The air raid siren wailed its mournful warning as Eleanor led Dany through the darkened streets of London. The blackout was in full effect—no streetlights, windows covered with heavy curtains, only the occasional beam from a warden's torch cutting through the darkness. Above them, searchlights swept the sky, their powerful beams seeking out German bombers.
"Keep close," Eleanor instructed, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "The shelter is just ahead."
Dany stumbled along in her Victorian dress, the impractical shoes and long skirt making it difficult to keep pace with the elderly woman who moved with surprising agility. The distant thump of bombs punctuated their hurried journey, each explosion sending vibrations through the ground beneath their feet.
"Who are you?" Dany asked as they turned down a narrow street. "Really, I mean. How do you know about the wardrobe? About me?"
Eleanor glanced back, her face briefly illuminated by a searchlight passing overhead. "All in good time, my dear. First, we need to get somewhere safe."
They reached a public air raid shelter—a brick and concrete structure built into the side of a small park. An air raid warden stood at the entrance, ushering in latecomers.
"Hurry along now," he called, waving them forward. "Jerry's coming in heavy tonight."
As they approached, the warden's eyes widened at the sight of Dany's anachronistic clothing. "Blimey, miss. Bit overdressed for an air raid, aren't you?"
"Theater production," Eleanor explained smoothly before Dany could respond. "My granddaughter was in costume when the sirens started. No time to change."
The warden nodded, accepting the explanation without further question. "Right then. In you go."
The shelter was crowded with Londoners of all ages—families with sleepy children, elderly couples, young men in civilian clothes who looked like they should be in uniform. The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete, unwashed bodies, and fear.
Eleanor guided Dany to a relatively quiet corner where two empty seats remained on a wooden bench. As they sat, a tremendous explosion sounded nearby, much closer than the previous ones. The shelter shook, dust raining down from the ceiling. Several children began to cry, quickly hushed by their mothers.
"The Germans are targeting the docks tonight," Eleanor said calmly, as if discussing the weather. "We should be safe here, though. This shelter has withstood worse."
Dany looked around at the faces of the shelter's occupants—tired, frightened, but showing a remarkable resilience. These people had been enduring the Blitz for months, their city under nightly attack, their lives constantly at risk. Yet here they sat, some reading by the dim light of shielded lamps, others playing quiet card games, a few even managing to doze despite the periodic explosions outside.
"Now," Eleanor said, turning to face Dany fully, "we have some time, and relative privacy. Tell me, how much do you understand about what's happening to you?"
Dany hesitated, unsure how much to reveal to this stranger who somehow knew her name and about the wardrobe. But something in Eleanor's eyes—a depth of knowledge and compassion—made Dany want to trust her.
"Not enough," she admitted finally. "I know the wardrobe allows me to travel through time, that I'm somehow connected to John Ambrose across different eras. But beyond that..." She shook her head in frustration. "Everyone tells me something different. John says we're trying to heal fractures in time. Catherine claims he's causing them. The professor thinks John might be a temporal paradox. I don't know who to believe."
Eleanor nodded, unsurprised. "They all believe they're telling the truth, from their perspective. That's what makes this situation so complex."
"And what's your perspective?" Dany asked.
Eleanor smiled, the expression softening her severe features. "I have the advantage of a longer view. I've been tracking the wardrobe and its travelers for over sixty years."
"Sixty years?" Dany repeated, stunned. "How is that possible?"
"I was very young when I first encountered it," Eleanor explained. "Just nineteen, working as a research assistant at Oxford in 1882."
Dany's eyes widened as the implication sank in. "You were there? When the first fracture occurred?"
"I was," Eleanor confirmed. "Though I wasn't in the laboratory that day. I was cataloging artifacts in another building when it happened. But I felt it—a shudder that ran through reality itself. And afterward, things were... different."
"Different how?"
