Ian flew over the Mediterranean.
Dusk surged in from the west, dyeing the sea a dark purple as waves churned below.
He had already finished correcting most of the anomalous times in the city. Now, only some more remote, or more troublesome, temporal errors were left to fix.
In the distance, at the edge of Ian's vision, there was an island. Thick smoke rose from it—not a volcano, but a burning city. He flew straight toward that island.
The city on the island was not large: white houses, blue roofs, narrow streets. The fire had started at the harbor and spread into the city center.
People were running in the streets. People were shouting. People were crying.
Several enormous figures hovered above the city, wearing ancient armor and holding glowing spears, looking down from on high at the burning city. One of them stood out the most. He was dozens of meters tall, with two curved bull horns on his helmet and an intricate emblem carved into his chest.
Ian landed in front of him.
The giant lowered his head and looked at the tiny figure who had suddenly appeared.
"Who are you?" the giant's voice was like thunder.
Ian did not answer.
His perception had already covered the entire island. This island was Crete. The city was Heraklion. Those giants were some kind of existence from the age of myth.
They had been flung into the present by the turbulence of time from thousands of years ago.
"You should be in your own era," Ian said.
The giant raised his spear, its tip aimed at Ian. "I am the guardian of King Minos. I was ordered to guard Crete.
"No one may violate it."
Ian looked at the spear and fell silent for a moment. "Your king has been