He built a machine to pierce the veil of time—and vanished.
When he returned, pale and trembling, he spoke of a world millions of years ahead. A dying sun. Ruins swallowed by green.
The Eloi lived above—soft, lovely, purposeless. Below, in the dark, the Morlocks waited.
He had traveled to the edge of mankind’s future ... and what he found was not triumph, but slow decay. A race divided. A civilization forgotten by time itself.
He told us everything. And then, one day, he vanished again—into time. Perhaps to escape what he had seen.
Or to stop it.