"Subtle changes at first. People remembering events slightly differently than I did. Books containing information that I was certain had been different the day before." Eleanor's eyes grew distant with memory. "Then larger discrepancies began to appear. People who had existed were suddenly gone, with no one remembering them but me. New people appeared, whom everyone else treated as if they'd always been there."
A particularly loud explosion interrupted her, close enough to make the shelter's lights flicker. The occupants fell silent for a moment, then resumed their conversations with forced normalcy once it became clear the shelter had held.
"I thought I was going mad," Eleanor continued once the noise outside had subsided somewhat. "Until I found Professor Blackwood's notes on the wardrobe. They had been scattered after his 'disappearance,' but I managed to piece together enough to understand what had happened."
"The professor," Dany said, remembering their encounter in 1882. "You're related to him?"
"He was my uncle," Eleanor replied. "Though that relationship has been... complicated by temporal shifts."
"What do you mean?"
"In the original timeline—before the fracture—he was my father's brother. After the fracture, in some timelines he became my grandfather. In others, merely a distant cousin." Eleanor shrugged slightly. "Family trees become rather tangled when time itself is unstable."
Dany tried to process this information, her head spinning with the implications. "So you've been what—studying the wardrobe all this time? Tracking its effects?"
"And its travelers," Eleanor added. "John, Catherine, you... and others who have come and gone over the decades."
"Others?" Dany asked, remembering John's reluctance to discuss previous travelers.
Eleanor's expression grew somber. "Yes. The wardrobe has chosen many travelers over the years. Some adapted to its power, learned to navigate the currents of time. Others..." She trailed off, her meaning clear.
"What happened to them?" Dany pressed.
"Various fates. Some simply stopped traveling—the wardrobe rejected them for reasons I've never fully understood. Others became lost between timelines, unable to fully materialize in any single era. And a few..." Eleanor hesitated. "A few were erased completely."
"Erased? How?"
"The wardrobe doesn't just allow travel through time," Eleanor explained. "It can also alter time itself—rewrite events, erase people from existence, create entirely new timelines. In the wrong hands, it's an incredibly dangerous tool."
"And whose hands are the wrong ones?" Dany asked, thinking of the conflicting warnings she'd received from John and Catherine.
Eleanor studied her for a moment before answering. "That's the question, isn't it? John believes Catherine is manipulating time for her own purposes. Catherine believes the same of John. Both present compelling evidence for their claims."
"And what do you believe?"
"I believe," Eleanor said carefully, "that neither of them is telling you the whole truth. And that you, Danielle Mitchell, are far more important to this story than either of them has revealed."
Before Dany could ask what she meant, another explosion rocked the shelter, this one so close that small chunks of concrete fell from the ceiling. Cries of alarm rose from the shelter's occupants, a child began to wail, and the air raid warden moved through the crowd, offering reassurances.
"Direct hit on the next street," he announced grimly. "But we're holding steady here. Stay calm, everyone."
Eleanor leaned closer to Dany, lowering her voice. "We can't talk freely here. Too many ears, too many distractions. Once the all-clear sounds, I'll take you somewhere we can speak properly."
Dany nodded, though frustration burned within her at the delay. She had so many questions, and Eleanor seemed to possess answers that had eluded her thus far.
The raid continued for what felt like hours, though Dany's watch—still set to her original time—was useless for telling time in this era. Eventually, the frequency of explosions decreased, then stopped altogether. After a tense period of silence, the all-clear siren sounded its rising and falling note.
The shelter's occupants began to gather their belongings, preparing to return to their homes or what remained of them. Eleanor stood, gesturing for Dany to follow.
"We'll need to find you some appropriate clothing," she said, eyeing Dany's Victorian dress. "You attract far too much attention as you are."
They emerged into a London transformed by the night's bombing. Fires burned in several directions, casting an eerie orange glow over the city. Emergency vehicles raced through the streets, their bells clanging urgently. People stood in small groups, staring at damaged buildings or helping to clear debris.
