The forest was quiet except for birdsong and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. In this peaceful clearing, far from the horrors of the Western Front that raged elsewhere in France, John and Dany sat side by side on the fallen log. The contrast between their surroundings and the weight of their conversation couldn't have been more stark.
"The beginning," John said, his voice thoughtful as he gathered his words. "That's difficult, because there are so many beginnings to this story. But I suppose the most relevant one is the original fracture—the event that started everything."
He picked up a stick and began drawing in the soft earth at their feet—a straight line that then split into multiple branches.
"Time was once linear, or at least more stable than it is now. There were always small variations, alternate possibilities, but they existed within a cohesive structure." He pointed to the straight line. "Then, in 1882, something happened that shattered that structure." His finger moved to the point where the line split into branches. "The first major fracture."
"Professor Blackwood's experiment with the wardrobe," Dany said.
John nodded. "Yes and no. The professor didn't create the fracture—he was investigating one that had already begun to form. The wardrobe was his tool for that investigation, not the cause."
"Then what caused it?"
John's eyes met hers, intense and serious. "You did, Dany. Or rather, a version of you from a future that no longer exists."
Dany stared at him, trying to process this information. "That's impossible. I wasn't even born in 1882."
"Not in this timeline," John agreed. "But in the original one—the one that existed before the fracture—you were a scientist working in the field of quantum physics. You discovered a method of transferring consciousness through time, and you built the first prototype of what would eventually become the wardrobe."
"I built the wardrobe?" Dany repeated incredulously.
"A version of you did," John clarified. "A version from a timeline that was erased when the first fracture occurred. You sent your consciousness back to 1882, intending to observe a specific historical event. But something went wrong. Your presence in that time created a paradox that split reality itself."
Dany shook her head, struggling to accept what he was saying. "If that timeline was erased, how do you know about it? How does anyone know?"
"Because I was there," John said quietly. "Not physically—my body didn't exist in 1882. But my consciousness did. I was part of your experiment in that original timeline. Your research partner."
He paused, watching her reaction carefully. Dany felt as though the ground beneath her was shifting, reality itself becoming unstable as she tried to absorb these revelations.
"So in this... original timeline," she said slowly, "we were scientists working together on time travel?"
"More than that," John replied, his voice softening. "We were partners in every sense of the word. The research was your vision, but we built it together. And when you decided to be the first test subject, I insisted on establishing a mental link between us—a safety measure to ensure you could find your way back."
"A mental link," Dany repeated, remembering the inexplicable connection she had felt to John from their first meeting. "Is that why I feel like I know you, even though we've just met?"
"It's why we're drawn to each other across every timeline," John confirmed. "That link was never broken, even when reality itself fractured around us. It's what allows me to find you, no matter when or where you are."
Dany stood up, needing to move as she processed this information. She paced the small clearing, aware of John watching her with patient concern.
"If what you're saying is true," she said finally, "then who am I in this timeline? Am I still... me? Or am I just some echo of that original Dany?"
"You're you," John said firmly. "Different circumstances, different experiences, but the same essential person. Your soul, for lack of a better term, remains constant across all timelines."
"And the wardrobe? If I built the prototype in this original timeline, how did it end up in Victorian England?"
John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's where it gets even more complicated. When the fracture occurred, pieces of the original timeline scattered across the new ones. The wardrobe—or rather, different versions of it—appeared at various points in history. Professor Blackwood found one such version and began studying it, not realizing its true origin or purpose."
"And you?" Dany asked, turning to face him fully. "You said you were my research partner in the original timeline. But in this one, you're from the Victorian era. How does that work?"
"I'm not, exactly," John said, his expression troubled. "What I told you in Oxford was partially true—I am a convergence of fragments. But not just fragments of John Ambrose from different timelines. I'm a convergence of myself and the consciousness of your original research partner."
He stood up, moving to join her in the center of the clearing. "When the fracture occurred, your partner—the original John—was mentally linked to you. His consciousness was pulled into the fracture along with yours, but while you were scattered into new versions of yourself across multiple timelines, he was... absorbed, I suppose you could say, into existing versions of John Ambrose."
"So you have his memories?" Dany asked. "His knowledge of the original timeline?"
"Some of it," John confirmed. "Fragments, just like you're beginning to experience. The more we travel, the more those fragments converge, the more complete our understanding becomes."
Dany tried to make sense of it all—the idea that she had once been a scientist who created time travel, that she and John had been partners, that their experiment had somehow fractured reality itself.
"What about Catherine?" she asked. "And Professor Blackwood? Eleanor? How do they fit into all this?"
John's expression darkened slightly. "Catherine was also part of our research team in the original timeline. She was brilliant, dedicated, but she had different ideas about how our discovery should be used. While we saw it as a tool for understanding history, for advancing human knowledge, she saw it as a means to change the past—to prevent tragedies, to reshape reality according to her vision of what should be."
"And that's still what she wants," Dany realized. "To use the fractures to change history."
"Yes," John confirmed. "When the fracture occurred, Catherine was also scattered across timelines, but unlike us, she retained more of her original memories from the start. She's been working for decades to widen the fractures enough to allow permanent changes to the timeline."
"And the professor? Eleanor?"
