The legend starts at one end of the hall, with an image of Chronos and Ananke joining together—just water and wind in a cold, stark universe. Their union was full of conflict. Time and Inevitability couldn’t seem to get along, and the universe eventually erupted in fire, giving birth to Chaos. The painting moves through time as it crosses the dome, to the birth of our world. Gaia’s image hovers over the highest point in the room. Dressed only in leaves and flowers, she’s standing in the ashes of Chronos and Ananke’s fiery union. Our elemental magic exploded from Chaos, and Gaia harnessed that magic to create the first Seasons.

I stand under the final image of Chronos and Ananke. Parts of the painting have broken away, but the end of the story is there, exactly the way I remember it. Their outstretched arms encircle Gaia and her offspring, controlling Chaos, their balance keeping it in check. But had they really ever been the ones controlling it? Or had Gaia been the one to bring balance to the universe—to keep the fragile peace between them?

. . . all that power should be wreaking havoc inside him. If part of me wasn’t in there, he’d probably explode. . . .

Chronos’s painted scythe curves toward me. He holds Ananke’s hand, but the expanse of dark matter between them—the chaotic cosmic soup that was the origin of the Seasons—is gone, the plaster cracked and smashed on the floor.

“I’m here, Professor,” I whisper. “I’m at the beginning, seeking answers. What are you trying to tell me?” I nudge aside a piece of rubble with my foot. “Is this it? Is this what we’ve started? The end of the world?” Doug took Time and Inevitability and trapped them together inside him. He’s the very embodiment of their union. Is he the harbinger of Chaos? The beginning and the end of the universe? Is it only a matter of time before he explodes? If I do manage to free Fleur, what happens to the world? How do we save the magic and start over?

The crow, perched on a mound of rubble, caws and flaps her wings. I shush her, but she squawks violently and pecks at a brightly colored piece of plaster. The flame dances as I move toward her. She settles as I rest the torch against the wall and begin pulling chunks of the fresco from the debris. A painted arm. Gaia’s hands. Earth, water, wind, and fire.

A huge slab slides to the floor, revealing a face when the dust settles. A snake curls around Ananke’s neck. Her two diamond eyes gaze up at me, one of them dull and flat. The other seems to wink in the torchlight.