A fortnight had passed since Jack journeyed to 1825. I found myself gradually adapting to my duties as lighthouse keeper—daily apparatus inspections, illuminating the beacon at prescribed intervals, recording weather and sea conditions, maintaining the myriad mechanical contrivances. This lighthouse proved far more intricate than I had imagined, filled with elaborate gears, prismatic lenses, and various ingenious improvements Jack had meticulously engineered.
The townsfolk whispered ceaselessly about Jack's sudden "disappearance" and my assumption of lighthouse keeper responsibilities. Mayor Clark evidently maintained rigid silence regarding the extraordinary events that had transpired in the lighthouse that night, officially announcing merely that Jack Howard had departed Fog Point due to personal circumstances, and that I, as his cousin, would temporarily oversee the lighthouse. This explanation, though it elicited certain suspicious glances, at least afforded me a modicum of respite.
Margaret numbered among the few privy to a portion of the truth. On the third day following Jack's disappearance, she visited the lighthouse, and we conversed for hours. I revealed to her that Jack had safely arrived in 1825 and was presumably working alongside Arthur Howard. Though this explanation seemed fantastical, Margaret appeared remarkably unsurprised.
"I've always sensed Jack possessed a peculiar connection with this lighthouse, beyond ordinary comprehension," she remarked. "And since your arrival, I've harboured a presentiment that everything was poised for transformation."
Margaret became my steadfast ally and conduit to the town, assisting me in procuring supplies and managing interactions with curious townspeople. She even commenced learning rudimentary lighthouse maintenance to render assistance when necessary.
Meanwhile, Jack and I maintained intermittent contact through the pocket watch. The messages, though brief and limited, each brought me immeasurable solace. He informed me he had been accepted by Arthur Howard as "distant cousin Joseph" and had begun acquainting himself with the customs of 1825 and lighthouse technology of that era. Despite confronting numerous challenges, he appeared to be adapting to his new temporal circumstance.
However, just as everything seemed to progress favourably, the first ominous portent manifested.
It was an uncommonly tranquil night, devoid of wind or waves, the sea's surface smooth as polished glass. I was recording entries in the logbook atop the lighthouse when I observed something peculiar about the reflection of the lighthouse beam upon the water. Ordinarily, the beam formed a straight line across the water, but that night, the reflected light began to curve, forming a strange circular pattern, as if some underwater force was distorting the light.
I immediately examined the lamp, yet everything functioned properly. This phenomenon utterly contravened the laws of physics. When I scrutinised the area through a telescope, I discovered the seawater there emitted a faint azure luminescence, reminiscent of the time rift's energy.
More disquieting still, during this anomaly, my pocket watch grew unnaturally cold, its hands rotating wildly. Minutes later, words materialised upon its surface:
"Ella, are anomalies manifesting there as well? The temporal juncture here grows increasingly unstable. Records from 21 September 1826 mention similar phenomena preceding the lighthouse accident. Remain vigilant. —J"
I promptly confirmed the anomalies and vowed to intensify my vigilance. This incident illuminated a sobering reality: although we had altered Jack's fate, the lighthouse accident chronicled in historical records might still occur in some form. Time appeared to possess a self-correcting tendency, endeavouring to preserve the trajectory of significant events.
In the ensuing days, more extraordinary phenomena began to manifest. Frost formed upon the lighthouse windows despite the clement weather outside; gear mechanisms occasionally operated in reverse for brief intervals; at times, I discerned echoing footfalls and whispers, though I remained the lighthouse's sole occupant.
The third harbinger arrived from town. Margaret conveyed intelligence that fishermen had reported "cold spots" in the sea—regions where water temperature plummeted suddenly, entirely shunned by marine life. More disquieting still, these cold spots formed a perfect circle precisely encompassing the small island upon which the lighthouse stood.
"The fishermen are thoroughly alarmed," Margaret informed me. "They consider it an ill omen. The elder generation recalls similar phenomena preceding the lighthouse incident of 1826."
