Ellen let out a content sigh as she slid through the door and back into her bedroom. Her pants were tight around her waist, the edges threatening to leave imprints on her skin if she didn't take them off in good time. Her mother was an amazing cook, this time whipping up the family favourite – beef stroganoff – and Ellen did not hesitate to tuck in. Family dinners were never large affairs but they did spark good conversations, this time revolving on the existence of life outside beyond Earth. Reaching the end of her philosophical wits, she helped clear the table and then made her way upstairs to her bedroom. The events from yesterday had fallen at the wayside and there, she hoped, it would stay. Uncomfortable, she wriggled out of the now too-tight pants and into her elasticized pyjamas.

Energised from the food and on a high from the euphoria of a productive day, she slipped into her chair behind the desk and pulled her laptop towards herself. There was enough time left in the evening to establish a solid heading on her English assignment although she knew that this wasn't due for a while.

Four weeks, to be exact.

She had also read Romeo and Juliet several times meaning that the she knew the ins-and-outs of it quite intimately and wouldn't need to spend time revising the playbook. This was all the better.

Grabbing a pen and a notepad from the top draw of her desk, she set about outlining an essay structure from the main words of the essay question. She took a moment to pause and glance up at the trinket that she had stepped on. This was now placed next to her desk lamp in the furthest-left corner of her desk, and the light gave it a twinkling glow.

Seeing it brought back a flood of memories from the previous evening; the dream that had actually turned out to be real. Or at least, planted into her mind through powers that she couldn't explain.

Was that possible? she thought. Was that within the range of the so-called skillset the silver-haired man spoke about?

Ellen drifted into a deep thought, the end of her pen automatically flying to her mouth so that it was now lodged between her teeth. It was a nasty habit. Her dentist told her so. But her visitor had left so many questions unanswered that she considered it to be acceptable just for this time.

Instinctively, she drew the laptop even closer to herself to the point that she was now hunched over the keyboard with a crooked back. Her mind was back in hyper drive. There was no attention spared to the assignment that was now pushed away and lay discarded on the side. Her hand was on her mouse, darting this way and that. With a few quick strokes of the wrist, she had a new browser tab open. She sat about identifying prime key words. Her fingers skimmed across the keyboard, hitting keys as they went.

Supernatural.

Ellen clicked the magnifying button on the right of the page. It turned white before presenting her with thousands of results. She skimmed over these as most were fan-sites of a popular supernatural television show which was a hot topic amongst her friends. Uninterested, she pondered for a brief minute before refining her search terms.

Supernatural AND humans.

Another pause as the web trawled through millions of sites and did the searching for her. It returned fewer results which she was thankful for, and the pages - at a glimpse - seemed much more in tune to what she was after. She clicked on the first link but was quick to discover that this described a higher deity – God – as being supernatural and the creator of all. Frustration began to rise inside her. This wasn't what she was searching for.

She bit her tongue, quickly jotting down the used search terms onto the paper in scrawled writing. Slipping the pen between her lips, trying yet another combination of keywords.

Supernatural AND humans AND history AND predictions.

Ellen, in hope, crossed her fingers underneath her desk and rocked back and forward as her request made its way around the world. Anxious, she uncrossed her fingers and drummed on the desk top. She hadn't realised that her heart had decided to skip faster.

"Third times the charm", she whispered to herself.

Again, results filled the screen, these looking more promising than the last. She clicked the first one after reading a vague description about recounts from past paranormal experiences. A black background blanketed the page, followed by white text about the origin of the website, photographs of supposedly supernatural beings and links to subpages. Scanning the menu, she found a page that was dedicated to different supernatural races. There were about a dozen listed but only one caught her eye – Tempusmantia. Drawn to it, she clicked. This led her to another page with the same black background and white text as the others. This particular page had no photos, just paragraphs. Although there were no visual aids, it could still be helpful in her quest for answers.

The Tempusmantia... she read, ...is one of the oldest recorded races deemed to be 'paranormal' and is the base of certain modern beliefs in which you are able to control your own destiny, and that your actions control flow-on effects in the future. The term 'Tempusmantia' translates roughly to "time divination". It is also commonly referred to as 'Tempusmancer' or 'Tempusmancy'.

