Chapter 5: Under the Guise of Time

Twinkling in the dark azure, the stars danced around the confines of a strange and unusual place. Nearly an incomprehensible sight, almost as if they were floating, a humanoid rabbit hopped around the inky enclosure.

"What are you doing, you mangy Rabbit?"

Not stopping in its tracks, "I'm quite fond of the name 'Wester' now. Call me that, will you?" the rabbit decreed.

The serpentine scoffed at the thought. "Never," it seethed.

And thus, the rabbit continued to bounce, and all the while, the serpent continued to count the stars. Silence filled the area as the two lifelessly spent their time, fiddling with whatever they have on hand. Though… there was absolutely nothing to fiddle with.

After all, these entities were the only existence in this void of space.

"Do you not have anything better to do?" the serpent sneered. "You've always spent an eternity watching those humans doing—what—form pairs?"

Wester kicked its leg and hopped onto the serpent's head, settling down into a lazy stature.

"But it's all the same!" it whined, "Nothing ever changes! Aspen was much more entertaining; but now that she's gone, it's so boring here!"

Torin lowered its head, casting not even a shadow in this strange vacuum of an area.

"Indeed," it muttered.

Twitching its nose, the rabbit brought up a spectacular idea—"Want to go visit her?"—but it was quickly shot down.

"What are you, a clingy parent?" the serpent chastised. "Do not bother her."

Wester sobbed at the quick rebuttal, though no feelings were truly hurt.

Tapping its tail, "Say, Rabbit," Torin began, "you mentioned the string?"

An abrupt stillness enveloped the rabbit. It had totally forgotten! Peeling at the eyelids of the scaly serpent, Wester eagerly spoke of its findings.

"Remember what I've told you?" it thrilled, "When you first brought that human here!"

Flatly, "No?" Torin answered.

Slapping the serpent with its fluffy paws, "You inflated sea Snake!" Wester hollered. "The separated string!" it sung, "The separated string…!"

Wester, proclaiming itself as the Rabbit of Fate, was the protector of the destined strings. As protector, Wester's job was straightforward—simply, it must exist.

Something is only ever real if one is there to witness it—such were the words of the guardian Rabbit.

"Aspen's red string was severed the moment her existence became nulled. Whereas we continue to exist even when warping," Wester continued, "you made it so that Aspen was erased from history."

"Thus, time rewrote itself, having to fill in and mend the gaps of what was once Aspen," Torin easily finished, having recited this a number of times.

"You sure made everyone's job complicated," Wester sighed. "I only allowed it since Aspen was a charming fellow."

"Never mind that," Torin grumbled, "The string?"

"It was severed."

"That's it?" the serpent snarled.

"What do you mean that's it?!" rebutted the Rabbit of Fate. "A string has never been severed before!"

Indeed, Wester has watched over the strings for countless millennials. No string has ever been severed. As the story goes, the string may tangle, and it may stretch, but it cannot—and never will—break.

"Watch your mouth, Rabbit. It is you who watch over the strings," Torin lectured, "for you cannot grant wishes."

Wester clicked its tongue. "In any case," it continued. "Aspen isn't the only anomaly." Snapping its fingers, a lengthy book appeared floating above its palm. With a quick flip of the paw, as if the will of the rabbit was directly linked to the archaic novel, Wester tracked the exact page in which it had wanted.

"It was strange," Wester continued. "When we were watching their interaction, I had noticed that Ruri's string was beginning to frail. Well—it isn't uncommon because, in every case, it'll never actually disappear… But still"—Wester smacked its paw onto a specific section in the page—"I decided to review the timeline."

"Ten earth years ago, before Aspen's wish, Ruri was destined to be with a boy named…" The rabbit grimaced. "I'm not going to pronounce that. In any case, they were supposed to meet before she came of age. However…" Wester released its paw from the fragile sheet. "That never happened."

Torin lifted its head, neglecting to remember that the rabbit could fall from its high location. "Do you know why?" it had asked, still unaware of the aforementioned fact.

Grappling onto the scales of the serpent, the rabbit sparkled with fervent excitement.

"I have a theory!" it proclaimed. "As you know, Ruri's wish most likely had something to do with Aspen! I believe that her resolve…" Grunting, the rabbit scurried its way back onto a stabler position. "…had… made it so that she stayed in search of her initial wish!"

"Therefore, their destined meeting vanished… and so will her string…" Torin mumbled to itself, swiftly catching onto Wester's proposition.

"Correct! All of my laws are being defied!" Wester whistled, sounding almost oblivious to the remarkable things it had just spouted.

Torin shifted its body. "And why is it only now disappearing?" the creature queried.

Curving its lips, "You know the answer, do you not?" Wester refuted.

The serpent released a gruntled murmur, obviously entertained.

"Sweet, little Ruri is disobeying fate, and our darling, Aspen, is running around with a severed string on her pinky." After a moment of delight, "I think I'll continue watching over her," the rabbit hummed.

Waving its arm, a screen of foggy mist appeared before the rabbit. Spanning as far as the height of the serpent, the screen projected a live broadcast of a certain hooded traveler.

Torin released a short exhale, a smile creeping up its face. "Likewise," it drawled, nestling down into a comfortable settlement. "But let her not be disturbed…"

"…Aspen wanted to see to it that her crew is happy, after all."