Chapter Forty-Nine

The Year 482

Maxwell England didn’t know what he was going, and if he even needed to do this at all. But he did know one thing; fate was in his hands now. What he would do won’t change the outcome anyway - after all, the only person who could change the future, even a little, was Ryan England, Maxwell’s very own descendant. Because Alton, the Spirit of Time, chose him. Maxwell scrunched his nose at the thought - why couldn’t Alton choose Maxwell instead?

Well, maybe it was related to the fact that Maxwell and Alton didn’t get along. Or, more likely, Alton didn’t like Maxwell. The Spirit claimed there was evil in Maxwell. As if. It was just a poor excuse for his dislike. But Maxwell was used to it from people - even Magnus, his best friend, thought he was a snotty snob in the beginning.

But now, Maxwell was about to do something that was supposed to bring good to the world, not bad. And true, Maxwell was sometimes a hard-headed man, but most of the time he was fine. Or so he hoped.

He stared at the six-year-old boy who was sitting on the church’s stairs, hugging himself, and sighed. It’s time.

The boy raised his head at once when he saw Maxwell drawing closer. His green eyes widened in surprise, as if he didn’t expect to see someone like Maxwell. He got this type of reaction a lot throughout the centuries he’d been living - he’d been told more than once that he had an aristocratic kind of beauty. What they didn’t know was that he actually was an aristocrat, and descendant to the England family - the most ancient British bloodline. Of course, the girls took notice to him thanks to his high stand, because of his “beauty”.

Maxwell didn’t think he was pretty, but after years of being told he was, he had no choice but believing it.

“Brock Ray,” Maxwell said now, shaking the thoughts off. “I came to pick you up.”

Brock stared at Maxwell with an unfathomable expression. “Who are you?” he asked quite evenly. “And why do you want to take me away?”

“Because I want to help you,” Maxwell crouches so he was eye-level with the boy. “And because you know you need help. Your parents aren’t with us anymore, are they?”

The kid’s lips pursed. “Who are you?” he whispered, vulnerable.

Maxwell offered him his hand, and smiled his most comforting smile before saying, “You can call me England.” Maxwell hated being called by his first name.

“England…” Brock looked at him, and Maxwell saw a spark of hope in his green eyes.

“Let me help you, Brock,” he whispered. “You’re not alone.”

Brock hesitated, but eventually, he put his hand in Maxwell’s. Maxwell stifled a sigh of relief, and instead made Alton act. Alton murmured something about how he didn’t want to do this, but did as told once Maxwell closed his eyes, taking with him the boy to the year 2000. There, he brought the boy to one of the orphanages, using his random intuition, and after he filled all the forms, he got out of there and traveled to the year 1990, to the Seer who Saw disaster.

When he reached her, Vermillion raised her brown eyes, her black hair blowing around her. “Ah,” she muttered. “You did as I said.”

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” Maxwell folded his arms. “You said this is what Destiny wanted me to do.”

Vermillion nodded. “And a good thing you listened to her, Maxwell.”

Vermillion was the only person in the world who could call Maxwell by his first name without him killing her. “Now we only need to wait until he reaches puberty,” Maxwell murmured, “and his Spirit awakens.”

She nodded and sighed heavily. “Now, I need you to take care of one more thing. A thing called Rosangela.”

Maxwell arched an eyebrow. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

Vermillion put down the pot she was holding and leaned against the marble wall in her small kitchen. “I need you to go to the New Year’s Ball which takes place in the year 2019. There, I want you to check with Alton what’s the state of her Spirit, and if she has some sort of control over her abilities. This way we can measure correctly what would happen.”

Maxwell, exhausted from all the time-traveling he’d done today, sagged into one of the chairs. “Can’t it wait?” he asked, voice tired.

“We don’t have the time to wait, Maxwell,” Vermillion said, her voice sad, “because unfortunately, the apocalypse doesn’t wait.”

And so Maxwell found himself wearing an elegant green suite, and time-traveled to some New Year’s ball in the year 2013. He found Rosangela Martinelli Wayne there, the Spirit of Chaos, standing next to the table of drinks, her red dress hugging her figure nicely, her ginger hair bright, and her golden eyes planted on the floor in thoughts.

And when Maxwell drew close to her, offered her to dance and she agreed, he’d done as Vermillion requested. And a moment before the mansions crumbled to pieces because of Rosangela’s might powers, he was gone, traveling back to the 19th century, where he loved spending his time at.

Seven years later

“Rosa…”

Rosangela, who was deeply hurt, stared at Brock, who was still caged under the burning car, and stretched her hand toward him. “Brock!” she yelled. “No!”

But Brock only smiled limply, as though telling her there was nothing else to do, and the car blew up.

Maxwell sighed while he entered the fire. The perks of being able to travel time was that he couldn’t be hurt in any way in the times he didn’t live in. He was born in the year 1500, and was murdered in the year 1900, according to Vermillion. Meaning, in the timeline he was alive he could gain a lot more things than most people could ever imagine.

More things than even John England, the first Spirit of Times, could’ve gained. The thought made Maxwell smile as he paved his way through the many flames. He reached where Brock’s body was, scorched and almost dead, and took it with him to the year 1879, the year when Magnus was born, and the year he needed to find Ruby Pond.