"The professor was never part of our original research team," John explained. "He's a natural part of this timeline who became involved when he discovered the wardrobe. As for Eleanor..." He hesitated. "Eleanor is more complicated. In the original timeline, she was Catherine's younger sister, a brilliant mathematician who helped develop the equations that made our work possible."
"Catherine's sister?" Dany repeated in surprise. "But she seems to oppose Catherine now."
"Their relationship has always been... complex," John said diplomatically. "In the original timeline, they were close but competitive. When reality fractured, they ended up on opposite sides of the fundamental question: should the fractures be healed, or exploited?"
Dany sat back down on the log, feeling overwhelmed by the scale and complexity of what John was describing. "And the Custodians? Where do they come from?"
"They're a direct result of the fractures," John said, sitting beside her again. "In the new timelines that formed after the original split, certain people became aware of the instability in reality. They formed an organization dedicated to preserving what they see as the 'correct' flow of time. They don't understand the true nature of the fractures or their cause—they simply want to eliminate anything that threatens their vision of temporal stability."
"Including us," Dany added.
"Especially us," John confirmed grimly. "To them, we're the source of the instability, anomalies that need to be erased."
Dany was quiet for a moment, processing everything John had told her. It was almost too much to comprehend—the idea that she was at the center of a temporal catastrophe that spanned multiple realities and timelines.
"You said I'm the key to preventing the collapse," she said finally. "That I have to make some kind of choice. What choice?"
John's expression grew solemn. "The fractures are approaching a critical point—a moment when they'll either begin to heal or expand beyond control. You, as the nexus point where all these timelines converge, have the power to determine which outcome occurs."
"How? What am I supposed to do?"
"The keys you're carrying," John explained, "they're fragments of the original device you created—the prototype wardrobe. Together, they can be used to either seal the fractures permanently or to stabilize them enough to allow controlled passage between timelines."
"And which option is the right one?" Dany asked.
John's eyes met hers, intense and earnest. "That's the choice only you can make. If you seal the fractures, time will stabilize—reality will settle into a single, coherent timeline. The wardrobe will cease to function, and all of us—you, me, Catherine, everyone connected to the fractures—will be integrated into whatever version of ourselves exists in that final timeline."
"And if I stabilize them instead?"
"Then the multiple timelines will continue to exist in parallel," John said. "Travel between them will remain possible, but controlled, safe. The fractures won't heal completely, but they won't expand either."
"And which option do you think I should choose?" Dany asked, watching his reaction carefully.
John was quiet for a long moment before answering. "I can't tell you that," he said finally. "This has to be your decision, based on what you believe is right."
"But you must have an opinion," Dany pressed. "After everything you've experienced, everything you know about the fractures and their effects."
"I do," John admitted. "But I'm not objective, Dany. My perspective is influenced by my own desires, my own fears."
"Tell me anyway," she insisted. "I want to know."
John sighed, his gaze dropping to the patterns he had drawn in the dirt. "I believe the fractures should be stabilized, not sealed," he said quietly. "Not because I want to maintain the ability to travel through time, but because I'm afraid of what sealing them might mean for us."
"For us?" Dany repeated.
"For our connection," John clarified, looking up at her again. "If the timelines merge into one, there's no guarantee that we'll find each other in that new reality. We might exist, but separately, with no memory of what we've shared across time."
The vulnerability in his expression made Dany's heart ache. Despite all her doubts, all the warnings from Catherine and Eleanor, the connection she felt to John was undeniable—a bond that transcended rational explanation.
"And Catherine?" she asked. "What does she want?"
"Catherine wants neither option," John said grimly. "She wants to use the keys to widen the fractures even further, to create a reality she can control completely. That's why she's been manipulating events, trying to position herself to take the keys when the critical moment arrives."
"And Eleanor?"
"Eleanor believes the fractures should be sealed," John said. "She sees the continuing instability as too dangerous, too unpredictable. She wants a single, stable timeline, even if it means sacrificing the connections we've formed across multiple realities."
Dany stood again, moving to the edge of the clearing where sunlight filtered through the leaves in dappled patterns. The weight of the decision before her felt crushing—the fate of reality itself apparently resting on her shoulders.
"How am I supposed to make this choice?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I barely understand what's happening, let alone the consequences of either option."
John came to stand beside her, close but not touching. "You'll know," he said gently. "When the moment comes, you'll know what's right. Your connection to the fractures, to the original timeline—it gives you an intuitive understanding that the rest of us lack."
"And when is this moment supposed to happen?" Dany asked. "Eleanor and James mentioned forty-eight hours, subjective time."
"They're right," John confirmed. "The critical point is approaching rapidly. We need to—"
He stopped abruptly, his head turning sharply as if listening for something Dany couldn't hear. His expression changed to one of alarm.
"What is it?" Dany asked, instantly alert.
"Custodians," John said grimly. "They've tracked us to this timeline." He took her hand, already pulling her toward the trees at the far side of the clearing. "We need to move. Now."
They ran through the forest, John leading the way with a confidence that suggested he knew exactly where they were going. Dany struggled to keep up, her modern clothing from 1940s London more practical than the Victorian dress had been, but still not ideal for running through woodland.
"Where are we going?" she gasped as they scrambled up a steep incline.