"This way," Eleanor directed, leading Dany away from the worst of the destruction. "My flat isn't far, and it's in a relatively safe area."
As they walked, Dany tried to orient herself, to identify landmarks that might tell her which part of London they were in. But between the darkness, the unfamiliar wartime modifications to buildings, and her limited knowledge of 1940s London geography, she remained lost.
"What year is this exactly?" she asked as they turned onto a quieter residential street.
"September 1940," Eleanor replied. "The height of the Blitz. Not the safest time to visit London, but the wardrobe rarely considers convenience when selecting destinations."
"I didn't choose to come here," Dany said. "It was an accident—we were escaping from the Custodians, and the transfer went wrong."
Eleanor stopped abruptly, turning to face Dany with an expression of alarm. "The Custodians? They were in Oxford in 1882?"
"Yes. They were after these." Dany pulled the two keys from her pocket, holding them up in the dim light of dawn that was now beginning to break over the city.
Eleanor's eyes widened at the sight of the keys. "You have both of them," she whispered. "How is that possible? I only gave you one, and that was—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "Will give you one. Time travel makes proper grammar impossible."
"You gave me this one?" Dany asked, holding up the key that had been pressed into her hand by the elderly time traveler she had yet to meet.
"I will," Eleanor confirmed. "In your future, my past. And the other came from Catherine, I presume?"
Dany nodded. "Her future self gave it to me in my original time, just before John arrived."
Eleanor's expression grew troubled. "If the Custodians are involved, and both keys have been removed from their proper places in the timeline... the situation is more serious than I realized." She resumed walking, her pace more urgent now. "Come. We need to get off the streets."
Eleanor's flat was on the third floor of a modest building that had somehow escaped damage thus far. It was small but neat, with furniture that spoke of a comfortable if not luxurious lifestyle. Books lined every available wall space—history, physics, philosophy, and what appeared to be personal journals, dozens of them stacked on shelves and tables.
"Make yourself comfortable," Eleanor said, gesturing to a worn armchair. "I'll find you something more appropriate to wear, then make us some tea. We have much to discuss."
While Eleanor disappeared into what Dany presumed was a bedroom, Dany took the opportunity to examine the flat more closely. The books were fascinating—many of them first editions of scientific works that would be considered historical treasures in her time. But it was the journals that drew her attention most strongly. Each was labeled with a year, spanning from 1882 to the present 1940.
Unable to resist, Dany pulled one from a shelf—1912, the year she had visited with John for their supposed twentieth wedding anniversary. She opened it carefully, finding pages filled with neat, precise handwriting.
*June 17, 1912 – Observed J.A. and D.M. at their anniversary celebration in Sussex. Their temporal signatures are stronger together than apart, confirming my theory about anchor pairs. C.H. was also present, though uninvited. Her interference grows more bold with each passing year. The fracture continues to widen, despite J.A.'s claims that he is working to heal it.*
Dany flipped forward a few pages.
*July 3, 1912 – D.M. has disappeared from this timeline. J.A. claims she returned to her original time, but my instruments detected a third temporal signature at the moment of transfer. Someone else is manipulating these journeys, but to what end remains unclear.*
"Finding anything interesting?"
Dany jumped, nearly dropping the journal. Eleanor stood in the doorway, a bundle of clothing in her arms and an knowing expression on her face.
"I'm sorry," Dany said, hastily returning the journal to its shelf. "I shouldn't have—"
"It's quite alright," Eleanor assured her. "In fact, I'd intended for you to read them eventually. They contain my observations of the wardrobe and its travelers over the decades. Including you and John."
She handed Dany the clothing—a simple skirt, blouse, and cardigan in the style of the 1940s, along with appropriate undergarments. "These should fit well enough. The bathroom is through there if you'd like to change."
The clothes were a relief after the restrictive Victorian dress. When Dany emerged from the bathroom, Eleanor had prepared tea and set out a plate of simple biscuits.