Although not broadly known by paranormalists and enthusiasts, Dr R. Hiddlestone conducted significant research on this specific race. His work can be found in The Illusion of Time: The Fabrication of Fate. He noted that Tempusmancers are capable of bending time to suit their agendas but also possess a much greater range of powers such as dictating fate for themselves and others around them and to some extent, mind control. The extent of their powers remains unknown however, it is believed that they are able to practice divinations of other types. Tempusmancers are human-like in appearance with no obvious markings to distinguish them from ordinary humans. Their imprint on the human world is unable to be determined.

In the supernatural realm, Tempusmancers are thought to have one only one opposing race – Necromancers. Necromancers are known to practice communications with the departed, and believe that Tempusmancers obstruct this practice. They are also only capable of practicing this one divination type (see 'Necromancer'). This conflict has been the sole cause of several large 'wars' between the two factions. Other notable supernaturalists have been led to believe, throughout their research, that modern Necromancers are seeking the cleansing of all Tempusmancers however, this is yet to be proven and should be regarded as a myth for the time being.

A sense of disappointment blossomed within Ellen as she realised that she had finished reading the last of the the text on the page in front of her. Increasingly frustrated that there was no more information on the site, she wrote down the name of the book by Hiddlestone and made a mental promise to stop by the library on the way home from school the next day. She was aware that there was a small section dedicated to the paranormal and supernatural but didn't like her luck about this particular book seeing as it was published well over fifty years ago and the topic wasn't overly popular. She entered Tempusmancer into the search bar but all the search results were just rehashes of the information that she had already read. Taking this as a sign to complete her foray into the paranormal world for the evening, she closed this window and pulled her assignment back in front of her. Despite this gesture, she couldn't refocus her mind onto this menial task and turned the laptop off for the evening.

The ill-fated affair between Romeo and Juliet would have to wait until her brain was functional again.

Ellen rose from her chair, her eyes drooping and her bottom feeling numb from sitting. She glanced at the alarm clock that sat on her bedside table, sleepiness slowly taking her into its arms. The clocks large, ghastly luminous green numbers stared back, informing her that it was almost midnight. Astounded that time had escaped her as quickly as a hound in flight, she slipped between the light, soft sheets of her bed and turned off the lights. Darkness washed over the room, the blackness feeling oddly comforting and soothing to her eyes. She gave in to the temptation of sleep almost instantly, the occasional haunting hoot from of an owl outside of her window accompanying her until she closed her eyes for the final time that evening.

- - -

A nasally, loud buzzing came from somewhere deep within the grey-concrete administration building of Charles Hill High School. Doors from classrooms erupted open and students poured in to the well-kept, forested grounds. Ellen gathered her belongings rather slowly, packing her textbooks, pencil case, and notebooks into her bag. She preferred not to be trampled by the usual herd of students eager to leave for the day. The ferocity of some of them could be compared akin to wild animals. Zipping the now laden bag, she slung it over one of her shoulders and started towards the door.

"Ellen, can I talk to you before you go?"

Ellen paused in mid-step and turned to face her teacher. She could already feel the bag cut into her shoulder so she placed this at her feet.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

Mr James was a tall, muscular, middle-aged man with black hair and glasses perched on his nose. He was a favourite and much-loved teacher for his inclusive teaching practices and his ability to instil determination into even the hardest and most difficult students. Unknowingly, he was also the crush of many of his female students who took his classes just because of him. He primarily taught sciences but was knowledgeable about a broad range of topics, his personal favourite being astrophysics. He paced around his desk and sat on it with his legs dangling backwards and forwards, gazing at Ellen through his glasses. He was wearing a fitted black tshirt and black slacks with a silver belt. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and a warm smile on his face.

"Top marks again in last weeks test, Miss Nightingale. I wanted to ask where you see yourself after your senior year? That's coming up quite quickly so it's high time for you to make plans for what comes after." He clasped his hands in his lap.