While holding the almost-dead boy in his arms, he ran through the quiet, dark streets of Vienna, Austria. There he reach some park, where Ruby Pond, the one and only, the Spirit of Nature and Life, who was born in the year 1854 which had the greatest percentage of childbirth in history.

“Ruby,” Maxwell sat next to the redhead woman.

She raised her blue eyes to him. “England,” she murmured, blushing a little and looking down. She was always shy, Ruby was, but Maxwell loved her like that.

“I need you to revive this child,” he requested kindly, “otherwise he would die, and he can’t die.”

Ruby sent him a hesitant look. “Charlie told me to never revive anyone, because it wouldn’t be natural,” she whispered.

“But I’m asking nicely,” Maxwell smiled the smile that had captured an endless number of girls, and didn’t fail this time as well. Ruby’s face resembled her hair, and she raised her hand to Brock Ray’s burnt body, closed her eyes, and light streamed out of her palms. Maxwell sighed - he always liked feeling the powers of healing. They always gave off this divine, calming feeling.

The burnt marks disappeared from the tiny body in his arms, and when he was completely healed, Ruby sighed, exhausted. “Thank you,” he whispered to her, while cuddling Brock in his arms.

But two minute, two fateful minutes later, in which Ruby went on her way and Maxwell remained with the boy in his arms, something bad happened.

Brock’s eyes opened, and instead of their green color, they were black. Darkness started crawling around him, and before Maxwell could act, he was pushed back while Brock disappeared, a murderous, unnatural look on his face, and darkness rested over Vienna.

Maxwell cursed. “The Spirit of Darkness, Donovan,” he sighed raggedly. “I was too late.”

1994

Two men and a four-year-old werewolf stared at the baby in Ryan England’s hands. Between the three, Ryan was the least stunned from seeing a little baby - Magnus, his best friend, stared at the baby girl with a mouth open in wonder, his handsome face softening when the baby moved in his arms. Bastien, the little boy, seemed even more stunned than Magnus, his round, little face staring at the small creature in shock, as though he’d never seen such a tiny thing, so fragile and gentle. “She’s beautiful,” Ryan said, his voice raspy from him emotions.

Magnus closed his mouth and turned to look at him with sympathy. “She reminds you of Lucy,” it wasn’t a question.

Ryan didn’t show it, but inside him he flinched. Lucy was his and Emily, his late wife’s daughter. Lucy died when she was three because of an illness, and Emily not much later. Ryan was left alone, but instead of growing weak, he only grew stronger. In addition, he had Magnus, his good friend and the Spirit of Electricity. To support him, three years ago they adopted Bastien, a wolf who lost both his parents, and was just the kind of wolf they’d been looking for - a healer.

“Uncle Ryan,” Bastien’s small voice returned him to reality. “What’s this?” he pointed at the baby.

“This is a baby, Bas,” Ryan explained patiently, smiling softly. He’d always loved kids, and when Lucy was born, there wasn’t a father who was happier than him. But was in the past, remained in the past - as Ryan realized the hard way when he tried to prevent Lucy and Emily’s death, but was forced to accept that no matter what he would do, their fate would forever remain the same.

Even Destiny had some boundaries one couldn’t cross.

“How did her mother respond?” Magnus asked, who also had a soft spot for kids like Ryan - this was one of the reasons they got along so well. Even though Magnus didn’t want kids for himself - he claimed settling down was not his thing, because of him being immortal and it would be pointless. Ryan couldn’t argue with this logic, especially not after what happened in his past.

“Not very good,” Ryan said sadly, “she didn’t understand it was for Rosa’s own good. If she stayed in the past…”

“Evander would’ve gotten her,” Magnus said, frowning.

Ryan heard Alton murmuring something in his head that sounded like, How lucky I was to get rid of Maxwell and choose a smart head for a change…

A bitter smile spread over Ryan’s face. “Alton doesn’t like England,” he told Magnus, and saw his friend smiling as well.

“From what Engie always said, Alton consistently called him Maxwell to piss him off,” Magnus said quietly. Maxwell England, one of Ryan’s ancestors, hated to be called by his first name. Even Ryan, when talked about him, called him England out of respect.

Respect that idiot doesn’t deserve, Alton muttered.

Ryan didn’t bother to respond, and instead took the baby in his arms toward the car that waited outside. Magnus got into the passenger seat, pulling little Bastien on his lap and taking Rosa from Ryan. The baby didn’t cry but let out a soft sob. “Hold her tight, Mag,” Ryan warned when he got into the driver seat and turned the car on.

“I didn’t think doing otherwise,” Magnus sent him an annoyed look. “After all, she’s my sister, if you need to be reminded.”

Ryan nodded and let the black car fly over the road. Ryan felt his heart squeezing with every moment that passed, well aware that time was running out and Destiny was waiting just around the corner.

Don’t be John, Ryan, Alton murmured. You don’t need to feel guilt about everything you do. You choose the right ways. Be proud of that.

Ryan knew the last thing he needed was support from Alton, but he took it gratefully this time, aware he needed this encouragement. Because Ryan’s worst fear was choosing wrong.

But even he knew that no good fate would have waited for Rosangela Martinelli Wayne somewhere in Venezia of the 18th century, where she was born and, according to Vermillion, was supposed to die.