"Rationing makes for rather plain fare, I'm afraid," she apologized, pouring tea into two cups. "But it's hot and sweet, which is what matters after a night in the shelter."
Dany accepted the cup gratefully, realizing she was both hungry and thirsty. The biscuits were indeed plain, but after the stress and confusion of the past hours, they tasted wonderful.
"Now," Eleanor said, settling into a chair opposite Dany, "let's talk about those keys, and why the Custodians are so desperate to retrieve them."
"You mentioned they were 'temporal focus keys,'" Dany recalled. "That they can lock or unlock specific points in time."
"Yes, though that's a simplification of their true power," Eleanor said. "What they actually do is stabilize or destabilize nexus points—moments where multiple timelines converge and where changes can have the most significant ripple effects."
"And why are there two of them?" Dany asked, turning the keys over in her hand. They looked nearly identical, with only subtle differences in their patterns.
"Because they work in pairs," Eleanor explained. "One to lock, one to unlock. Together, they can either seal a fracture permanently or open it wide enough to reshape reality itself."
"And that's what the Custodians are afraid of? That someone will use them to change reality?"
"The Custodians believe in preserving what they call the 'prime timeline'—the original flow of events before any fractures occurred," Eleanor said. "They see the keys as threats to that timeline, tools that could be used to create permanent alterations to history."
"Are they wrong?" Dany asked.
Eleanor sighed, her expression troubled. "Not entirely. The keys are indeed powerful, potentially dangerous in the wrong hands. But the Custodians' vision of a single 'correct' timeline is flawed. Time is more fluid, more adaptable than they believe. And sometimes..." She hesitated. "Sometimes changes are necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
"To prevent greater catastrophes," Eleanor said. "To heal wounds in the fabric of reality that would otherwise spread and cause more damage."
Dany sipped her tea, trying to process this information. "So the keys can be used to either help or harm, depending on who wields them and for what purpose."
"Precisely," Eleanor confirmed. "Which is why both John and Catherine want them—and why the Custodians are determined to take them from you."
"But why me?" Dany asked, the question that had been burning in her mind since this all began. "Why am I connected to all of this? John says we're both anchors, fragments of ourselves scattered across time that are trying to converge. Is that true?"
Eleanor was quiet for a moment, studying Dany with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable. "Partially," she said finally. "You and John are indeed anchors—points of stability in an increasingly unstable temporal landscape. But there's more to it than that."
She rose and moved to a bookshelf, retrieving a journal labeled "1985"—a year still in the future from their current perspective. "I've spent my life studying the wardrobe and its effects, tracking patterns across different eras. And I've come to believe that you, Danielle Mitchell, are not just an anchor or a traveler."
"Then what am I?"
Eleanor handed her the journal, open to a specific page. "You're the key to everything. The nexus point around which all of this revolves."
Dany looked down at the journal, her breath catching as she saw a detailed diagram of her own temporal signature—far more complex than the one the professor had shown her, with multiple layers and interconnections that formed an intricate pattern.
"This pattern," Eleanor explained, pointing to a specific configuration at the center of the diagram, "appears at every major fracture point I've identified. It's your temporal signature, Dany. Not just from your conscious travels, but from something deeper—something woven into the fabric of time itself."
"I don't understand," Dany said, staring at the complex diagram. "How can my signature be present at fractures that occurred before I was even born?"
"Because time doesn't work the way we perceive it," Eleanor said simply. "Past, present, future—these are convenient fictions we use to make sense of our linear experience. But reality is far more complex. Your essence, your temporal signature, exists across all of time simultaneously."
Dany felt dizzy with the implications. "Are you saying I'm causing the fractures?"
"No," Eleanor said firmly. "I'm saying you're connected to them. That you have the potential to either heal them completely or to use them to reshape reality according to your will."
"That's..." Dany struggled to find words. "That's impossible. I'm just a normal person who happened to buy a weird wardrobe."
Eleanor smiled gently. "There are no coincidences in this story, Dany. The wardrobe didn't randomly come into your possession. It found you because of who and what you are."