"There's an abandoned hunting lodge about a mile from here," John replied, not slowing his pace. "We can take shelter there while I figure out our next move."
"Can't we just use the wardrobe to leave?" Dany asked. "Transfer to another time?"
"Without the physical wardrobe, transfers are much more difficult and dangerous," John explained. "I can initiate one if absolutely necessary, but it takes time to prepare, and the results are unpredictable."
They crested the hill and paused briefly, John scanning the forest behind them for signs of pursuit. The peaceful sounds of the forest continued uninterrupted—no crashing through undergrowth, no voices calling out commands.
"I think we've got a lead on them," John said, though he didn't relax his vigilance. "But they're persistent. They won't give up easily."
They continued at a slightly less frantic pace, moving through the forest as quietly as possible. Dany's mind raced with questions, trying to reconcile everything John had told her with what she had learned from Catherine, the professor, and Eleanor.
"John," she said as they navigated around a fallen tree, "if what you've told me is true—if I created the original device that led to all this—why can't I remember more of it? Why only fragments?"
"The fracture shattered your consciousness across multiple timelines," John replied. "Each version of you holds pieces of the original, but no single version has the complete memory. As you travel between timelines, those pieces begin to reconnect, allowing you to access more of your original knowledge and experiences."
"Is that what's happening when I get those flashes? Those moments where I seem to remember things I've never experienced?"
"Exactly," John confirmed. "Your consciousness is gradually reintegrating, becoming whole again."
"And when it's complete? When I remember everything?"
John's expression grew troubled. "That's part of what makes the coming critical point so dangerous. If your consciousness fully reintegrates before the fractures are either sealed or stabilized, the resulting temporal energy could accelerate the collapse."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, the implications of his words sinking in. Dany was not just the key to preventing the collapse—she was potentially the trigger for it as well.
The hunting lodge appeared through the trees—a small, rustic structure of stone and timber that had clearly been abandoned for some time. Vines crept up its walls, and part of the roof had collapsed, but it still offered better shelter than the open forest.
John approached cautiously, checking for signs of recent occupation before gesturing for Dany to follow him inside. The interior was dusty and cobweb-filled, with broken furniture scattered across the floor and animal droppings in the corners. But it was dry and relatively intact, with multiple exits in case they needed to flee quickly.
"We should be safe here for a few hours," John said, moving to the windows to check their surroundings once more. "The Custodians will be searching in a grid pattern from our last known location. It will take them time to reach this area."
Dany sank onto a wooden bench that looked sturdy enough to support her weight, suddenly aware of how exhausted she was. The physical and emotional strain of the past hours—or days, it was hard to keep track across multiple timelines—was catching up to her.
"You should rest," John said, noticing her fatigue. "I'll keep watch."
"I'm not sure I can sleep," Dany admitted. "Not with everything that's happening."
John smiled sympathetically. "Try anyway. We don't know when we'll get another chance."
Despite her doubts, Dany stretched out on the bench, using her folded cardigan as a makeshift pillow. The hard wood was uncomfortable, but her body's need for rest overrode the discomfort. Her eyes grew heavy, and despite the turmoil in her mind, she drifted into sleep.
Her dreams were vivid and disjointed—fragments of memories that didn't belong to her current life. She saw herself in a laboratory filled with equipment she somehow knew how to operate. John was there, younger than any version she had met, his face alight with excitement as they worked together on a device that hummed with energy. Catherine too, her expression intense as she made calculations on a transparent board covered in equations. And Eleanor, barely more than a teenager, watching them all with a mixture of admiration and concern.
The scene shifted, and she was standing before a prototype of the wardrobe—sleeker, more technological than the wooden antique she knew, but recognizably the same device. She was explaining something to the others, her voice confident as she detailed how the machine would transfer consciousness across time.
"The risks are significant," dream-Dany was saying, "but the potential benefits outweigh them. Imagine being able to observe history firsthand, to answer questions that have puzzled humanity for centuries."
"And to change things that went wrong," Catherine added, a familiar gleam in her eye. "To prevent disasters, save lives."
"That's not the purpose," John objected. "We've discussed this, Catherine. Observation only. The temporal consequences of alteration are too unpredictable."
"Always so cautious, John," Catherine replied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Sometimes progress requires boldness."
The dream shifted again, and now Dany was preparing to enter the prototype wardrobe. John was attaching sensors to her temples, his hands gentle, his expression worried.
"The mental link is established," he was saying. "If anything goes wrong, I'll be able to find you, to pull you back."
"Nothing will go wrong," dream-Dany assured him, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "The calculations are perfect. I'll observe the target event and return within minutes from your perspective."
"And if you don't?" John asked, his voice tight with concern.
Dream-Dany reached up to touch his face, the gesture intimate and familiar. "Then you'll come find me. You always do."
The scene dissolved, replaced by chaos—alarms blaring, equipment sparking, the prototype wardrobe pulsing with unstable energy. John was shouting something, reaching for the wardrobe doors as they began to close with Dany inside. Catherine was at a control panel, her fingers flying over the keys, her expression not panicked but determined, focused. And behind her, Eleanor watched with wide, frightened eyes.
Then darkness, a sensation of falling, of being torn apart and scattered like ashes in the wind. And through it all, a single thread of connection—John's consciousness, linked to hers, being pulled along in her wake as reality fractured around them.
