Hue and The Discovery of Manipo (Chapter 1)

Being able to manipulate time — and slip into nearly any moment in history — comes with advantages so vast they’re almost impossible to rank. But two always rise to the top.

First, you can witness the true causes of historical events and watch how they ripple outward like shockwaves through the ages.

Second, you can retrieve artifacts before they’re lost to fire, war, decay, or myth.

The second talent made me wealthy.

The first revealed the truth about me.

One morning, with a clarity that felt placed in my mind rather than grown there, I had an idea: travel to the beginning. Enter the Garden of Eden. Collect a few treasures. And, since I’d be in the neighborhood, find out whether the Christian story carried any weight.

When I arrived, I discovered immediately that I couldn’t touch anything. I couldn’t alter a leaf, whisper a word, or shift a pebble. I was only an observer — an audience member watching creation play out on an infinite screen.

The disappointment lasted maybe a second.

Then the beauty hit me.

Eden didn’t just look alive — it sang with life. Every creature moved in harmony with Adam and Eve, none of them bearing the faintest hint of carnivorous instinct. Fruit and vegetation kept them utterly satisfied. The four rivers that crossed the garden were so clear the sunlight passed through them like liquid glass. When Adam or Eve cupped the water in their hands, I could tell — instinctively — that it tasted like nectar touched by starlight.

Their nakedness wasn’t innocence; it was comfort. They belonged to the garden the way roots belong to soil. And towering nearby, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge stood like ancient monarchs — untouched, unmoved, eternal.

Then I heard Him.

Yahweh’s voice didn’t boom or crack like thunder. It resonated — rich, commanding, everywhere at once. Like the announcement system of a school building, if that building happened to exist at the start of time. He spoke to Adam and Eve with a familiarity that bordered on intimate, yet every word reminded them who shaped the world beneath their feet.

He didn’t speak to me.

But He knew I was there.

I felt His awareness like a hand pressed to the back of my neck.

And since He didn’t push me away… I stayed.

Watched.

Listened.

Waited until the moment the story turned and they were cast out.

When they left, I wanted to follow — but part of me refused to move. I needed to know what became of Eden once humanity was barred from entering. And, being honest, I wasn’t ready to abandon the treasures sealed within. Even a single artifact could multiply my wealth a hundredfold.

But even I have limits.

A force pushed me eastward against my will, and when I attempted to return, I met the guardians.

Cherubim.

Not the soft, glowing beings from children’s books.

These were towering, radiant, terrifying — shaped from fire, storm, and authority itself. A flaming sword spun between them with a heat that warped the air.

I tried to age the cherubim — push them through centuries in a blink, the way I’ve done with armies, storms, even entire cities. But they didn’t move. Time wrapped around them like fabric around a pillar, unable to shift so much as a feathered tip.

“BE GONE IN THE NAME OF THE MOST HIGH GOD!”

Their voices struck like twin hammers in perfect harmony. The blast hurled me backward at least seven hundred feet, my body tumbling across the ground like a leaf in a hurricane.

I took the hint.

Fear came first.

Then determination.

Then the stubborn curiosity that has gotten me into more trouble than I can list.

If I couldn’t enter Eden, maybe someone else had. Maybe some wanderer, centuries later, stumbled across its border without knowing what they’d found — accidentally claiming an artifact before the gate fully sealed.

It was a long shot, but long shots are still possibilities.

Keeping my distance, I pushed time forward. I watched mountains grind themselves into new shapes. Saw rock formations rise slowly — patiently — until Eden and its guardians were swallowed whole. Buried. Hidden from every future map.

I wanted to test how close I could get before the gate formed — how close I could ride the edge of history without provoking another divine shove. But I’d stretched my abilities thin and felt the familiar pull of exhaustion. I was ready to call it quits.

Then the ground split open.

A young man appeared from nowhere — one hundred feet ahead of me — walking straight toward the area where the garden had once stood. Before I could shout a warning, the earth cracked beneath him and he dropped out of sight.

My heart leapt.

This was it — a chance.

This stranger might have discovered the hidden entrance to Eden. And if he had…

What had he seen?

What had he touched?

What had he learned?

There was only one way to find out.

I followed.