"And what exactly am I?" Dany asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Before Eleanor could answer, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Both women froze, exchanging alarmed glances.
"Are you expecting someone?" Dany whispered.
Eleanor shook her head, rising slowly from her chair. "No one knows I'm here except..." Her expression changed to one of recognition. "Ah. Of course."
She moved to the door and opened it without hesitation. A man stood in the hallway—tall, broad-shouldered, with a weathered face that spoke of hardship and determination. He wore the uniform of a British Army officer, though it was dusty and torn in places.
"Eleanor," he said, his voice deep and tinged with an accent Dany couldn't quite place. "Sorry for the dramatic entrance, but time is short."
"It always is with you, James," Eleanor replied with a hint of affection. She stepped aside to let him enter, then closed and locked the door behind him.
The man—James—stopped abruptly when he saw Dany, his expression shifting from urgency to surprise and then to something like recognition.
"You found her," he said to Eleanor, his eyes never leaving Dany's face. "Sooner than expected."
"I didn't find her," Eleanor corrected. "The wardrobe sent her here—along with John, Catherine, and my uncle, though they've been separated in the transfer."
James's expression darkened at the mention of these names. "All of them? Together? That's... concerning."
"Indeed," Eleanor agreed. "Particularly with the Custodians involved."
James muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. "Then we have even less time than I thought." He turned to Dany, his manner becoming more formal. "I apologize for the intrusion, Miss Mitchell. My name is James Blackwood. I'm Eleanor's... colleague."
"Blackwood?" Dany repeated. "Are you related to the professor as well?"
A strange look passed between James and Eleanor. "It's complicated," James said after a moment. "Family relationships become rather tangled when time travel is involved."
"James is from 1963," Eleanor explained. "He's been working with me—or rather, with my future self—to track the expansion of the fractures."
"And they're expanding faster than we anticipated," James added grimly. "The latest readings suggest a critical point will be reached within the next forty-eight hours, subjective time."
"Subjective time?" Dany asked.
"Time as experienced by the traveler," Eleanor clarified. "In this case, you. Regardless of which era you're in, the countdown continues from your perspective."
"Countdown to what?"
James and Eleanor exchanged another look, this one heavy with significance.
"To the collapse," James said finally. "The point at which the fractures become too numerous and too large to contain. When that happens, entire sections of the timeline will begin to fold in on themselves, creating paradoxes that reality cannot sustain."
"The end of time as a coherent concept," Eleanor added, echoing what Catherine had said in the laboratory.
Dany felt a chill run through her. "And I'm supposed to prevent this somehow? With the keys?"
"The keys are part of it," James confirmed. "But more important is your connection to John Ambrose. The bond between you is what will ultimately determine whether the fractures are healed or expanded beyond repair."
"But I don't even know where John is," Dany protested. "We were separated during the transfer."
"He'll find you," Eleanor said with certainty. "He always does. The question is whether you'll be prepared when he does."
"Prepared for what?"
James moved to the window, peering out cautiously before drawing the blackout curtains closed. "For the choice you'll have to make. The same choice that has been presented to you in countless timelines before this one."
"What choice?" Dany demanded, frustration mounting. "Why does everyone speak in riddles instead of just telling me what's going on?"
"Because the full truth could influence your decision," Eleanor said gently. "And this is one decision that must be made freely, without manipulation."
"That sounds like manipulation in itself," Dany pointed out.
James laughed unexpectedly, the sound warming his severe features. "She's sharp, this one. No wonder she's the nexus point."
A distant explosion interrupted their conversation—another air raid beginning, earlier than usual. Eleanor moved quickly to a cabinet and retrieved a small leather satchel.
"We need to move," she said, her voice taking on a new urgency. "The Custodians will have tracked your arrival by now, and this flat isn't secure enough."
"Where are we going?" Dany asked, rising from her chair.