Dany woke with a gasp, sitting up so quickly that she nearly fell off the bench. The hunting lodge was darker now, late afternoon shadows stretching across the dusty floor. John was by her side instantly, his expression concerned.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"I remembered," Dany said, her voice shaking. "Not everything, but... enough. The experiment, the prototype, the fracture. It was real. Everything you told me was true."
Relief washed over John's face. "You're starting to reintegrate faster now. That's good."
"But there was something else," Dany continued, the dream still vivid in her mind. "Catherine. She was at the controls when something went wrong. She did something, John. I don't think the fracture was an accident."
John's expression hardened. "I've suspected as much for a long time, but I could never prove it. My memories of those final moments are fragmented, incomplete."
"She wanted to change history," Dany said, remembering Catherine's words in the dream. "She saw the wardrobe as a tool for altering the past, not just observing it."
"And when we refused to use it that way, she took matters into her own hands," John concluded grimly. "It makes sense. Catherine always believed the end justified the means."
Dany stood up, needing to move as she processed these new memories. "If she caused the original fracture deliberately, then everything that's happened since—all the temporal instability, the threat of collapse—it's all because of her."
"Not entirely," John said, his voice measured. "Catherine may have triggered the fracture, but the underlying instability was inherent in the technology itself. Your original design was revolutionary but fundamentally flawed. It was only a matter of time before something went wrong."
"So I share the blame," Dany said quietly.
"No one is to blame," John insisted. "We were scientists exploring unknown territory. The consequences couldn't have been predicted."
Dany wasn't convinced, but before she could respond, a sound from outside caught their attention—a twig snapping, followed by the soft murmur of voices.
John moved silently to the window, peering cautiously through a gap in the shutters. His body tensed, and he turned back to Dany with a finger to his lips.
"Custodians," he mouthed silently. "At least three of them."
Dany's heart began to race. They were trapped in the lodge with unknown enemies closing in—enemies who wanted to erase them from time itself.
John gestured toward the back of the lodge, where a small door presumably led to a rear exit. They moved as quietly as possible across the creaking floorboards, freezing whenever a particularly loud creak threatened to give away their position.
Just as they reached the back door, the front door of the lodge burst open. Three figures in dark clothing entered, their movements precise and coordinated. The leader—the same man who had confronted Dany in Oxford—scanned the room with cold efficiency.
"They were here," he said to his companions. "Recently. The temporal residue is still fresh."
John pushed the back door open, pulling Dany through it and into the gathering dusk outside. They ran, no longer concerned with stealth, only with putting distance between themselves and their pursuers.
Shouts erupted behind them as the Custodians discovered their escape. The forest was darker now, the setting sun casting long shadows that made navigation treacherous. Dany stumbled over roots and rocks, John's hand in hers the only thing keeping her upright and moving forward.
"There's a river ahead," John gasped as they ran. "If we can cross it, we might be able to lose them."
The sound of rushing water grew louder as they approached the river. When they broke through the treeline, Dany's heart sank. The river was wider and faster than she had expected, its dark waters churning over rocks and fallen trees.
"We can't cross that," she said, staring at the dangerous current.
"We have to," John replied grimly. "They're right behind us, and they won't stop until they have the keys."
As if to emphasize his point, a shout came from the forest behind them. The Custodians had picked up their trail and were closing in rapidly.
John scanned the riverbank, looking for the safest crossing point. "There," he said, pointing to a section where a fallen tree created a makeshift bridge about halfway across. "We can use that to get partway, then swim the rest."
It was a desperate plan, but they had no alternatives. They moved quickly to the fallen tree and began to cross, the wet bark slippery beneath their feet. Dany went first, John right behind her, both of them balancing precariously above the rushing water.
They were halfway across when the first Custodian emerged from the forest. He spotted them immediately and shouted to his companions, already moving toward the river.
"Hurry," John urged, his voice tight with urgency.
Dany increased her pace, trying to balance speed with caution on the treacherous surface. The end of the fallen tree was just a few feet away when her foot slipped. She teetered for a heart-stopping moment, arms windmilling as she fought for balance.
John lunged forward, grabbing her arm and steadying her. But the sudden movement unbalanced him instead. With a cry of surprise, he fell sideways into the churning river below.
"John!" Dany screamed, watching in horror as he was immediately swept downstream by the powerful current.
Without hesitation, she jumped in after him, the cold water shocking her system as it closed over her head. The current grabbed her instantly, tumbling her over and over as it carried her downstream. She fought to keep her head above water, gasping for air whenever she could.
Through the chaos, she caught glimpses of John ahead of her, struggling against the current. He disappeared around a bend in the river, and Dany redoubled her efforts to follow, fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
The river narrowed, the current becoming even stronger as it squeezed between rocky banks. Dany was helpless against its power, her body battered against rocks and submerged branches. Her lungs burned, her limbs growing heavy with exhaustion and cold.
Just as her strength was failing, her foot struck something solid—a sandbar or shallow area where the river widened again. She managed to get her feet under her, staggering toward the bank on trembling legs.
She collapsed on the muddy shore, coughing up river water, her entire body aching from the ordeal. As her vision cleared, she looked around desperately for John.
