Subject: Everything made so much sense now.
Posted on: 2020-08-16 14:47:51 UTC

It was no wonder he'd felt so frustrated with his life lately. He had just known he was more than Henry Robinson, castoff from a world that had no room for him, one of a thousand kids with a boring variation on the same pathetic backstory. He was—he had always been—the Ellimist, waiting only for the right time to awaken to the knowledge.

He had known about the Ellimist, of course; one couldn't have an Andalite for a friend without learning about the canon he came from. He knew the stories. He knew his purpose: to prevent destruction, to preserve life, to guide the universe—nay, the multiverse—along a path toward peace and harmony. He knew the music of Time itself.

For some reason, it now seemed to him that it sounded like "Pruit Igoe & Prophecies." He didn't quite know what that was, but he supposed he would, and that was good enough.

The point was, he was certain now that he had a destiny. A great one. Everything was falling into place!

Though, if he were perfectly honest, he didn't quite get how a great destiny was supposed to start with something as silly as a hug from Bella Illian.

A minute ago, he would've told her to get off and pushed her away, but that was forever ago, when he had just been Henry. Now he was the Ellimist, and the great, wise, and good Transcendental Presence did not roughly tell little girls to get off. Instead, he smiled and kindly patted her head. That was the sort of thing one did when one was the Transcendental Presence.

Her head, he noticed, was still higher than his. That didn't seem right. But he wasn't stuck with this form now, he realized. He could alter time with a single thought. There were rules and limitations, of course, but mostly those concerned what not to do to other people.

"If you think that was cool," he said, "watch this!"

He took a step back, disentangling himself (kindly) from Bella's embrace. His green eyes lit with the endless blue of eons. He raised a hand, and snapped his fingers.


Time swirled around him, flaring with sparks of actinic blue. When the light faded, he had changed. No longer a scrawny eleven-year-old, he stood now as he would when he reached his majority at seventeen: nearly six feet tall, beginning to fill out a bit even if he would never have more than a swimmer's physique, and finally, finally properly growing into his face. He might never be conventionally handsome, but at least he would stop looking like a goofy little gremlin. If people like Alan Rickman and Adam Driver could make careers in performance with faces like theirs, then he could wear his with dignity, too.

He grinned. This was going to be awesome.

... I'm concerned that this might be going to his head. Just a little. {X D

Question: about that "dead within two years" thing. Granted, it's not actually going to happen, but supposing he tried to look into the future and see what was up with that. Would he simply not be able to get beyond two years/ his "death"? Would he simply be blind to what happens as pertains directly to himself? What do you think?


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