"Somewhere they won't think to look," James replied, checking a pistol he had withdrawn from his uniform jacket. "Somewhere we can continue this conversation without interruption."
Eleanor was gathering items from around the flat—books, a small device similar to the professor's temporal fluctuation detector, and several of her journals. She stuffed them into the satchel, then handed it to James.
"Take these," she instructed. "I'll bring the essentials."
As they prepared to leave, Dany felt a strange sensation—a tingling that began in her fingertips and spread up her arms. The same feeling she'd experienced before being pulled back through time.
"Eleanor," she said urgently. "Something's happening. I think I'm being pulled back."
Eleanor and James both turned to her with alarm. "Not now," Eleanor said. "It's too soon. You haven't—"
Her words were cut off as the room around them began to blur. Dany felt the familiar sensation of being pulled through the vortex, but this time it was different—more violent, more chaotic. She reached out desperately, trying to maintain contact with Eleanor or James, but her hands passed through them as if they were made of smoke.
"The keys!" Eleanor called, her voice sounding distant and distorted. "Use them to—"
The rest of her words were lost as the world dissolved completely around Dany. The vortex engulfed her, but instead of the swirling colors and sensations of previous transfers, this was darkness—a void so complete it seemed to swallow light, sound, even thought itself.
Dany felt herself falling through nothingness, no sense of up or down, no reference points to orient herself. Panic rose within her, the fear that this time she had been lost between timelines, trapped in the void between moments.
Then, abruptly, she felt something—a hand grasping hers, warm and solid in the emptiness. The touch anchored her, gave her something to hold onto as the void continued to press in from all sides.
"I've got you," a familiar voice said, somehow audible despite the absence of air or sound. "Hold on, Dany. Don't let go."
John. Somehow, he had found her in the void, reached across the nothingness to pull her back.
The darkness began to recede, replaced by the more familiar swirling colors of temporal transfer. Dany clung to John's hand, using it as an anchor as reality slowly reformed around them.
When the transfer completed, they were standing in a forest clearing, sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above. Birds sang in the branches, and a small stream burbled nearby. The peaceful scene was a stark contrast to the chaos of war-torn London and the terrifying void that had followed.
John stood before her, looking exactly as he had in Oxford—young, in his early twenties, dressed in Victorian attire that now appeared out of place in what was clearly a different time period.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes scanning her face with concern. "I felt you slipping away—being pulled into the void between timelines. I almost didn't reach you in time."
Dany nodded, still trying to catch her breath and orient herself. "Where are we? When are we?"
"France, 1916," John replied. "Not my first choice of destination, but options were limited during the emergency transfer." He glanced around the peaceful clearing. "We're far enough from the front lines to be safe, at least for now."
"The others?" Dany asked. "Catherine and the professor?"
"I don't know," John admitted. "We were all separated in the transfer. The Custodians' interference created a temporal shockwave that scattered us across different eras."
Dany took a step back, creating some distance between them as the events in Oxford and London came rushing back. "John, before we go any further, I need answers. Real answers, not half-truths or evasions."
John's expression grew serious. "I know. And you deserve them." He gestured to a fallen log nearby. "Let's sit. This may take some time."
As they settled onto the log, the peaceful sounds of the forest surrounding them, Dany felt the weight of the keys in her pocket—physical reminders of the choice that apparently lay before her, a choice that had been presented to her "in countless timelines before."
"Start at the beginning," she said, meeting John's gaze directly. "Tell me who you really are, what the wardrobe really is, and why everyone seems to think I'm the key to preventing the collapse of time itself."
John took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "The truth, then. All of it." He reached for her hand, his expression more vulnerable than she had ever seen it. "But I should warn you—once you know everything, you can never go back to who you were before. The choice you make will affect not just us, not just this timeline, but all of reality."
"I'm ready," Dany said, though a part of her wondered if anyone could truly be ready for such a burden.
As John began to speak, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself was waiting to hear what would come next.
________
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