"John?" she called, her voice hoarse. "John!"
There was no response, only the sound of the river and the evening forest around her. Panic rose in her throat as she struggled to her feet, scanning the riverbank in both directions.
"John!" she called again, louder this time despite the risk of alerting the Custodians to her location.
A groan from downstream answered her. Dany moved as quickly as her battered body would allow, following the sound to where John lay half in the water, his leg caught between two rocks.
"John," she gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. "Are you alright?"
His face was pale, his breathing labored. "My leg," he managed through gritted teeth. "I think it's broken."
Dany examined the injury as gently as possible. His lower leg was indeed trapped between rocks, and the unnatural angle suggested a fracture. She would need to free him before she could assess the full extent of the damage.
"This is going to hurt," she warned him, already positioning herself to move the smaller of the two rocks.
John nodded, his jaw tight. "Do it."
Dany pushed with all her remaining strength, managing to shift the rock just enough for John to pull his injured leg free. He couldn't suppress a cry of pain as the movement jarred the broken bone.
"We need to get away from the river," John said once he had caught his breath. "The Custodians will be searching downstream."
"You can't walk on that leg," Dany pointed out.
"I'll manage," John insisted, already trying to stand despite the obvious agony it caused him.
Dany moved to support him, allowing him to lean on her as he balanced on his good leg. Together, they began a slow, painful journey away from the river and into the forest beyond.
Night had fallen completely now, making their progress even more difficult. They had no light, no supplies, and no clear destination—only the desperate need to put distance between themselves and their pursuers.
After what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, John's strength gave out. He collapsed against a tree, his face shining with sweat despite the cool night air.
"I need to rest," he admitted, his voice weak with pain and exhaustion.
Dany helped him to sit with his back against the tree trunk, then knelt beside him to examine his leg properly. Even in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees, she could see the swelling and bruising around the break.
"We need to splint this," she said, looking around for suitable materials.
"Dany," John said, his hand catching hers. "There's no time. The Custodians will find us soon, and in this condition, I can't run."
"I'm not leaving you," Dany said firmly, already gathering fallen branches that might serve as splints.
"You have to," John insisted. "The keys are what matter. You need to get them somewhere safe, somewhere the Custodians can't find them before the critical point is reached."
"And where is that?" Dany demanded, pausing in her work. "Where am I supposed to go, John? I don't even know how to initiate a transfer without the wardrobe."
John was quiet for a moment, his expression troubled. "There is a way," he said finally. "But it's dangerous, especially without preparation."
"Tell me," Dany urged.
"The keys themselves can be used to create a temporary portal," John explained. "They contain fragments of the original wardrobe's power. But using them that way requires a focus point—a clear destination and purpose."
"I have a destination," Dany said, thinking of Eleanor and James in 1940s London. "They were trying to help me understand my role in all this. They might know how to protect the keys until the critical point."
John's expression darkened slightly. "Eleanor has her own agenda, Dany. She believes the fractures should be sealed completely, regardless of the consequences for those of us connected to them."
"And you believe they should be stabilized instead," Dany reminded him. "Everyone has an agenda, John. The question is whose agenda aligns most closely with what's right."
John sighed, his hand finding hers in the darkness. "I can't tell you what's right, Dany. That's a decision only you can make. But I can tell you that using the keys to create a portal without proper preparation is extremely risky. You could end up anywhere—or nowhere at all."
"What choice do I have?" Dany asked. "The Custodians are coming, you can't travel, and we have no other way to escape."
Before John could respond, a sound from nearby froze them both—voices, still distant but growing closer. The Custodians had crossed the river and were tracking them through the forest.
"There's no more time," John said urgently. "If you're going to use the keys, it has to be now."
Dany hesitated, torn between the need to escape with the keys and her reluctance to leave John behind, injured and vulnerable.
"What will they do to you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They won't kill me," John assured her, though his expression was grim. "They need me alive to track you. But they'll try to use me to find you, to get to the keys before the critical point."
"Then I'll come back for you," Dany promised. "Once the keys are safe, I'll find a way back to this time, this place."
John smiled sadly. "Time doesn't work that way, Dany. If you leave now, this moment—this version of me—will become part of a timeline that may not exist after the critical point."
The voices were closer now, accompanied by the beams of flashlights sweeping through the trees. They had minutes at most before the Custodians found them.
"How do I use the keys?" Dany asked, her decision made.
John's instructions were quick and precise. "Hold them crossed over each other, focus your mind completely on your destination, and turn them like you're unlocking a door. But Dany, you need to be absolutely clear about where and when you want to go. Any uncertainty could send you somewhere else entirely."
Dany nodded, taking the keys from her pocket. They seemed to hum with energy in her hands, responding to her touch in a way they hadn't before.
"Eleanor's flat in London, 1940," she said, focusing her mind on the specific location and time. "During the Blitz."
"One more thing," John said, his voice urgent as the flashlight beams grew closer. "Whatever you decide at the critical point—whether to seal the fractures or stabilize them—know that I understand. I trust you to make the right choice, even if it's not the one I would make."
Tears pricked at Dany's eyes as the full weight of his words sank in. "John—"
"Go," he interrupted, his own eyes bright with emotion. "Now, before they find us both."
