Seven Years

Bright lights. They were aboard The Destiny.
“So, what was that about?” Char gave Lore a playful tap on their shoulder. “With The Chronicle?”
“He wanted to make sure we understood how time worked before we got something wrong.”
“Well, why didn’t he explain it to both of us then?”
Lore considered their words. “He said something about how some people can naturally feel the flow of time and how those people are better able to change it.” Lore had understood everything The Chronicle had said but saying it out loud sounded insane.
“Oh, like the Oracle’s. I get you. Cool.” Lore looked at her confused. “The Oracles were amongst the most powerful people in our societies. One of the only commonalities between North, South, East and West was the respect for the Oracles. They could ‘feel’ the timeline so helped their respective groups prosper.” Lore nodded along. “Of course after the great war their order went extinct.”
“I remember. The Oracles were among the first to fall because they provided too much of an advantage.” Lore bowed their head.
“So, what’s the plan then?” Char shook her head as if to reset her thoughts.
“Did the books help? You had the pre-famine ones didn’t you?”
“Yes! Get this, normally there’s an event that triggers a famine. Poor weather, poor soil, stuff like that but according to the books it was almost instant. There was food and then, everything died.”
“Well, from what I gathered, their downfall was twofold: their individualistic cultures butted heads, stressing already stressed relationships and they didn’t start rationing until it was almost pointless.”
“So where do we go from here?”
“Our best bet would be if we could find the source of the famine then we could potentially stop it before it spreads but I’ve got a plan B in mind just in case.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She smiled. “So we sort this then what?”
“We go to the next place that needs us.” Their face darkened as they ended the sentiment.
Lore typed the new co-ordinates into their Breacher and began their final checks. They tapped down every pocket twice before having a quick but thorough rifle through their bag. Char threw a few extra items in there to make sure they had everything they could possibly need. Checks complete, they secured The Destiny’s entryway and activated their Breacher. The blinding white dissipated to reveal the park in which they had landed. Vibrant greens surrounded them, stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a moment of confusion as they looked for the roads only to realise what they had seen were the rotten remains of the moss padded streets of yesteryear.
“I know we had the basic plan nailed but what about the specifics?” Char turned to their partner who was bouncing in place.
“We’ve got a month till the famine hits so I say we start by talking to The Chronicle and see if he can give us any information about this time period. But judging by the gravity of this area and its relative degradation from orbit, this city was the first hit.”
“Gravity?” She jumped. “You’re right, it does feel slightly heavier.”
“The locals noticed it too. One of the first symptoms was lighter gravity. Must have made the ensuing wars more interesting.” Lore pulled Char towards what would become the desert.
The layer of soft moss that carpeted the road made the mile walk much easier but made Lore feel slightly awkward, like walking on a strangers carpet with shoes on. After the initial shock and a few twitches, they were able to push through the awkwardness and continue. They had planned on retracing their steps but realised that the building that would come to block their path was yet to fall. Enjoying the short cut, they soon arrived at The Chronicle’s tower. Stepping inside, it was as if they had gotten the wrong building. While the overall floorplan remained the same, the post-apocalyptic version lacked the sophistication and warmth its earlier self once possessed. Char was about to head for the stairs before hearing the unmistakable chime of a lift. Gilding the wall, a series of buttons, each labelled in the O’Raeh language. Thinking logically, Lore struck the topmost button and waited. The lift doors closed and the carriage began its ascent only to stop short by nearly a dozen floors. There was a moment of dumfounded confusion.
Lore had to stop their reflex to facepalm as they took a second look at the buttons. “They’re alphabetised.” They scanned their finger across the labels. “These all start with the same character. Who builds a lift that lists the floors alphabetically?”
“Stairs then?” Char used her thumb to gesture towards the series of floating platforms the locals called stairs.
“One more try?” Char agreed with them and so Lore took their time to scan the buttons once more. “So if I’m remembering right, this floor is about half way up the building. This building has twenty six floors minus The Chronicle’s so this is floor thirteen. So by that logic…” They pressed a button midway between the top and middle of the keypad.
The doors once again closed and thankfully the lift began to travel upwards. There was a thump as the lift reached the top of its shaft and another as the doors opened.
“How’d you know?” Char looked genuinely shocked at their guess.
“I remember the sign. Nothing special, I just matched the symbol.” There was a smile creeping on to their face.
The last few stairs were empty so they decided to take advantage of that and connected their rings. As The Reaper, floating was certainly easier than climbing. Within no time, they were at The Chronicle’s door. Lore gave a short, four beat knock before stepping back slightly.
“Lore. Come in.” The Chronicle looked significantly younger as he ushered them into his study. “I’m afraid you’re too late.”
“Sorry, what?” They spoke in unison.
“A young human came through my library earlier today looking for me. She said that as a historian I should be the first to know that forces beyond her had pushed her hand then left. As she did though, my plants in the lobby began to wilt. A touch of water saved them but… It’s already begun. Between them, they had plenty of questions but they all boiled down to one. “How?” Famine’s Hand.