After leaving Shark and Cerid behind so they could flirt and be sappy on their own time, Ariana retreated for a short rest at home. Her abode was close to the Nobelis shack, nestled out of sight near the pungent farmlands on Springen’s outskirts. To liven the place up, she’d recently taken to crocheting. Bungled doilies laid here and there, and she wasn’t sure what to do besides take advantage of them for makeshift napkins. Today, since her fighting hand still hurt too much to grip needles, she unveiled the journal she’d thieved from the Atlin home in Sirpo and rested it on her lap.

In a way, she was glad she’d gotten to take it for herself. To be consumed by her hate would be useless, as hatred was just another way of caring too much. Hating Dorothea, then, was a waste of her emotional energy. Maybe reading the journal would help her sort herself, fall back into a relaxed state of apathy towards the girl. Not that Ariana could ever forgive her for not preventing the suffering she could have, but she at least could stop these thoughts from influencing her behavior.

The first entry was striking because it revealed the journal for what it was: the culmination of a desperate search for answers and hope. The way it looked in the present, several generations had died with that hope unfulfilled.

I am starting this log so that we Atlins may, over time, learn the nature of our own magic. It has already been established that our power is unlike all known Sacerian and Ghurian magics. We experience bodily harm upon major use of our powers with symptoms becoming exacerbated upon overly frequent implementation and/or repetition without rest. This is all we know. I was seized by this lacking when my mother passed yesterday in what we have come to call the Atlin way of dying. We all die in the same way, broken by the weight and frenzy of time’s current. It is the desire to prevent this from being the permanent future of the Atlins that I begin this journal. My child will pass it on to her children, and so on and so forth, until we have gained a comprehensive understanding of our magic. Hopefully, within a few generations, we will have found a way to thwart this fate of ours.

Katya Atlin

If the writer could see the state of the Atlin line now, she’d probably weep. Ariana turned next to review a writing from the last Atlin before Dorothea’s entries started. While she normally wouldn’t have cared what Dorothea’s mother had to say that late in the game, the entry itself was catching because the page stuck out. Seemed it had been ripped out and tucked back into the folds later on.

Dorothea has fallen ill once again. My sweet girl doesn’t complain anymore, not since the tree incident, though she is clearly in pain. Today, the fourth day, she was able to stomach food. The bouts she is so prone to have become briefer. By the time she enters her teens, I think, I hope, she will be less at risk. I see fit to write this now because it seems the hypothesis of those who came before us has proven correct. Each generation of Atlin children is growing progressively weaker. They are born from weak mothers or fathers, and their constitutions continue to suffer and worsen. It stands to reason, then, after my observations of the lifespans of the generations before myself, that each progressive Atlin will have a shorter lifespan and in turn be able to reverse less time. I fear for my daughter ever more and for the ones that come after her as well. It seems almost inhumane to have brought her into this world.

Today, a man from Sacerian territory came. Cinder Creed. It’s a shame that my old friend Cadby had a hand in spawning such a creature. All seriousness. He laughed at not one of my jokes and asked me for help in fighting a war mere minutes into tea. He’s certain that another conflict is coming between the ones below. I refused him, and the look on his face was rather entertaining as he left. Not pleased at all. I think he was certain I would agree. To be honest, however, my weakness was the only thing stopping me.

I’m a terrible mother and wife, wanting to leave Seam and Dorothea like this. However, it still stands that the plight of we Atlins is also our duty. The way my daughter looks at me sometimes with a desperate hatred and longing seems to indicate she disagrees. It is an expression that begs me to come back to her and be selfish. Seam urges me to do the same. I can tell he has also begun to loathe me in a small corner of himself. I’m lucky the capacity to love within him is so vast. Even so, I cannot abide by them. This magic is meant to be used in service to others, regardless of my fate.

I must hide this entry so that my daughter never reads it.

Ophelia Atlin

Wow. What a complex this lady had. But it made sense she’d wanted to conceal what she’d written. It wouldn’t have been pleasant for Dorothea to read about her mother feeling sorry she’d been born. Poor girl.

Ariana shook her head and let out an exasperated groan. No. She wasn't going to pity her. A page tore some along the spine as she angrily flipped to the last entry available, and she flinched at the sound.

I’m now the leader of Equin, or so Sil says. Mommy and Daddy are both gone. The council says that the war between the ones below will destroy all of us if I don’t stay to protect everyone. No matter where I go, there will be someone who needs me to take something back for their sake. I may as well stay here if that is the case.

I found a present for my birthday under their bed. It isn’t for several months, but Daddy was always very prepared. A teddy bear bigger than I am. I’ll name him Mr. Wink. Under the bed with Mr. Wink, there was an entry that was meant to be in this book, too. Mommy’s last entry before she went to fight for the people of Spring and Summer.

If what she wrote is true, then when will I die? I’m scared.

She’d started to write more but scratched it out. This happened for three lines before the entry fully continued.

I am tired of being beholden to others. The people of Equin beg me to stay with them as the war continues. I am their only protection, they say, but this is not true. The world would not be any less cruel should I not exist. They do not need me or my magic. My existence, the existence of the Atlins and our time magic, will stop nothing. There will always be another war, another knock on our door and another plea for help. Can one imagine what it would mean for this magic to be used for evil? They are lucky we have always chosen to be good.

I have decided that the Atlin line will end with me. No one else will have to get hurt.

Dorothea Atlin

This was the real Dorothea. A child forced into an adult’s position and mindset. Even the writing voice was pretty beyond what her years were at the time. She was spiteful and scared, deep down hating the ones she was helping. It explained why Dorothea hadn’t told the people of Equin to fuck themselves, though. She hadn’t seen the point, assumed she would always be used no matter where she went. All she did was choose the most peaceful place to be sucked dry. Joining the Sacerians may very well have been the first choice she made because it was something she genuinely wanted to do. But Iree had manipulated even that in the end.

It should have felt good for Ariana to have her suspicions about the girl’s lack of character confirmed, but it just…didn’t. What was it like, knowing your life was ticking away faster than everyone else’s? What were you obligated to hope and fight for in that case? This question wedged itself into Ariana’s head and rooted even as she tried to turn her thoughts to anything else.

Even so, she was resolved to continue as she was. Spying on Dorothea and Shark to protect Iree’s plans. Plotting the murder of her own sister in order to ensure a gentle death. The fight would continue until there was nothing left of the Ghurians this time around, and the cycle would stop. What other choice was there?