Dany leaned forward impulsively, pressing her lips to his in a brief, desperate kiss. Then she crossed the keys as he had instructed, focusing her mind completely on Eleanor's flat in 1940s London.
As she turned the keys, a sensation unlike any previous transfer washed over her. There was no swirling vortex, no chaotic tumbling through time. Instead, the forest around her simply... dissolved, replaced by a doorway of pure light that opened before her.
The last thing she saw was John's face, watching her with a mixture of hope and resignation as the Custodians' flashlights broke through the trees behind him. Then she stepped through the doorway, and everything changed.
The transition was instantaneous—one moment she was in the dark forest of 1916 France, the next she was standing in Eleanor's flat in London. But something was wrong. The flat was dark, empty of the books and personal items she had seen before. Dust covered the furniture, and the blackout curtains hung in tatters, as if years had passed since anyone had lived here.
"Eleanor?" Dany called, her voice echoing in the empty space. "James?"
No answer came. She moved through the flat, checking each room, but found no sign of recent occupation. In what had been Eleanor's bedroom, the bed was stripped to the mattress, the wardrobe empty except for a few wire hangers.
Confused and increasingly alarmed, Dany returned to the living room. Had she focused on the wrong time? Or had something gone wrong with the portal created by the keys?
A newspaper lying on a side table caught her attention. She picked it up, brushing away the dust to reveal the date: October 15, 1945. Five years after her previous visit to this timeline, months after the end of the war in Europe.
"No," Dany whispered, realizing her mistake. She had focused on the location but hadn't been specific enough about the exact time. The portal had brought her to Eleanor's flat, but years too late.
A sound from the hallway outside made her freeze—footsteps approaching the flat's door. Dany looked around frantically for a place to hide, but before she could move, the door opened.
A man stood in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the hallway light. For a heart-stopping moment, Dany thought it might be a Custodian who had somehow tracked her across time.
Then the man stepped into the flat, and recognition dawned. It was James Blackwood, though older than when she had briefly met him in 1940. His hair was streaked with gray now, his face more lined, but his eyes were the same—alert, intelligent, assessing.
"Danielle Mitchell," he said, his voice betraying no surprise at finding her in the abandoned flat. "You're late. We expected you five years ago."
"I made a mistake with the portal," Dany explained, relief washing over her at the sight of a familiar face. "I wasn't specific enough about the time. Where's Eleanor?"
James's expression darkened. "Eleanor is gone. The Custodians found her in 1943. She managed to send me a warning before they took her, which is why I'm still here, still free."
"Took her?" Dany repeated, a chill running through her. "What do you mean? What did they do to her?"
"Temporal displacement," James said grimly. "They scattered her consciousness across multiple timelines, ensuring she couldn't reconverge. It's their preferred method for dealing with those they consider threats to temporal stability."
Dany sank onto a dusty chair, the horror of what James was describing washing over her. "They did that to Eleanor? But she was just trying to understand the fractures, to help heal them."
"Eleanor knew too much," James replied, moving further into the flat and closing the door behind him. "She had been tracking the fractures for decades, documenting the Custodians' activities. They couldn't allow her to continue."
"I'm so sorry," Dany said, genuine grief in her voice despite her brief acquaintance with Eleanor. "She was trying to help me understand my role in all this."
James nodded, his expression softening slightly. "She believed in you, Dany. Believed you would make the right choice when the critical point arrived." He glanced at his watch, a complex device with multiple dials and hands. "Which, by my calculations, is less than twenty-four hours away now."
"Twenty-four hours?" Dany repeated, alarmed. "But I thought we had more time."
"Time passes differently across timelines," James explained. "What might have been days in 1916 has compressed to hours here in 1945. The fractures are accelerating, collapsing the temporal distance between connected events."
He moved to a section of the wall that appeared no different from the rest, pressing his hand against it in a specific pattern. To Dany's surprise, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a small room beyond—a room filled with equipment that looked both advanced and somehow familiar.
"Eleanor's contingency plan," James explained, gesturing for Dany to enter. "A secure location where we could prepare for the critical point if something happened to her."
Dany stepped into the hidden room, her eyes widening as she recognized some of the equipment. It was similar to the technology she had seen in her dream-memories of the original laboratory—the place where she had built the prototype wardrobe.
"How did Eleanor get this equipment?" she asked, running her fingers over a device that hummed with energy at her touch.
"She didn't," James replied. "You did. Or rather, fragments of you scattered across time did. Eleanor simply collected them, brought them together in preparation for this moment."
Dany turned to him, confusion evident in her expression. "I don't understand."
"As your consciousness has been reintegrating, becoming more whole, your connection to the original timeline has strengthened," James explained. "In some timelines, this has manifested as an intuitive understanding of the technology you originally created. You've been unconsciously rebuilding pieces of it, leaving them where Eleanor could find them."
"I've been doing this without knowing it?" Dany asked incredulously.
"The fractures don't just affect physical reality," James said. "They affect consciousness, memory, intention. Parts of you have been working toward this moment even when your conscious mind was unaware."
He moved to a central console, activating a series of displays that flickered to life with complex patterns and readings. "These are the current measurements of temporal stability across all monitored timelines," he explained. "As you can see, the fractures are expanding rapidly, approaching the critical threshold."
