892 AD
Gwynedd
This place was marked by the chaos of fragmented kingdoms and the looming threat of Viking raids. England had not yet unified, and the three primary kingdoms of Wales—Gwynedd, Powys, and Deheubarth—were embroiled in their own internal struggles while also facing external threats, particularly from the Viking incursions.
Ethan, however, was far more concerned with his own survival than with the turmoil of the time. His nanobots flickered weakly within his fragmented form as he realized just how depleted his energy reserves were. The thought of assimilating into a new host was a distant dream; the energy required for such a feat was far beyond his current capacity. The swarm that constituted his new body could barely sustain the most basic functions of survival.
As he hovered weakly in the air, Ethan's thoughts were slow, sluggish. His body, a collection of microscopic nanobots, was struggling to maintain even the simplest consciousness.
"Shit my energy is depleting," Ethan thought to himself, the strain of trying to process his surroundings gnawing at his awareness. "It's better if I don't risk it... I need to gather energy first, if I want to assimilate into a new host." Ethan couldn't help but wonder if otherworldly forces were at play to twart his plans to resurrect.
His vision, though distorted and unfocused, lingered on Kjartan's group—a Viking crew in the distance. Their presence, too close for comfort, was a reminder of his precarious situation. But for now, they could do little to help him, not until he regained enough strength. He looked toward a nearby oak tree, its large boughs offering some hope. It was his best option for gathering energy.
Ethan directed his weakened awareness toward the tree and focused on the sunlight filtering through its leaves. It was not much—just faint rays, but it was all he had. His nanobots, equipped with photovoltaic nanostructures, began to strain toward the light, absorbing every minuscule photon that seeped through the branches above.
Each tiny solar cell on the nanobots flickered to life. The energy generated was tiny—almost laughable in its weakness—but it was enough to maintain the basic functions of Ethan's consciousness and stabilize the swarm, keeping it from completely shutting down.
"This will have to do... for now," Ethan thought, forcing his nanobots to absorb as much light as possible. His awareness was still dim, barely able to hold onto itself as the weak energy coursed through his form. The light was so faint, so barely enough, and the process of gathering energy was painfully slow.
"The process is slow... the energy so little..." he thought, feeling the strain of his systems. The nanobots struggled against their hunger, their need for more power. But there was nothing else. "If I can't get enough energy... assimilating a new host will remain impossible. I have to wait."
His nanobots worked tirelessly to store the little energy they were able to absorb. The capacitors inside them barely stored enough power to keep the swarm functioning at a minimal level. In the next day there was little sunlight, weak as it was, gave him just enough to hold on. But that was all—survival, nothing more. There would be no chance to act or regain full control until more energy was gathered.
"I can only hope the energy will be enough to survive... just long enough to do something about it," Ethan thought, feeling the exhaustion of not having a body and mind. "Time....i need time."
The days seemed to stretch on as the nanobots worked in a slow rhythm, each fraction of sunlight absorbed a small victory. The swarm, still weak, grew ever so slightly stronger, but there was no telling how much longer he could last in such a state.
For now, Ethan's only option was survival—waiting in the oak tree, gathering whatever energy he could, and hoping that one day, he would have enough to emerge and act once more. But for now, his world was small—just the oak, the weak sunlight, and the desperate pulse of energy slowly trickling in.
As Ethan's consciousness began to fade, the nanobots that sustained him, designed to slow his metabolic functions and preserve his being for the future, were unknowingly subjected to the chaotic effects of time travel. Time, it seemed, had a mind of its own. Ethan had entered hibernation expecting a controlled, stable environment where the nanobots could preserve him in stasis, but something far more unpredictable had altered the very fabric of his preservation.
A temporal anomaly—likely triggered by the very act of traveling back to a time so distant—disrupted the nanobots' time-keeping mechanisms. These tiny machines, which had been programmed to maintain synchronization between Ethan's perception of time and the world around him, began to malfunction. The disturbance was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but it caused the passage of time to unravel. The nanobots were no longer able to accurately measure the flow of time. They had become trapped in a loop, slowing Ethan's perception to a crawl while the world outside continued at an accelerated pace.
For Ethan, it felt like only moments passed. His thoughts faded in and out of clarity, but there was no sense of time, no awareness of its passing. He existed in a stasis that was both timeless and fleeting. But the world, the land of Wales, was not trapped in this same anomaly. Time moved forward, unrelenting and indifferent to the nanobots' dysfunction. While Ethan's hibernation stretched only moments in his mind, centuries passed in the world around him. The oak tree where he lay dormant grew to unimaginable size.
What was once a humble oak had become the largest, most imposing tree in all of Wales, its vast limbs reaching higher than the tallest structures in the land. Its roots burrowed deep, cracking through the earth, and its bark darkened with age. As decades passed, it transformed into a natural landmark—a tree so massive that travelers spoke of it in whispers, calling it the "Elder Oak of Gwynedd." People journeyed from distant lands just to catch a glimpse of its towering presence, and some believed it was a sign from the God, a divine marker of some ancient power.
But Ethan, unaware of these changes, remained frozen within the tree's heart, his nanobots attempting to restore balance as the years bled into centuries. He was bound to the oak, a silent observer of time's cruel march. Little did he know that his accidental time distortion would leave a lasting imprint on the landscape—and the people who would one day come across the monument to his unconscious, undying existence.