The road was nothing more than a winding dirt path through Sindh's barren landscape, with dust swirling behind the tires as Arion drove toward their destination. The low sun cast long shadows over dry hills, and the air carried the scent of earth and distant woodsmoke. The town was just a scattering of old buildings, roadside tea and cigarette stalls, and the occasional wandering goat—remote, isolated, perfect.

  In time, a large, aging house with weathered walls and a corrugated metal roof appeared at the foot of the hills. Despite showing signs of wear, it stood firm. Julia eyed the rusted gate bearing a faded sign: "GO AWAY."

  "Welcoming," she muttered.

  Arion smirked. "He’s quite the host."

  "Is this your friend?" she asked.

  "The very one." Arion replied.

  Julia's skepticism was clear, but before she could press further, Arion added seriously, "Listen, whatever you do, don't refuse his tea."

  "His tea?" she echoed.

  "He takes it personally. Just drink it—it will be very sweet and creamy. Go with it."

  Julia raised an eyebrow. "How sweet?"

  "Think sugar with a hint of tea."

  "Great," she sighed.

  Arion grinned, opened the car door, and said, "Come on, let’s hope this isn’t a complete waste of time."

  They stepped into the dry afternoon, the wind carrying scents of old wood and distant fires. Arion approached the gate and rang the doorbell.

  A gruff voice called, "Who is it?" Heavy footsteps and muttering followed until the creaking door revealed a large dark-skinned man with a dramatic moustache, and a distinctive mole on his right cheek. Though solidly built, his squint made him seem older than he was.

  "Who are you, and what do you want at this hour?" he demanded.

  "It’s me, Arion... and it’s not that late." Arion replied casually as he got closer.

  The man squinted harder. "Arion… Faris?" A flicker of surprise crossed his face before a half-smirk emerged. "Oh, Arion… never thought I’d see you again."

  He nonchalantly revealed a hidden shotgun before locking it away like a walking stick, then grinned broadly and pulled Arion into a bear hug that nearly knocked him down. "How have you been, my old friend?"

  After releasing Arion, he turned to Julia. "Oh? And who’s the lady?"

  "Julia Carter," she said, extending her hand.

  He shook it firmly. "Well, hello, Miss Carter. Welcome to my-uh… home," he said, gesturing at the overgrown yard with weeds and a leaning, broken chair.

  Ismail waved them inside. The house inside was as neglected as its entrance; old newspapers, plates and random items cluttered worn furniture. The air smelled of spice, aged wood, and a hint of tobacco.

  "Not many visitors these days. Please, sit!" Ismail said as he tidied up the space. After a brief moment, he clapped his hands and added, "Give me a minute, I’ll make some tea!"

  Arion sighed. "No need, Ismail. We’re here for something important. Time is short."

  Ignoring him, Ismail headed to the stove. "Yes, yes, I know you’ve been dreaming of my tea since... when was it?" he called over his shoulder.

  Arion exchanged a look with Julia and murmured, "I tried." Resigned, he got up to follow him to the adjoining kitchen. Arion remarked, "It’s been about twenty-some years if I’m not mistaken," to which Ismail replied, "Well, you haven't aged a day... except for a few gray hairs."

  Julia lingered just outside, listening to their conversation over the clatter of kettles and the hiss of gas. She moved towards between the living area and the kitchen, a wall decorated with medals and framed photos caught her eye. A young Ismail in full military uniform stared back at her through the glass.

  "Whoa, I didn’t know you served in the army," she exclaimed.

  "SSG Maroon Berets! Best sniper of my batch!" Ismail boomed with pride, from the kitchen.

  Julia smirked as she continued along the wall, lightly touching the edges of the frames as medals gleamed dimly. Meanwhile, she overheard Arion and Ismail bickering in the kitchen.

  "Let me add the sugar," Arion insisted.

  "You wouldn’t know how—hand it over. That is the special sauce," Ismail shot back.

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  Julia smiled quietly, noting the absence of any feminine decor—just a house filled with memories of a solitary life.

  Soon, Ismail returned carrying a tray with three cups of thick, creamy tea, Arion trailing behind, unimpressed. Ismail set the tray down and asked as he sat down, "So, Ms. Julia, what do you do?"

  "I'm an archaeologist," she replied professionally.

  "An archaeologist? Here?" Ismail blinked in surprise.

  Arion shot him a pointed look. "Not following much news lately, have you?"

  Ismail waved dismissively. "Eh, it’s all fear-mongering these days."

  Arion sipped his tea. "The excavation of Mohenjo Daro has been the talk of the town for a month."

  Ismail lifted his cup, taking a long, exaggerated slurp. Then, mid-sip, his expression shifted. He lowered the cup slightly, his gaze snapping to Arion. "Wait... your Mohen-jo Daro?"

  Arion nodded.

  Ismail’s brows shot up. His hand lowered the cup, his whole demeanor subtly changing. The light-heartedness faded, replaced by a focused intensity.

  “Well, tell me more. Did you find it?” Ismail asked, setting his tea on the table and leaning in, his attention now locked on Arion.

  “Yes,” Arion answered, rolled up his sleeve to reveal the custodian gauntlet, its intricate, ancient symbols glowing a soft blue. “Thanks to Julia’s excavations, we have it. I can access its flow again, Ismail.”