Dany studied the displays, surprised to find that she understood the readings despite never having seen them before. Another fragment of memory from her original self, she realized.
"What happens at the critical point?" she asked. "Exactly, I mean. John explained that I would have to choose whether to seal the fractures or stabilize them, but he was vague about how that choice would be implemented."
James's expression grew serious. "At the critical point, the fractures will reach a state of maximum instability. For a brief window—perhaps only minutes—they will be susceptible to either permanent closure or controlled stabilization. The keys you carry are the tools for that process."
"And I'm the only one who can use them?" Dany asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Yes," James confirmed. "As the nexus point where all these timelines converge, only you have the necessary connection to both the fractures and the keys."
Dany took the keys from her pocket, studying them with new understanding. They were more than just physical objects—they were fragments of the original technology she had created, imbued with the power to reshape reality itself.
"John believes the fractures should be stabilized," she said, watching James's reaction. "Catherine wants to widen them further. Eleanor thought they should be sealed completely. What do you think?"
James was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I think," he said finally, "that each perspective is colored by personal desires and fears. John doesn't want to lose his connection to you. Catherine wants the power to rewrite history according to her vision. Eleanor feared the continuing instability would eventually lead to collapse regardless of attempts to control it."
"And you?" Dany pressed.
"I believe the choice must be based on what's best for reality as a whole, not for any individual within it," James said carefully. "But what that is..." He shrugged slightly. "I don't have the perspective to judge. None of us do, except perhaps you."
Dany turned away, moving to examine the equipment more closely as she processed his words. Everyone wanted to influence her decision, yet no one could tell her definitively what the right choice was.
As she ran her hand over one of the devices, a memory surfaced—clear and complete, unlike the fragments she had experienced before. She saw herself in the original laboratory, working on the prototype wardrobe, explaining its function to her colleagues.
"The technology doesn't create new timelines," she heard herself saying. "It reveals those that already exist in potential form. Every decision, every possibility, creates branches in reality. Most remain dormant, unrealized. This device allows us to access them, to observe roads not taken."
The memory shifted, and now she was arguing with Catherine, their voices raised in a rare display of conflict between the close colleagues.
"The ethical implications are clear," memory-Dany insisted. "Observation only, Catherine. We agreed on this from the beginning."
"Ethics evolve with technology," Catherine countered. "Think of the good we could do! Preventing disasters, saving lives—"
"At what cost?" memory-Dany interrupted. "Every change creates ripples we can't predict. Save one life here, and how many might never be born there? Prevent one disaster, and what worse calamity might take its place?"
"That's fear talking," Catherine said dismissively. "Fear of power, fear of responsibility."
"It's respect," memory-Dany corrected. "Respect for the complexity of time and causality. Some things shouldn't be tampered with, no matter how noble the intention."
The memory faded, leaving Dany standing in Eleanor's hidden room, her hand still resting on the device. But something had changed—a clarity, a certainty that hadn't been there before.
"I know what I have to do," she said quietly.
James looked up from the console, his expression questioning. "You've decided?"
"Not completely," Dany admitted. "But I'm beginning to understand the true nature of the choice before me. It's not just about sealing or stabilizing the fractures. It's about why they exist in the first place."
Before James could respond, an alarm sounded from the console—a high, urgent tone that made both of them tense.
"What is it?" Dany asked, moving quickly to join him at the displays.
"Temporal disturbance," James said grimly, his fingers flying over the controls. "Large and getting closer. Someone's creating a portal directly to this location."
"The Custodians?" Dany asked, fear tightening her chest.
"Possibly," James acknowledged. "Or it could be John, or Catherine. The critical point is approaching—everyone connected to the fractures will be converging on your location."
He moved to a cabinet and retrieved what looked like a modified pistol. "This won't kill them," he explained, seeing Dany's alarmed expression. "It's a temporal disruptor—it temporarily destabilizes a person's connection to the current timeline, making it impossible for them to remain here."
The air in the center of the room began to shimmer, distorting like heat waves above hot pavement. The distortion grew, expanding into a swirling vortex similar to what Dany had experienced during her transfers through the wardrobe.
James positioned himself between Dany and the forming portal, the disruptor raised and ready. "Stay behind me," he instructed. "If it's the Custodians, we'll only have seconds to react."
The vortex stabilized, its center clearing to reveal a figure stepping through. Dany held her breath, her hand closing around the keys in her pocket.
As the portal closed behind the newcomer, Dany gasped in recognition. It wasn't a Custodian, nor was it John or Catherine.
It was herself—another version of Dany, older, her hair streaked with gray, her face lined with years of experience. But the eyes were the same, and they fixed on Dany with an intensity that made her shiver.
"Hello, Danielle," the older Dany said, her voice eerily familiar yet different—deeper, more confident. "I've been waiting a very long time for this moment."
James lowered the disruptor slowly, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. "This isn't possible," he murmured. "The same consciousness can't exist twice in a single timeline without creating a paradox."
"Under normal circumstances, you'd be right," the older Dany agreed, her eyes never leaving her younger self. "But these are hardly normal circumstances, are they? The fractures have made the impossible not just possible, but necessary."