I consulted materials Jack had bequeathed and discovered that Arthur Howard's journal indeed documented similar anomalies: cold spots in the sea, aberrant lighthouse equipment operation, inexplicable sounds and luminous phenomena. All these presaged the lighthouse accident that irrevocably altered the Howard family's destiny.
The fourth and most disquieting portent appeared on a fog-shrouded morning. Rising early to inspect the apparatus, I discovered the fog surrounding the lighthouse assuming unnatural configurations, as if shaped by invisible hands. Upon approaching the window for closer examination, the fog suddenly coalesced into a human figure—a nebulous yet distinctly recognisable male silhouette, standing upon the cliff's edge beyond the lighthouse.
The silhouette raised its hand, gesturing first towards the lighthouse, then towards the sea, and finally skyward, forming a triangular motion. Then, the fog rapidly dispersed, as if it had never assumed any form whatsoever.
My pocket watch grew cold once more, and Jack's urgent message materialised upon its surface:
"Just received Arthur's grave warning. He discovered in ancient manuscripts that when all three time guardians are positioned but haven't fully mastered their abilities, the time rift may attempt to 'correct anomalies'—by recreating historical events to restore equilibrium. We must prepare to confront a crisis mirroring the 1826 lighthouse accident. —J"
I responded forthwith: "Witnessed warning in the fog. Multiple anomalies manifesting at lighthouse and surrounding waters. How ought I prepare? Can we prevent history's repetition?"
The interval awaiting his response seemed interminable. Finally, new words appeared:
"Not prevention, but guidance. Critical temporal events must transpire, but outcomes may differ. Arthur suggests that during the event, all three guardians must act simultaneously, establishing a trans-temporal triangular equilibrium. The future guardian proves essential. He must be prepared on the same day in 2025. —J"
This message left me simultaneously perplexed and apprehensive. The future guardian? That indistinct young man from my prophetic dream? How would he recognise his role and responsibilities? More crucially, how could we ensure he would undertake the appropriate action at the decisive moment?
In the subsequent days, I commenced systematically documenting all anomalies whilst preparing for a potential catastrophe. I meticulously overhauled all apparatus, stockpiled additional fuel and spare components, and even began studying Jack's notes on temporal theory, aspiring to better comprehend the impending crisis.
Margaret assisted me in borrowing all records of the 1826 lighthouse incident from the town library, and together we conducted research, endeavouring to identify crucial details. According to the records, the accident occurred during a tempestuous night when lightning struck the lighthouse, precipitating a series of supernatural phenomena that ultimately resulted in the disappearance of lighthouse keeper Thomas Howard and inflicted severe damage upon the lighthouse itself.
If history was attempting to replicate itself, I might soon confront a similar tempest and crisis. But unlike the original historical timeline, this instance featured three time guardians, distributed across three distinct temporal junctures. Perhaps we could alter the outcome.
One evening, as I stood at the lighthouse's summit, observing storm clouds amassing in the distance, the pocket watch transmitted another message from Jack:
"Ella, according to our calculations, the crisis shall arrive in three days—21 September, precisely one month following my crossing. This is no mere coincidence. Prepare yourself for the storm and temporal anomalies. Remember, whatever transpires, maintain the lighthouse beam. That constitutes the connection between the three temporal points. I shall do likewise at my end. —J"
I pressed the watch against my breast, feeling its steady pulsation, like Jack's heartbeat traversing time to remain with me. In three days would arrive the crucial moment, and I, as the lighthouse guardian of 1925, must be prepared for this temporal crisis.
In the firmament, the first lightning bolt cleaved the horizon, heralding the approaching tempest. The shadow of the lighthouse accident loomed ominously, yet I was no longer that bewildered girl who had just traversed into 1925. Now I stood as a Time Guardian, bearing weighty responsibility and a sacred mission.
Whatever might ensue, I would safeguard this lighthouse, preserve the balance of time, and maintain the connection with Jack that spanned centuries.