"I am looking at going to university, sir. Physiotherapy hopefully," she replied, the tone of hope in her voice. This is what she had dreamed for ever since she was a child. "That's, if I get good enough grades and my application satisfies the university board."

"If you are getting top marks in other classes outside of mine, you have nothing to worry about. Have you considered the advanced streams of the sciences? I imagine you'd do well."

"I have and will be placing an application for it once intake has opened."

"Good. That's what I was hoping to hear. I just want to make sure you are on the right path." With that, he smiled with that same twinkle in his eyes, leaped off the desk and busied himself with putting away his own belongings.

Ellen picked up her bag again and hurried out the door, down the pathway to where her bicycle was locked up to a chain-link fence. A wide smile was stretching across her face. Knowing she was on the right track to success made her feel ever better.

It was a quick ride to the city library – Library of Charlemagne – approximately five minutes down a historic laneway lined with gorgeous dated buildings made of sandy-coloured stone. The large, rounded columns and intricate details were reminiscent of the both roman and gothic styles and added charm to the neighbourhood. Ellen enjoyed the breeze whipping through her hair as she pedalled down the cobbled way. Another historic building stood on the corner of the laneway where it intersected with a busy avenue. It was by far the largest and majestically dwarfed all others. Magnificent stained-glass windows stretched high into the sky and were shielded by deep eaves. A tall colonnade stretched around the outside of the building, with the middle two columns framing the entrance to the library. This was signified by two, heavy wooden doors that were opened and closed each day.

Chaining her bike up to a nearby rack, she walked through the doors and took a moment to marvel at the glorious interior. It was a massive, cavernous room complimented by high ceilings. Colours from the stained-glass windows projected downwards over the furniture, displaying a wide spectrum of colours like a rainbow. Comfortable, leather armchairs and beanbags were placed in small clusters around the room. There were two stories in this building. The ground floor was dedicated to fictional works and had rows of computers sitting on handsome, wooden desks made available to the public. Book cases sprawled in each direction, those lining the walls reaching to the roof. The first floor was home to non-fictional works and contained some of the oldest books within the region. These were generally only available on request though, in an effort to preserve them for generations to come.

When she finished her awing, Ellen climbed a staircase in the middle of the room to reach the top floor. Her fingers slid smoothly along the gold plating on the handrail. Having memorised each of the major sections on this floor, she had little difficulty in finding the 'paranormal' category. She ran her hand along the spines of the books as she searched, dust accumulating on her palm and individual particles drifting in the air around her. These books mustn't have been looked at for a long period of time. She spied a black, leather bound book with peeling gold lettering - Hiddlestone emblazed sidewards - and removed this from the line. She blew the dust off the corners and relief surged over her like a giant wave. It was exactly what she was seeking. Storing this under her arm, she made her way back downstairs and completed the checkout on a self-serve machine the library had recently installed as part of a customer service upgrade. This piece of technology was a sharp contrast against the age of the building itself and she couldn't help but chuckle.

With the book now safely stowed in her bag, she kicked off from the curb and powered homewards, humming as she went. The mechanical noise of each pedal stroke never sounded so beautiful to her ears as it did now.

- - -

Ellen ripped the old book from her bag and placed it on her desk. She flicked the switch on her desk lamp and the gold lettering came to life, sparkling in the light. Excited and heart pumping, she ran her hand over the cover and opened it. A forward had been penned by Hiddlestone in the form of an introduction, followed by a comprehensive contents page. She turned another page, and a black and white aged photograph stared back at her. She pulled the lamp closer so it illuminated the page even more, giving her a clearer view. It was a group portrait with thirty faces glaring up at her. The group was standing in three lines, apart from the man in the middle of the first line. He was sitting in a throne-like chair and had the most regal face of all. Although not a coloured photograph, Ellen knew that this man's hair was metallic silver and his eyes were a cold, steel blue. It was the man that had visited her in her dreams two nights ago.

She gasped, the gasp piercing the sheer silence of her bedroom. Everything was piecing together just like the pieces of a puzzle. And then she was enveloped in silence, once again; the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs the only thing that could be heard throughout house.

Tick.

Tock.