The sun greeted me this morning, a familiar sight, but today it bathed an ever-so-slightly different Plateau. I've returned home from my travels only to find that things aren't quite as I left them. The landscape had changed. Trees are in different places, paths seem to go in new directions, and even the air smells a bit different. It's like coming back home and finding your room's been rearranged. My friends have their own strange tales to tell too.
Challenger's strange beetle - Arthur the beetle - initially dismissed as just another peculiar specimen, revealed itself to be a biomechanical organism harboring a hidden map. This surprising discovery led us on a journey to Avalon, where Veronica's mother, Abigail, awaited.
To our astonishment, in Avalon, we found Arthur Summerlee, alive and well, adding yet another layer of wonder.
I watch my friends as they sit quietly around the large table. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but rather a testament to the bond we share. Each of us is lost in our thoughts, processing the myriad of experiences we've encountered together. Every now and then, a brief exchange of glances tells a story of mutual understanding, of shared trials and triumphs.
Veronica is radiating an aura I hadn't witnessed before. There is an ethereal glow about her, her presence powerful and commanding. I'd missed her terribly. Silently, I made a promise to myself that after this, we will never be separated again.
As my eyes drift over to Challenger, I see a man who's always seemed larger than life, now looking as if he's carrying the weight of ages on his shoulders. I can't begin to fathom the terror of nearly having one's brain harvested by future robots, but if anyone can integrate such an experience into his scientific worldview, it's Challenger. The wrinkles on his forehead seem to have deepened, not from age but from a profound, almost mystical, encounter with time and existence itself.
Then there's Roxton, still with that adventurer's gleam in his eye, but there's something different about him. Being nearly executed in the 16th century would change anyone, but he appears more measured now, perhaps humbled by the enormity of time and fate. His ancestral connection with Captain John Roxton seems to have added layers to his identity, making him more introspective.
Marguerite is an enigma as always, but the air around her has changed—it's more somber, laced with an ancient mystique. She also had a close brush with death, saved only by a sacrificial act of her ancestor Morrighan. It seems to have left her grappling with questions that transcend life and death.
Here we are now, resting and reflecting, patiently waiting for Abigail to spill the details of our story, filling the gaps with missing information and untold tales.
- Edward T. Malone