QBLH
The Queen of Pentacles
A harmonious blend
of nurturing care
and material abundanc
Chapter LXXVII
Time Loops
The Veil of Isis
Abundance, success,
and material security
​
The first night found the Argonauts nearly forty leagues from Colchis.
By morning, they would ascend the mountain—not as guests, but as offerings. Whether they emerged with the Golden Fleece or not would no longer be a matter of diplomacy, courage, or even strength. The machinery had already been set in motion.
That same night, far from the campfires and the laughter of men already marked for death, Qblh lay with Persephone.
She now knew who Theseus was.
Not as rumor. Not as myth. But as fact.
Within the nested Pleasure Dome on Artemis, Persephone demanded the truth without ceremony. Jim did not lie to her. He never had. The Dome sealed itself around them, suspending time, light, and consequence. Persephone insisted that he prove himself not as Qblh, nor as lord, nor as architect of worlds—but as a man who could still be claimed.
Jim complied.
They were still entwined when Gemini interrupted.
“My lord Qblh,” the intelligence announced, “you and Persephone are summoned to the throne room.”
The words struck like a blade.
Jim did not hesitate. He ordered Idiot to displace them instantly back to ancient Earth. Persephone went with him, seamlessly transferred, the Dome collapsing behind them without a trace.
“My queen will know,” Persephone said quietly. “She always does.”
“They will never know we left,” Jim replied. “We will return to the exact moment of departure.”
She studied him carefully.
“And if she finds out?”
“Then tell her I abducted you.”
She smiled faintly. “That would not be a lie.”
Jim’s expression hardened.
“We leave Castor and Pollux behind. Whatever comes next, they cannot be close.”
Idiot answered before Persephone could ask why.
“There is a portal guarding the fleece, Jim. The Argonauts are being routed toward Artemis for ritual transfer. Isis expects you to trigger it.”
Jim exhaled slowly.
“Then the portal must be destroyed.”
“Affirmative.”
The portal was not a door. It was a temporal siphon, anchored simultaneously in Earth-past and Artemis-present. Its purpose was singular: to retrieve Qblh through sacrifice. The fleece was merely the bait.
“If Isis enters the portal with you,” Idiot warned, “she may reclaim Earth past entirely.”
“Then she will not pass through,” Jim replied. “Create an imaginary temporal manifold. Absorb her experienced time. Return her without displacement.”
“A dream interval,” Idiot confirmed. “Zero elapsed local time.”
“Exactly.”
Persephone listened without fear.
“So I am not meant to pass through the portal,” she said.
Jim hesitated.
“No.”
She took his hands.
“Then I remain between.”
Her voice was calm. Certain.
“Tell me, my Qblh—am I dreaming, or is this real?”
“What do you remember?” he asked.
Her answer chilled him.
“I remember the future. Returning to Artemis. Being placed in the Pleasure Dome. Leaving it. Boarding the Pegasus. Standing here again.”
She met his eyes.
“You have placed me in a loop.”
Jim felt the weight of it then.
“An eternal one,” she continued, unafraid. “Yet I welcome it. Each cycle ends with you.”
She kissed him.
“I shall be content. I know I will become your bride.”
Idiot did not contradict her.
“Are we on course?” Jim asked.
“On course,” the intelligence replied. “Power reserves at maximum.”
The time-quakes had already begun.
Reality near the mountain would fracture when the portal collapsed. The Argonauts would experience it as fear, confusion, illusion, ecstasy. Only Jason would remain lucid.
“Do you know the way to the temple?” Jim asked.
“Of course,” Persephone said. “I am a high priestess. I am to bring you to Isis for sacrifice.”
She kissed him again, ambrosia thick on her lips.
Jim felt the trap close.
He entered it willingly.
The Ascent
Jim split.
One self walked beside Persephone up the mountain path toward the Temple of Artemis. The other calculated collapse vectors, paradox buffers, and return windows. He had done this before—more times than he remembered.
The terrain was unmistakable.
Venetia’s original landing site.
One of the first portals still slept beneath the mountain, maintained through millennia by autonomous systems never meant to last this long.
Medea’s procession approached from below.
Timing aligned.
Inside the temple, ceremony replaced mercy.
Medea chose Jason as her champion.
“Enter,” she commanded. “Retrieve the fleece. Overcome the dragon.”
Jim smiled inwardly.
There was no dragon.
There never had been.
The “dragon” was Shaltain’s remnant intelligence—nested inside a stasis veil, surrounded by illusion, hypnosis, and fear projection. The Veil of Isis itself.
Idiot had already crippled its higher functions.
But the veil could not be bypassed without consequence.
To take the fleece would trigger the portal.
Outside the cavern, the Amazons offered courage but no intimacy.
“When you return with the fleece,” they said. “Then.”
Blindfolded, stripped, chained, the Argonauts were led underground through tunnels older than history.
Jim heard a voice he had not expected.
Morgana.
Alive.
The cavern opened into a living garden—bioluminescent, impossibly sustained. At its center stood the tree. Upon it hung the fleece, radiant and false.
Jason advanced.
“Follow my lead,” Theseus told him quietly.
Idiot folded space.
A tunnel formed—perfectly mundane, perfectly invisible.
Jason took the fleece.
The veil did not awaken.
They exited.
The Argonauts lived.
Then Persephone stepped forward.
She crossed the boundary.
The Veil of Isis ignited.
The portal opened.
And the trap closed—not on Jason, not on the Argonauts—
—but on Isis.
