The silver crescent on his wrist unfolded completely.
The three pieces separated and floated before him.
The central point began glowing.
Then the figure inside the cradle moved.
A small hand emerged from beneath the pale cloth.
It reached towards Sol.
And a voice came from the cradle.
Not the older Jude.
Not the second Sol.
Not the house.
A child's voice.
"Brother."
Sol stopped breathing.
The older Jude fell to his knees.
And from somewhere beneath the mountain, the ancient bell rang fourteen times.
Then the voice spoke again.
"Why did you bring him back, Father?"
Jude turned towards the older man.
The older Jude looked up at him.
His eyes were full of terror.
"Because," he whispered, "I was never supposed to be the one who returned."
The figure in the cradle pushed the cloth away.
And Jude finally saw its face.
It was Sol.
Not the first Sol.
Not the second.
A third identical boy.
But this one opened his eyes and looked directly at Jude.
Then he smiled.
