The next thing I knew, I was crashing down face-first on the ground. Even with the smooth surface catching my fall, my body, especially my head, felt the impact nonetheless. Groaning, I pushed myself up and rubbed my sore forehead.

Why do I keep on falling down whenever I enter people's heads?

As I stood up, my gaze landed on the bizarre place I was in. An endless tiled path spiraled in front of me like a roller coaster. Little white balls of light floated around, illuminating the darkness. For some reason, a ticking sound echoed in my ears, something akin to a a clock.

I expected to be in a straight corridor with doors just like in Ben's mind, but I guess I can't choose what happens in other people's thoughts.

I blinked. Wait. . . There are no doors? How will I get into Demetrius's memories now?

A shining arched door flew in and opened, revealing a bright landscape at the other side. Curious, I reached my hand inside the door, and the portal sucked me right in.

A second later, I found myself standing on a grassy field in the middle of the day. From the distance, I spotted a vast lake with people walking nearby it. I turned around and saw a familiar mansion loom over me.

Demetrius's mansion? Why did I get back here?

The clopping and neighing of horses sounded nearby, probably somewhere in front of the mansion. I strode towards the building to see what was happening, keeping myself close to the brick walls. Long vines and shrubs covered the house so I had to push them aside so I could hide.

I peeked from behind and saw horses with a carriage behind them pull into a stop. One of the coachmen stepped down and opened the cart's door. There, a man in a regal suit emerged.

"We ought to leave the land as soon as we can," the man declared. "There is no time to waste."

The coachman lent a hand to the woman in even more regal clothes, a royal red dress with a large closed skirt, and helped her step out.

"But my love, what about the mansion, our land?" the lady said. "We cannot just leave everything behind."

"I do not care if we abandon our property here, Elizabeth," the man said, walking towards the mansion's entrance. "Our riches will not save us from the plague. Besides, the New World has many opportunities to offer, or so I have heard."

"But Gregory, our children," Elizabeth said just as two kids jumped out of the carriage. "That place— what was it called again, the Americas?— I do not think it is a good idea to let them live their young years in distant, foreign lands."

Gregory waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense, they will manage just fine. We are Kingstons after all. We let nothing stand in our way."

One of them, a boy in a golden suit, ran up to Gregory's side. "Father, are we really going away? I do not want to leave."

Gregory leaned down to the child. "Yes, son. Your Mother and I decided it is best for the four of us to leave. For now, England is not a safe place for you and your brother."

"But we are going to visit someday, right?"

The father nodded. "When things settle down, we will."

Gregory and Elizabeth continued inside the mansion, leaving the two boys behind. The taller boy turned to his brother, who looked much younger and was wearing a matching outfit but in green, standing still where the carriage was before it rode off.

"Come along, Demetrius," the kid in the gold suit said. "Let's get inside and pack our things."

That's Demetrius? But how? This memory looks like it happened in the 1800s or something.

Little Demetrius looked down, shifting the weight of his feet. "But I do not want to leave England, Elias. I want us to stay here."

The gold boy, Elias, walked over to his brother and patted his shoulder. "I want to stay here too, but Father wants us to be in a better place. It will be great there, I'm sure of it."

Demetrius looked up. "But it's a bad idea, brother. I feel it. There is something that's telling me we should stay here."

Elias crossed his arms. "Don't tell me it's one of your 'visions of the future' again, Demetrius. Mother and Father will get mad if they know you're making up things like this. They will think you got possessed by the devil or something."

He shook his head. "No, I swear it's not fake this time! You've got to believe me!"

His brother grabbed his wrist and began dragging him into the mansion. "Come on now, brother. Enough with your petty jokes, they are waiting for us inside."

As he was pulled away, little Demetrius only sighed heavily and turned his gaze to my direction. For a split second, his eyes widened like he saw a ghost.

Did. . . did he see me? No, that can't be. This is just a memory, he is a memory. There's no way he spotted me, right?

Right?

He tapped on his brother's back. "Elias, there's someo—"

"Shut it, Demetrius," Elias snapped. "I don't want to hear anymore."

When they were out of sight, I blew out a sigh of relief.

That was a close call. Kind of. I don't know what I would do if little Demetrius ever saw me.

I slowly crept away from my hiding place and into the open, glancing around to check if anyone else was nearby.

No one. That's good.

I continued walking until I paused just as my foot took a step at the edge of the gravel path. Instead of oak doors, the entrance to the mansion was replaced by a familiar glowing doorway.

A path to another memory? Okay then. . .

Without a moment's hesitation, I headed for the portal and got pulled in as soon as I came close.

This time, my feet landed on a sleek, wooden surface. As I roamed my gaze around, I noticed that I was in a room that didn't look like one from Demetrius's mansion. The space wasn't that big and it didn't have the same wealthy vibe to it. At the far side of the room were two people standing beside a bed, their heads hung low as if mourning.

Is. . . somebody dead?

My footsteps became lighter as I slowly walked my way to the bed so I could get a closer look.

There, an elderly man laid down on the bed, his face and arms the only things that weren't covered under thin white sheets.

He reached his wrinkly hand to the two men beside him. "Elias. . . D-Demetrius. . ."

Elias? Demetrius? But they're much. . . older now. Did I somehow get into a memory years after the one I was in the mansion?

