[Looking through my laptop and I found this little blurb I wrote in between Changes and A Stupid Bet. I wrote it during this thing I did with one of my sisters, where we got a prompt and had five minutes to write a story with it, so some of it's kinda sloppy. After some consideration, I've decided to upload it as is.]

"I want to turn back the clock to before all this happened. Before Halla and Dane and the war and any of it."

Bobby heard the words leaving his mouth, and almost didn't realize what he was saying. He wanted to reverse… everything? To go back to being a normal teenager with no bigger problems than whether Courtney Chetwynde liked him? Was that really what he wanted to do?

Press raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Are you sure, Bobby? A lot's happened in the past few years. You're not the same child you were then."

"I know," the teen responded. "But… I feel like I've missed something. Like there was so much more that I could have done. And…" He avoided his uncle's gaze, looking out instead at the rejuvenated splendor of Solara as his memory flashed back to the beach and the events he hadn't told his teammates. "I feel like if I don't put everything back, then I won't ever forget what happened."

"About the war?" Press asked.

The Traveler nodded hesitantly. "That's part of it. But there's also… him."

Press was silent for a moment. "What happened, Bobby? On Ibara?"

Bobby looked back at the godlike man. "Don't you know already? You were watching everything, weren't you?"

"I was. But something happened there. Something I couldn't explain."

He knew what Press meant. It was hard enough for Bobby to fathom, and he had been there. "I don't think I can really explain it. It's like… when I think about how I felt, my chest gets all tight and I want to just sit down and cry." Even as he spoke, he could feel the tightness returning, the sharp pang that four years ago he wouldn't have been able to identify: loss. He sighed, his conflicted mind flashing images of the burning Ravinian Third Earth that almost was. "Did I do the right thing? I mean, I know I needed to stop him, but… he asked me to save him. He begged. And I just let him die."

Press was silent. Placing a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder, he muttered. "I wish I could answer that. He needed to be stopped, and I'm not sure we could have saved him at that point. He was too far gone from what he once was." He reached into his jacket, producing a folded scrap of paper. "There's… something you need to see. Before you decide anything at all."

Bobby took the paper, recognizing its texture and style immediately: Ibara. This was the paper he'd used on Ibara. Unfolding it, he saw handwriting far different from his own, each letter carefully written in a smooth, even script. It was a letter—and it was addressed to Bobby Pendragon.

He read every word as quickly as he could, barely noticing as he dropped to the ground, tears running down his face. He could tell who had written it even before he read the name inscribed on the bottom, could almost hear his enemy's voice reciting the words.

His uncle's face was blank, revealing nothing of what he was thinking. "He left it with your journals. It seems he wanted to confess. I didn't think I could have showed it to you then; you wouldn't have been able to finish the war."

Through ragged breaths, Bobby managed to shakenly reply, "No, I wouldn't have been able to finish it. I could have ended it. I could have talked to him, tried to get him to see reason." He looked up at Press with bloodshot eyes, sadness morphing quickly into anger. "I could have saved him."