Dany stared at her older self, a thousand questions racing through her mind. "Who are you? I mean, I know you're me, but... when are you from? How are you here?"
The older Dany smiled, the expression softening her weathered features. "I'm from what you might call a potential future—one of many that could exist depending on the choice you make at the critical point. As for how I'm here..." She held up her hand, revealing two keys identical to the ones in Dany's pocket. "The same way you traveled to this time. The keys can create portals between connected points in the timeline."
"But why?" Dany asked. "Why come here, now? Won't your presence affect my decision, create another fracture?"
"That's exactly why I'm here," the older Dany said, her expression growing serious. "To ensure you have all the information you need to make the right choice—the choice I made, and have spent decades ensuring would remain possible."
James had moved to the console again, checking readings with increasing alarm. "Whatever you're going to tell her, make it quick," he said tensely. "Your presence here is accelerating the fractures. We have hours at most before the critical point, not days."
The older Dany nodded, unsurprised by this news. "Then we don't have time for gradual revelations." She turned back to her younger self. "You've been told that you have two options at the critical point—to seal the fractures completely or to stabilize them in their current state. But there's a third option that no one has mentioned, because no one else knows it exists."
"A third option?" Dany repeated, her mind racing with possibilities.
"Yes," her older self confirmed. "One that I discovered—will discover—through the complete reintegration of our consciousness at the critical point. An option that resolves the fundamental problem rather than merely treating its symptoms."
"Which is?"
The older Dany's eyes were intense, her voice dropping to ensure only her younger self could hear. "The fractures exist because reality itself is trying to correct a mistake—a deviation from the natural flow of time. That mistake wasn't your experiment with the wardrobe. It was something far older, far more fundamental."
"What mistake?" Dany asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The separation of time and consciousness," her older self replied. "In the original, true timeline—the one that existed before any fractures—time and consciousness were not separate phenomena but aspects of the same fundamental reality. The wardrobe didn't create that separation, but it revealed it, made it impossible to ignore any longer."
Dany struggled to comprehend what her older self was saying. "So the fractures are what—reality trying to heal itself? To reintegrate time and consciousness?"
"Exactly," the older Dany confirmed. "And the critical point isn't a moment of maximum danger—it's a moment of maximum opportunity. A chance to complete that reintegration, to heal the separation at its source."
"And how do I do that?" Dany asked, a growing sense of understanding dawning within her.
The older Dany smiled, a look of pride in her eyes. "You already know. The knowledge is within you, has always been within you. At the critical point, when your consciousness is fully reintegrated, you'll see the pattern—the true pattern underlying all of reality. And you'll know exactly what to do with the keys."
Before Dany could ask more questions, another alarm sounded from the console—more urgent than the first.
"Multiple temporal disturbances," James reported, his voice tight with tension. "At least three distinct signatures, converging on this location."
"They're coming," the older Dany said grimly. "John, Catherine, the Custodians—all converging on this moment, each trying to influence your decision."
"What do I do?" Dany asked, panic rising within her.
Her older self grasped her shoulders, her touch warm and reassuring. "Trust yourself, Danielle. Not John, not Catherine, not even me. When the moment comes, look inward, see the pattern, and follow it to its source. The keys will show you the way."
The air in the room was shimmering again, multiple vortices beginning to form at different points. James moved quickly to Dany's side, the disruptor raised.
"We need to go," he said urgently. "This location is compromised."
The older Dany nodded in agreement. "There's a secondary facility," she told her younger self. "Eleanor established it as a contingency. James knows the way."
"You're not coming with us?" Dany asked, suddenly reluctant to be separated from this version of herself who seemed to have the answers she needed.
"I can't," her older self said with genuine regret. "My presence in this timeline is already causing too much instability. I've told you what you need to know—the rest you must discover for yourself."
One of the vortices stabilized, a figure beginning to materialize within it. James grabbed Dany's arm, pulling her toward a concealed door at the back of the hidden room.
"Now, Dany!" he urged. "We have seconds at most!"
Dany hesitated, looking back at her older self. "Will I see you again?"
The older Dany's smile was enigmatic, tinged with both sadness and hope. "That depends entirely on the choice you make." She raised her keys, preparing to create another portal. "Trust the pattern, Danielle. It's been guiding you all along."
As James pulled Dany through the concealed door, she caught one last glimpse of the room behind them—her older self disappearing into a portal of her own creation, while multiple figures emerged from the other vortices, converging on the spot where she had stood moments before.
Then the door closed behind them, and they were running down a narrow service corridor, the sounds of pursuit already echoing behind them.
"This way," James directed, leading her toward a stairwell. "The secondary facility is beneath the city—part of the old Underground system, abandoned during the war."
As they descended into the darkness below, Dany's mind raced with everything her older self had revealed. A third option at the critical point—not sealing the fractures or stabilizing them, but using them to heal a more fundamental separation between time and consciousness.
It sounded impossible, yet a part of her recognized the truth in it—a truth that had been guiding her all along, through fragments of memory and intuitive understanding that transcended her current self.
The keys felt warm in her pocket, responding to her thoughts as if they were alive, aware. Whatever happened in the hours ahead, Dany knew with sudden certainty that she was approaching the end of one journey and the beginning of another—one that would reshape not just her own reality, but the very nature of time itself.