  Ismail’s eyes widened, his voice dropping a notch. “Show me the thing, damn it,” he said, his tone no longer playful.

  Arion pulled the fragment from his jacket, meeting Julia’s gaze. She raised an eyebrow, but he nodded at her, and she carefully retrieved her own piece of the crystal from the bag she’d been clutching.

  As soon as both fragments were placed on the table, they began to hum.

  “Magnificent!” Ismail said as he looked at both parts of the aether on the table.

  The glow from the crystal pieces seemingly intensified with each passing second, pulsing rhythmically. Both Arion and Julia felt the strange energy ripple through the air as the pieces resonated in close proximity. The hum deepened, its subtle vibration rippling the tea in Ismail’s cup.

  Ismail leaned forward, his face inches from the table where both pieces now lay. “Not that I didn’t trust your story, Arion… but seeing it like this, right in front of my eyes… It’s still hard to believe.”

  Then, without warning, the hum grew louder, as the whole table vibrated and in a split second both pieces slammed together with a sudden force, as if magnetized.

  Ismail flinched, as the jagged edges met right where they had broken apart, and deep within, new bonds began to form. A steady blue glow radiated from the center, pulsing as if the two parts of the Aether were slowly stitching itself back together. The table vibrated beneath the force of the process.

  Ismail silently stared at the crystal, his mouth slightly opened. Arion and Julia both leaned in closer as well, entranced by the sight unfolding before them.

  “Is it… connecting to itself?” Julia asked, her voice tinged with awe. “Like it’s healing itself,” Arion murmured, equally captivated by the sight. He couldn’t take his eyes off the mesmerizing process.

  Suddenly, his expression shifted, the weight of realization hitting him. His face grew serious, and he turned to Ismail. “I need to find everything on the man named Thomas Curl,” he said, his voice low, carrying an urgency that went beyond the mere request.

  Ismail squinted at him, brow furrowing. "Who's that?"

  "Not what he pretends to be," Arion replied, his tone guarded. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "It's Theron."

  The realization clicked almost immediately. Ismail leaned back, his hands lifting in disbelief. "Therrron? The Red King from your story you told me about? He made it here as well?"

  "Apparently so," Arion said, his eyes hardening.

  Ismail paused, his mind racing. "How come you never told me that?"

  "Because I didn’t know either. Not until two days ago, when he caught us by surprise.” Arion said.

  Arion paused for a moment, thinking, then he started, “He wasn’t there when I made my way to this reality.”

  "Maybe he ended up in a different location?” Julia quickly suggested. “Or perhaps a delay in the time-jump?"

  Arion sighed, "Possible."

  Ismail rubbed his temples, frustration etched across his face. His face scrunched in irritation. "Well, did he know you were here too the whole time?"

  Arion gave a quiet shake of his head. "Judging from his surprise, I don’t think so."

  Ismail sighed heavily. "Hmm... blessing in disguise, I guess? So, this Thomas Curl character, that’s the identity he’s been running with in his ‘new life,’ you say?"

  Julia nodded, adding, "And somehow, he's a billionaire with no paper trail. He’s made all the important connections... and to cut the story short, he's looking for us." She took a sip of the tea, and as it hit her tongue, a burst of sweetness exploded across her palate. She set the cup down quickly, surprised by the unexpected intensity of the flavor. It was a brief, but distracting moment. She regained her composure, trying not to let it throw her off track.

  Ismail’s eyes flickered, and he snorted lightly. "Well, he’s welcome to come here if the bastard has the balls."

  Arion's jaw tightened and for a moment he didn’t look at either of them. “We need to dig into his past.” Arion’s voice carried urgency. “We need access to your newspaper records… assuming you didn’t discard them?"

  Ismail’s eyes softened as Arion spoke. He stood slowly, glancing over his shoulder. "Of course I still have them. Come, follow me!"

  Julia and Arion trailed behind as Ismail rummaged through a cupboard, muttering under his breath while searching for a set of keys. After a moment, he found them and strode toward the back of the house, unlocking a door that led into the open-air backyard.

  Beyond the yard stood a large shed, its wooden walls weathered by time, sunlight slipping through cracks in the shade above. Ismail crossed the yard and inserted the key into a heavy lock, the metal clanking as he turned it.

  The door creaked as Ismail pushed it open. A flick of the switch, and the overhead light sputtered to life, revealing an overwhelming sea of newspapers stacked high—yellowed and curling at the edges. The musty scent of dust and ink filled the air, as if the years themselves were trapped within the brittle paper.

  Julia scanned the endless stacks. She couldn’t help but ask, "Ismail... why do you have all these records? They look... well, they look like they’ve been here for decades."

  Ismail met her gaze, unfazed, before gesturing broadly to the room. "My father kept every issue from the '40s until he passed. I never really had any use for them, so they just... sat here."

  Julia hesitated, staring at the towering stacks, the weight of history pressing in on her. "How are we ever going to go through all of this?"

  Arion glanced at the records, then turned to Julia. "We start from the year Dale's excavations began."

  "Of course! Nineteen Sixty Four!" Julia’s eyes lit up with the sudden realization.

  Ismail nodded; his voice gruff. "Here, follow me." He led them toward the section marked with 1964, the weight of history seeming to follow them step by step.

  ***