sheets of brass upon the dwarf’s working stone. Entoine merely observed as the machine materialised and the dwarf progressed. As the matter concluded, he gave little commendation to his short-statured servant before ordering a pair of butlers to wheel up the contraption to his quarters.

And now, he stood before his dreams; his destiny and his collective beliefs of science and philosophy- a thesis on the limits of human capability. He would learn everything that there is to learn. He would solve every problem which he could discover. All intellectual pursuits, achievable and within reach. It seems all fear of death had dissipated from Entoine long ago as he adorned the collar with complete disregard of his personal safety. The gauges on the console sprung to life as Entoine mused his last thought as a being purely human.

All questions are solvable; the unsolvables merely require more time.

The electric sparks of the machine flashed in Entoine's eyes, not unlike a dazzling horde of thunderbolts upon a tempest. His eyes widened as he grunted a lulled cry of pain- a muted howl as his body weakened. He fell to his knees before the searing sensation of agony ceased upon the next moment. Entoine knew then, the machine was a success.

The brain will do all in its power to avoid sensations of displeasure and pain, and will overcome any obstacle when otherwise faced with such. The electrical shock was of a magnitude of agonising far surpassing any naturally induced source, hence too should its results be of unnaturally extraordinary calibre.

Entoine spun a knob underneath a gauge, setting it upon approximately five seconds. Producing a small folio he had ordered to be compiled by his loyal assistants whilst he himself was deep within the bowels of the library, he unhesitantly struck the lever downwards and seated himself upon an armchair. Now, its hitherto unknown contents shall be revealed.

The folio began as the first page of coated paper leafed away. A set of multiple choice mathematical questions laid within. He calculated each with thundering speed- each within five seconds. The machine lulled and ticked away as the timer reset itself after each question. Equations flickered in his mind momentarily before concluding with a solution, and he had finished one page. Another awaited, and he hurried on. The timer too, ticked on. Questions upon the natural philosophies and the sciences. Requiring not more than five seconds, he comprehended, deduced, and solved each of the multiple choice questions.

The page turned once more, and Entoine’s thoughts ground to a halt. Before his eyes, inscribed in ink upon the hide-paper, laid a question so brief and simple, yet one he could not answer by will of mind alone.

“What time is it?”