Rain spattered hard against the windshield, making it even more difficult to see through the gloomy night. The car kept moving though, winding down a long country road where the headlights were the only lights for miles around.

The driver squinted ahead, right hand gripping the steering wheel tightly and the other scratching nervously at the stubble under his jaw, then around above the nape of his neck. His eyes flicked to the glowing blue numbers of the digital clock on the dashboard — 11:17 PM — and then down to his phone as it pinged an alert. A text message flashed up on-screen. Hey Jake. Just wanted to check in. Doing alright?

Jake almost started to reach for the mobile, but then changed his mind and turned stubbornly back to the road. No one knew he was out here, or where he was going, and he preferred to keep it that way. He had a feeling that if anyone found out about this, they would be less than happy.

A green blur was caught in the headlights, and Jake leaned forward to catch the word on the sign. He was almost there.

It wasn't much. A small Welsh town hardly big enough to be marked on a map. It did mean he was less likely to get caught, so that much he appreciated. The car trundled through the sleepy village, composed of a few houses and small shops. Jake passed them all by, taking the main road through it all and then steering out towards the cultivated fields. He checked the clock again. 11:25 PM.

When all was dark around him again, Jake pulled the car toward the side of the road and stopped. For a moment he sat still, both hands on the steering wheel. His fingers were trembling. He couldn't bring himself to get out of the car until a flash of lightning lit up the land for miles around. Like a starter gun had gone off, Jake ripped off the seatbelt and heaved himself from the car. He had to hurry, before midnight passed, before the storm was directly overhead, before he lost his nerve.

Splashing his way through deep puddles around to the back of the car, he threw the trunk open and surveyed the contents. A long coil of thin white rope. Fifteen black stones polished to a shine. A large box. A knife. 11:30 PM.

He grabbed the rope and several of the stones, and then loped out into the field a ways. When he was far enough from the road, he began to lay down the rope along the dead, out-of-season bristle on the ground, weighting it down with stones at regular intervals and running back to the car whenever he needed more. The end result was a white circle, maybe thirty meters in diameter. Thunder rumbled overhead, definitely louder than before. 11:40 PM.

When he returned to the trunk of the car, Jake paused. With a certain amount of reverence, he opened the lid and examined every object inside: a combat knife, a textbook, a dog tag, a badge, a ring, a newspaper clipping, the list went on. He picked up the box with much more care than he had the rope and stones and carried it back out to the circle in the field. He laid each item down with careful precision, working his way in a spiral pattern from the outside edge of the circle to the center. When he reached the last object, he took a moment to look, a shard of sadness lodging in his throat. It was a picture, one of him and his…friends. They were at the seaside. He was at the edge of the picture, brown eyes staring shiftily out of frame, as if he was considering doing a runner. But there was Sarah, arm wrapped firmly around his waist to prevent his escape with a foxlike smile plastered on her face, red hair tossed in the wind. Xavier was leaning up against the short stone wall at their backs, arms crossed and smirking. And James was at the center; tall, dark, with affection for all three of them practically written on his face.

Jake swallowed. It was difficult to tell if the drops running down his face were all raindrops or not. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he placed the photo on the ground, anchoring it with a pebble. He wondered if they would know, if they would be angry. But if he succeeded, would they even remember him? Would he have ever met them to begin with?

He didn't know. All he could do was believe that after he was done, all their lives would be the better for it. 11:55 PM.

Jake made one last trip back to the car. He went first to the trunk. The only object left was the knife. He grabbed it, gripping tightly, and then opened the driver's door.

There were more text messages on the screen.

U sleeping? Wanted 2 call but i don't want to get my head bitten off if i wake u up.

Hey mate. Thinking of dropping by this weekend, checking out your place. You free?

Jake grabbed up the phone and switched as quickly as he could to timer. Four minutes to midnight. It was now or never.

He sprinted back out to the circle in the field. Stepping over the white line this time sent an impact shuddering up through his bones. The storm was now directly overhead, and midnight was upon him.

Standing at the center of circle, Jake threw back his head, staring upward with eyes as blue a summer sky. Thunder boomed out. He raised his arms, the right hand still clutching the knife, almost choking on the words that would change everything, before allowing himself to shout out words of old as loud as his lungs could bear.

"Yfel hêr bûgan mîn dæghwîl beleorendlic stêpan sê spell un læd tîma! Yfel bringan ðâs rôtlîce!"

The world lit up so bright and became so hot for an instant that he could have believed the sun was crashing into the earth. His ears popped and began to bleed. Around him, all the mementos he had carefully laid out caught fire.

He couldn't stop. Whatever doubts he'd had about this working mattered little now. This had to work. It had to!

"ðe môdgeðanc ðætte winnan yfel âgiefan mânaforscieppan welboren hêr beufan beleorendlic! Wið gân orgilde tîma, lengan me under bæc!"

Directly above him, a halo of lightning flashed from point to point in the clouds, converging in a circle overhead.

Now the knife began to rise.

"Tô lýsednes Jake âcwelan!" he howled into the storm's fury. His eyes flared with a brilliant golden light.

"For lorian Merlin æfnan ednîwinga!"

Then he drove the knife into his heart.

The halo of lightning exploded downward and smashed into him. An unearthly roar first shook the very earth, and then a noise like a rending scream tore through the sky to be heard for nearly sixty kilometers around.

Jake heard none of this. He was dead. But Merlin heard it for just a moment, as his very soul was expelled from his body and false identity into a spiraling gray void. He let himself drift back into it, unresisting, and disappeared into time.

A/N: Old English used is not guaranteed and is most likely not correct. It was produced from an online translator and is used more for aesthetics than accuracy.

Intended translation: I here give up my days gone past to the will of time! I give them willingly! This life do I also submit to buy my passage through the gateway! Take this life, in exchange for one long past! Let Jake perish! Let Merlin live again!