Chapter 9: My New Reality

  When I woke up, I found myself lying on a cold, metallic bench inside a holding cell.

  A message flickered into the air in front of me.

  [Loop Count: 2]

  It either confirmed my meeting with Chronos had actually happened and wasn’t part of my imagination…or that I was losing my mind.

  I reached my hand forward, but the letters and numbers vanished before my fingers even got close.

  So…this was my second time reliving this day.

  They weren’t lying – I couldn’t remember jack shit.

  The only thing that stuck was the final moment – something sharp piercing through my chest.

  Everything else, though? Gone.

  Even my conversation with Chronos was hazy, like a dream I couldn’t remember fully. I figured the worst gaps were wherever we’d talked about what happened during the original timeline. Intentional, of course. He did say he wanted me to progress slowly and losing my memory was a necessity.

  I sighed, long and low, then glanced up.

  I wasn’t alone. Two other people shared the cell with me.

  One was a man pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath. He’d look like he came straight from Skyhaven if his fancy clothes weren’t this dirty. And if we weren’t in Orlinth.

  The other was a woman with wild eyes curled in the corner of the cell, knees to her chest. Definitely high on something.

  I clenched my fists, recalling how I got here.

  Fucking Devin…

  I needed to get out of here. Fast.

  But…where do I even go?

  Do I just go to the Expo like nothing happened and hope the pieces fall into place?

  I didn’t remember the exact events – only that Libra and Valdemar were behind it all, and that it’ll take place in the Divine.

  I took another breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

  For now, all I could do was focus on one thing: getting out of this damn cell.

  ***

  No matter how much I pleaded, the station only released me at noon.

  I made my way to the Expo, taking a cargo airship in the West-Central Orlinth Cargo Dock.

  While the airship rumbled as it rose into the air, I turned my focus to my COG.

  Goren was right – the switch was there. And just like he said, I was the only one who could see or touch it. The Enforcer who returned it to me back in the station was visibly clueless about it being literally under his finger, nor could he press it.

  Alright, let’s see what I’m working with.

  Goren said I’d need a Dematerializer to upgrade the functions. But how does he expect me to get it? They weren’t exactly selling them in shops.

  There were two ways to get one, and both were illegal and involved waging war on the Ironwatch Constabulary.

  For now, I’ll store all the upgrade ingredients – minerals, cores, etc. – I can in this Inventory. Once I have enough, future me should realize the benefit of getting a Dematerializer even if it meant dying and wasting a loop.

  With that decided, let’s go over the functions again.

  I flipped the hidden switch to the DjV mode.

  The titular function – Déjà vu. This one triggered faint recollections of past loops – and thankfully, it did so passively. Meaning I didn’t have to do anything special to benefit from it. It was basically my only way of keeping memories through death. Good thing it already had gone through one upgrade. That meant I’d start noticing those “faint recollections” soon. Hopefully.

  Next was Afterimage. It supposedly let me create a ghostly copy of myself from a previous loop. Could be useful to figure out what I did last time around. But the phrase “brief duration” felt like code for “don’t expect much from it early on.” Still, noted.

  Temporal Trace was up next. It let me “view the time plane”…whatever that meant. The second part was more promising – leave marks for future loops. That sounded powerful. If it worked the way I hoped, I could leave clues for my future selves by marking certain places or things. And it already had three upgrades which meant three possible marks. I wondered if this one had three points because Chronos wanted me to prioritize it.

  Then came Echo Sense – a way to hear conversation from past loops that happened in the same area.

  Now that was tricky. It was a passive skill which meant I had no control over which conversation would play back or when. But I could imagine situations where that would come in handy.

  Finally, the last one was Checkpoint. Supposedly it let me set an anchor in time – a place I could return to if I died, with all my memories intact. But I could only do it once.

  Considering I was going to die at the Expo more than once before figuring out how to stop Valdemar and this…Erebus, this function could be literally lifesaving. I needed to acquire it quickly.

  Then, I flipped the switch to the other side – the TM mode.

  Only three functions.

  First was Slow. It had one upgrade already. Supposedly, it let me move normally while the world slowed around me.

  Before I even continued to the other two, I needed proof.

