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You have, in your hands, the one thing which can stop belief. Stop the world from ending, awkwardly, from your mistake some twenty years before.

Or maybe you erred back in the long ago right now humanity calls the Dawn of Time. It is difficult to remember. Impossible to forget.

In this individuation, you call yourselves after months. There have been other names.

One boy, one man, and all the lives that were touched. You know some part of them still believes in him. Some part of them rails against the hole they have not shaped in their world.

You have the device ready, and you watch the bishop trace diagonals across the floor; the knight intercepts him with her crooked step and it suddenly strikes you.

There are too many. You can use your device, you can remove a piece from the board, but. Others will remember, somewhere in their deepest beings.

It is not the man in front of the window, wild-haired and struggling, who will reshape the world. You cannot change them all.

You do not wish to.