Time unwound slowly, fraying into single threads of possibilities, fractal trees reduced to their roots. He stirred the pool with a fingertip, searching for the pale yellow thread that held what he needed.
Ah, there. Entwined with a muted lilac the timeline had worked itself into a knot of truncated futures. He snagged it, untangled the two fragile roots and laid them back into the clear waters. Then with a snap of his fingers time rewove itself, and he traced the new patterns of yellow and lilac.
There was a chance the Fates would notice the change, but he’d gone back centuries this time. When they switched the old millennial loom for the new at this year’s ending it would solidify his changes.
Two months and seven days until his transcendence to the throne, as long as the Avatars were kept distracted. Welian slipped away from the pool, raven-dark feathers enveloping him in safety. It was time to spread a little chaos personally.