  I activated it.

  At first, I thought that nothing happened. But then, I felt it. The entire world around had slowed down. The dull hum of the airship engines dropped in pitch.

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  I stepped toward the airship’s window just to see the clouds barely moving. It was like the airship was stuck in place.

  Then – SNAP.

  Everything resumed. Sound crashed back into my ears. The airship once again resumed its normal speed.

  It was real. No doubt about it now.

  I turned my attention to the other two functions.

  Timeline sounded…wild. If it really did what it said, then I could take a broken object and revert it to before it broke. Or fast-forward a locked mechanism to the moment it wears down and opens.

  I didn’t know the limits yet. The low levels likely had size or complexity restrictions.

  Either way, it was a function that could be game changing.

  Third one was Freeze. Basically – true stasis.

  It wasn’t designed for dodging attacks or running around while everyone else was frozen. This was a pause button for reality itself – including me. In the right moment, it could buy me enough breathing room to think. More than that, it might actually save my life one day. I just need to unlock it first.

  ***

  I arrived in Skyhaven.

  Was haunted by disapproving looks.

  Reached the Expo and went inside.

  Once inside, the first thing that caught my eye were the mechanical valets standing rigidly near the entrance. They were still deactivated – arms locked at their sides, heads tilted downward, awaiting activation.

  Something about them made the hair on the back of my neck rise. A faint tug in my chest. A flicker of unease. Was this feeling a…Déjà vu? Would whatever’s about to happen involve these machines?

  My mind raced. I didn’t even spare a glance at the exhibits or inventors I passed by. Instead, my eyes darted across the floor – windows, COGs, Enforcers, wall-mounted phonotubes. But the feeling didn’t return.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that Valdemar and Libra were going to target The Divine and the Expo today, and that the end of the world will be caused by an army of machines. Ordinarily, I’d try to warn someone. Anything that would result in an evacuation, so no one gets hurt.

  But what would that achieve exactly when the entirety of Solvane was going to be destroyed?

  Nothing.

  All it would do is draw attention to me. Chronos had said Erebus will be looking for me – trying to sniff me out based on the changes I make compared to the original timeline. And considering I’d known nothing the first time around – had likely spent this entire Expo pathetically unimportant before dying – I figured that doing something as drastic as triggering an evacuation would almost certainly get me marked by Erebus.

  That raised the real question: What actually counts as a significant change?

  I didn’t know. And I couldn’t afford to guess wrong.

  Better play it safe for now. Act normal. Or as close to normal as I could manage. Observe everything. Pay attention to the smallest details. Something’s off? Great. Mark it with Temporal Trace. That way, future me would have a clue to follow.

  So…what did Viktor Halegrim do when he arrived in the original timeline?

  Probably wandered around nervously because he was late. Probably looked for Mr. Stanford. Probably worried that Trent had no idea how to set the Chrono Quill.

  I scanned the first floor. Stanford wasn’t here. Nor was Trent.

  I made my way up the wide staircase to the second floor. Still nothing.

  And that was when I saw her.

  ***

  I met Alice.

  Found Trent and my invention on the third floor.

  Managed to save the Chrono Quill before he broke it.

  Trent left to get clean paper from the organizers – apparently, they’d forgotten to provide us with any – despite me asking for it in advance.

  I sighed, folded the test papers, and shoved them into my back pocket.

  Just another minute and Trent would’ve actually broken the Chrono Quill.

  …Pause.

  Who cares?

  The end of the world is quite literally around the corner, and I’m getting worked up over this?

  Who cares about the Chrono Quill, Viktor? Your personal aspirations mean nothing anymore. Not that they ever did…

  Did Trent hear me calling him an airhead? Either way, I should apologize.

  Trent was the only one – besides my father – I could actually call a friend. I’ve known him since we were kids. Well…he still was just a kid.

  He wasn’t sharp – far from it. Didn’t have much drive to learn, either. He was perfectly fine dropping out of school and working cargo runs or the factories down in the Foundry to help provide for the family after his father had died in a working accident.

  I was the one – alongside his now widowed mother – who was against it.

  An astounding number of Foundry residents died each year. The smog, the heat, the working and living conditions – they made life there unbearable, or so we were told by people who’d actually been down there.