"Father, save your strength," one of them said, his voice much deeper than when I last heard it. "Don't worry. The doctor will arrive soon, and y-you will be healed."

The man, whom I assumed was Gregory, coughed. "There is. . . nothing that could save me now, Elias. This illness has taken over me, and my age does not help with the case."

"Stop saying nonsense, Father." Elias held his father's hand. "This will come to pass, and you will live. You will not leave us just like Mother did."

"Elias. . . Father's right." Middle-aged Demetrius sighed, patting his brother's shoulder. "He's. . . He's not going to make it, I'm sorry."

Elias shrugged his hand off, facing him with a cold stare. "I can't believe you'd say such a thing! How could you lose hope just like that?"

"What's the point of losing hope when there's not even one in the first place?" Demetrius retorted. "I've warned you about this back when we were children, but you just ignored me."

"How could I know? We were kids!" Elias shouted. "You often enjoyed making up. . . whimsical stories that I never knew which were true or not!"

"Stop. . . fighting. . ." Gregory said, his voice raspy. "I don't want my sons arguing on my deathbed over something that will eventually happen. I want the both of you to promise me. . . you will take care of each other when I'm gone."

"Y-Yes, Father," Elias said while Demetrius nodded.

Gregory smiled weakly, his eyes glossing over. "Good. I. . . am grateful for you two."

With a last breath, the man closed his eyes, never to open up again.

A somber silence enveloped the room like thick smoke. It was suffocating, unbearable, and. . . dangerous. None of the brothers spoke as they stared at their lifeless father. Suddenly, Elias clenched his fists and stomped out of the room, his face turned away from my sight.

Demetrius sighed. He reached his hand to one of his father's blankets and pulled it over him, covering his arms and face completely.

"I'm sorry, Father," he whispered. "I wish I could have told you sooner about. . . my skill of discerning the future, then our family wouldn't have to suffer like this." He paused. "I don't care if I was labeled as a maniac or a witch, I only want you and Mother to be still alive. I. . . I will stay true to your last wish. I will do anything to make you proud, I will continue your legacy even if I have to."

His hands began shaking by his sides. "But. . . If you only knew of who I really was—the person I was told to become, the acts I had to commit in the past—would you still call me your son? Would you still. . . let me call you Father?"

Silence.

Sighing, he clenched his fists. "Goodbye."

Putting his hands into his pockets, Demetrius swiftly turned around and walked away to the door. As soon as he stepped outside, a bright glow lined the doorway and the rectangular door was replaced by an arched one. Light burst forth from it, making me shield my eyes.

The moment the brightness died out, I took a deep breath and hurried to the magic door, sucking me in.

I stumbled as the portal pushed me out, almost tripping on my feet. I looked up and gazed at the vast land in front of me. Plain grass covered the ground like a carpet, with a few bushes dotting the area. Clouds rolled on the sky, blocking some of the sun's rays above. From a distance, I spotted a bunch of people moving around.

Where— no, when did I get into this time?

Buff men were digging on the ground with shovels, pushing around rocks and logs, and carrying loads of lumber. Some other man barked orders to the workers from a nearby tent. Unlike the others who were in dirty clothes, this guy was in formal wear, complete with suit and all, suggesting that he was someone important.

My eyes narrowed at the construction site in front of me. I wonder what they were building. . .

I strolled to the tent, whereas I drew close, I saw two more people in the tent talking to each other. Even though them seeing me was unlikely, I kept some distance from them, just enough so their conversation was within my earshot.

"I'm glad you have finally considered my assistance," one of them, a man with round glasses, said. "This project will surely be successful with my help."

"Of course," the other man, who wore a top hat, said. For some reason, his voice and his figure looked familiar. "I'd like to invest in something that's. . . beneficial for me and the society. It's the least I could do to help with everything that's happening right now."

The spectacled man nodded. "Yes, so generous of you." He took out an antique watch from his breast pocket. "Oh, will you look at the time. I better get going now, I have to meet another client in an hour."

"Alright. Thank you for your time, Albert."

The man called Albert grabbed his suitcase from the table beside them and left the tent. A moment passed and the man put his hands on the table, sighing. His head tilted slightly as if staring at something on the table. He began muttering words under his breath but I couldn't hear them well enough. He sighed again and headed to the man who was shouting orders from earlier.

When I thought no one was looking, I crept up to the tent. A couple of chairs stood near a smaller table with food and a tank filled with water. I walked to the larger table and saw a few blueprints scattered around. I couldn't make much sense of the various sketches but it seemed that whatever they were building was not one building, but a bunch of them. The layout of the whole thing was basically a wide compound of different-sized infrastructure and stuff.

I searched the files for the project's name. It didn't take long before I found it on one of the larger blueprints. It was written in elegant cursive, but the words were as clear to me as day.

Kingston Preparatory Academy. That was the name of the project.

Right then and there, I realized why Demetrius Kingston's name was familiar, other than him being my 'father' that he claimed that he was.

He was the Demetrius Kingston who founded the old school where Olympian High now stood. He was the man whom Pierre and I read about in the library, the one whom Isaac Kingston talked about in his book.

He was the one who was painted on the hidden paper on the book's spine with a coded message under it.

My breath hitched as another thing dawned upon me. Time waits for him and him alone. . .

That Latin phrase, it was talking about him. It was talking about the time powers that he had and used.

Demetrius Kingston has been alive for more than 400 years.