ACROSS TIME AND REALITY, THIS IS WHERE WE WILL FIND EACH OTHER
In this mind-bending sequel, The Movement finds absolute genius and the prophesized time corrector living the life of his dream. His AI firm is booming, he’s in better control of his powers, and Akane is with him after all this time. But, there are gaps in his memory and a new enemy, Vandal, is hell-bent on destroying everyone and everything in Vincent’s life. Vincent works frantically to stop him, but Vandal is always one step ahead with a sinister smile and blood on his hands. When Vandal comes after Akane, Vincent realizes there is only one way to protect her. Alter her reality so that she never meets Vincent. To set things right, Vincent finds himself back at the core of time and reality, unveiling secrets from his past that reshaped his reality as he knew it. It only takes a moment to change everything. Alternate realities collide, and unfathomable powers and greeds unwind in this gripping new saga of the Time Corrector Series.
Dr. Avi Datta is an award-winning author of the genre-bending sci-fi series, The Time Corrector.The Winding (Global Book Awards Gold Medalist, Reader’s Favorite top five SciFi-Time Travel Fiction and 5* Rating) is his first novel in the series, and The Movement is his second installment. He doesn’t like to box his stories into one sub-genre. Instead, he challenges the core assumption that causality and time are linear. Through that lens, he explores themes like loss, love, politics, fantasy, art, friendship, racism, alternate realities, music, and artificial intelligence.
He is a Professor of Strategy and Entrepreneurship at Illinois State University. He is a writer, an avid painter, a watch collector, and a coffee enthusiast who enjoys classic rock and western classical music outside his day job. He can be reached at https://avi-datta.com
When I visited This place in Kyoto, I felt time stopped. And so I made this location constant across realities. Not kisy the loctaion but also a prayer plaque (calle Ema)
The lanterns come alive against the setting sun and slowly turn red, orange, and yellow. The golden hue from the sky touching Mount Otowa’s peak is flawlessly balanced by the dimly glowing lights on the streets and inside the machiyas—which all seem painted by an artist whose sorrow could only translate to love. Time may have ceased in this corner of the world. The artificiality of metropolis, and the triviality of humans, have been exorcised here. And in this city where profound art and culture hide behind effortless simplicity, I feel reborn. Every single drop of grief and pain that I’ve felt since November 15, 1991, is gently washing away in the evening scent of the incense, the spectacle of the lanterns, the echo of the toll bells augmented by the symphony of evening cicadas, the taste of exhilarating fresh air soaked in sakura blooms, and the touch of her hand, entwined with mine.