  I wasn’t about to let him rot down there for scraps if I had anything to do about it.

  My father’s connections had already landed me the temporary ‘low-tier inventor’ occupation at that point. It came with a single slot for an assistant.

  The choice was obvious.

  Maybe Solvane wasn’t even worth saving – maybe we were long beyond salvation. But if I was doing this for anyone other than Dad, it was Trent and his family. His mother was almost like a mother to me.

  Speaking of Dad, he’s probably worried sick about me.

  I should try to send him a message through the Divine’s Communication Annex – a central room made for sending messages. They must have one here.

  I approached one of the staff members – a tall woman with sharp features, long black hair pulled into a tail, and a glinting silver COG. A purple armband marked her as official staff.

  “Excuse me.” I called out politely.

  She looked me over with visible contempt before mustering a “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for a Communication Annex. I need to send a message to someone.” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’ll cost you.”

  My eyes widened. It was my first Expo in Skyhaven, but I’d participated in Orlinth’s plenty of times. There, participants got benefits – basic ones, sure, but at least some respect. Why would here be any different?

  “But I’m one of the participating inventors.” I said, confused.

  “But you’re not Skyhaven.” She replied with a smug. “The Committee warned us about the Orlinth participant. Told us to keep extra attention on you and your…assistant, so you won’t feel like you own the place.”

  My jaw clenched.

  I’d been through this before – the blatant arrogance, the smug superiority. Even in Orlinth we had enough people that acted like they were too important for the rest of us.

  I wanted to shout at her. But blowing up wouldn’t help. It never did.

  And it already got me arrested and flagged for psychiatrist meetings once.

  So I took a deep breath.

  Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

  “Fine,” I said. “How much?”

  She grinned like she’d won. “One Steamcrown per word.”

  That was daylight robbery. But I had to suck it up.

  “Lead the way.” I muttered.

  She clicked her tongue and turned, guiding me down to the second floor and toward a narrow, almost hidden, copper-framed door labeled COM-ANNEX. A hiss of steam escaped as she opened it, revealing the Communication Annex.

  Inside, the room was quiet – sterile, in a mechanical kind of way. A row of polished brass terminals lined both walls, each fitted with a rectangular screen, clacking type-keys, and a scanner for COG authentication. Small indicator lights blinked above every station – green for ready, red for in use. Pipes ran along the ceiling, feeding steam into the generators tucked behind reinforced grates on the far wall – the core center.

  There were only a few people inside, each working on their own station, and a staff worker watching over them from a side desk, absently rotating a mechanical pen in her fingers.

  The woman who brought me here gestured lazily toward an open terminal. “Go ahead. Don’t forget the price.”

  I stepped toward the panel. The interface was utilitarian, but most of all, dusty.

  I reached my COG to the scanner and the panel lit up, the screen blinking to life.

  [COMM-ANNEX Services]

  [Center: 15. Terminal: 3]

  [User: Viktor Halegrim]

  [ID: 260604]

  [SEND MESSAGE TO?]

  I typed in my father’s ID and name – Stephan Halegrim, 194003.

  Almost instantly, the screen shifted into message format, awaiting my input.

  Now came the hard part.

  How do you tell your father why you hadn’t been home all night, that you were now in Skyhaven, and that everything – not really – was fine…in as few words as possible?

  Oh.

  I had the perfect idea.

  I typed in: “Copperdinkledoodlepop”.

  It was a word my father and I came up with back when I was a child. He had just started letting me tinker in his workshop – far earlier than he should have, but there was no stopping me. The word became our private code, a simple way of saying: everything’s fine.

  I hit send. The panel clicked, prompting me to insert payment. I reached into my pants pocket and found only twenty Steambits – eighty short of a Steamcrown.

  With a sigh, I slipped a hand into the inner pocket of my jacket, hoping I’d stashed some spares there.

  That’s when I felt it.

  Next to the coins.

  Something smooth.

  Something metallic.

  Something that shouldn’t have been there.

  Something that wasn’t mine.

  I pulled it out slowly.

  A bronze key.

  And a handwritten note.

  It just said: I see you.