Sometimes, when she’s aware of what’s going on like Damir, she sees the echoes too. It doesn’t happen in every loop. Just sometimes. Like right now. Out of habit she steps out of the way. She knows they can’t hurt her, but she can’t stand the feeling of them walking right through her. She suspects that Damir is used to it.
Most the echoes she sees only once, as if their world and hers overlap for a brief instant across all of Time and Space. There were a few that she sees all the time in different places in the city, temple, and palace grounds. There are two she refers to as the prince and the beggar. The prince leads the beggar as they step through one of the Caeruleus Aether doors. The beggar is always relieved, as if he’s finally home and taking in the sights. Sometimes she sees them in the temple. The priests whisper about the ghosts, watching them just as she does. The beggar is always cleaned up, patiently waiting. His face lights up when he sees something, but they never catch a glimpse of what it is. All they ever see is the beggar jumping to his feet and running to the door.
But as long a Damir ignores them, she ignores them. The only tell is when his eyes will cut to something no one else can see (the priests think he’s blessed. The scientists think he’s an experiment. The palace thinks he’s losing his mind. Miranu thinks it’s all of it in equal parts). This time, though, something unsettles him. He stammers and can’t tear his eyes away. He flinches as if struck. She’s careful not to be seen touching him as she presses a hand to his side. Something to anchor him as the echoes overwhelm him (she insists they’re ghosts, but the prince is firm. What he sees are echoes from other times, but happen in the same place. “Space and Time,” he keeps telling her).
This time he allows her to drag him to the science academy.
He’s an experiment and he hates it. They run tests and observe him. The first time he sees an echo, thy think he’s delusional (he’s the Mad Prince, after all). But a bright, eager intern suggests thy set up monitoring devices to read any changes around the prince.
“I feel stupid. I feel like a lab rat ,” Damir hisses. He fights the urge to fidget, settling for tapping his finger against his knee. There are electrodes connected to his forehead and several recording devices pointed at him.
“This may provide proof,” Miranu reminds him.
“Of my insanity?” he snaps.
Before she can reply, sensors start blaring at the other end of the room. They both look, and the researchers follow. “Why are there soldiers here?” Miranu whispers.
“You can see them?” Damir breathes just as one of the scientists asks sharply over the intercom, “You both are seeing this?”
They look solid, dressed in antiquated armour but not from their own past. The armour is made of steel and their clothes brightly coloured. There is no discernible uniform, but many of them hold banners aloft with the same emblem on them.
“Do you-“ she begins.
“I don’t recognize the House,” Damir says, just as the soldiers approach them.
“Someone tell me we’re getting this,” they hear over the PA system.
A terrified intern huddles close to them, then glances down at the readouts in their hands. “Everything is recording!”
Miranu steps in front of Damir and the intern. She’s not sure what will happen. She’s not even sure if they see her. She inhales sharply as the first one passes through her, that uncomfortable feeling washing over her of knowing something is walking through her but feeling nothing physical.
Damir stands behind her, one of the electrodes pulling away. The intern scrambles to reattach it, but the prince waves them off. “How many do you see?”
“A few here and there,” Miranu replies. “Some are translucent. Others opaque.” She looks back at him. “What do you see?”
“A regiment.” His eyes scan a longer area. “Armour?” The noise form the sensors grow louder a more are set off. Something like hope blooms in his chest. Damir pulls a small, red leather book form an inner pocket and makes a note.
“I don’t recognize it,” Miranu is saying. “It’s not from here or the surrounding areas.”
The intern makes a distressed noise, drawing their attention. “I-I-“ They try to speak, only managing to look from the data pad to the specters before them.
Just as suddenly the equipment started blaring alarms, they stop. The silence rings in their ears before someone demands over the intercom, “What happened?”
“They’re gone.” Damir looks around him to be sure before his gaze lands on the intern.
They stare at the prince with wide eyes, data pad clutched tightly in their hands. “My prince, I don’t think you’re mad.”
~*~
The video feed they’re shown is unremarkable. The sensors are going off and there are three people looking at something, but it appears off screen. The screen shifts and a different view is shown next to the first video. A swirling mass is shown to move across the screen, the intern flinching as the edge of the mass touches and overlaps them. Miranu is seen shuddering as it passes through her. Damir remains still, the only visible sign of distress being a deep inhale. The mass passes through them, and just as it leaves the screen the alarms stop.
“I’m not crazy.”
“No, your highness, you’re not.”
“’Sir’ will do for now,” Damir says absently. He peers at the feed as it loops through the footage. “The alarms go off seconds before that -“ he points at the swirling distortion “-appears.”
“We noticed that as well.”
Same conversation as last time, but things were different. He glances as the nervous intern. “You saw it, too.”
They nod hesitantly. “I didn’t see as much as you and the major, but I saw people in-“ they pause, looking for the right word, then finish lamely “- really weird clothing. It looked similar to clothing and armour worn during our Ramburac Dynasty.”
“Did any of you feel anything when they passed through you?” One of the researchers sits poised with pen poised above paper.
Miranu shakes her head. “I know I felt uncomfortable seeing them pass through me but not feeling them.”
The intern nods nervously, glancing between the prince and the researcher. Damir remains silent, fixating on the video.
“Do you have equipment that can be taken outside the lab?” he asks instead.
The researcher pauses to look at the lead scientist.
She clears her throat. “We have the data pads and smaller sensors, but nothing stronger than here. It would be best-“
“There are other places,” the prince interrupts. “The city, the temple, and the palace.”
All of the scientists perk up at that, but the intern shrinks further into their seat. “Where exactly?”
Experiments are performed all over the city. They set up stations as discretely as possible to record any changes. Some are successful. Most are not. Still, it’s enough to excite the academy to gather more data. They almost assign someone to Damir, but a glare from his bodyguard is enough to keep them away. Instead, they show Miranu how to use the equipment.
They quickly discover that certain places in Tymy are more prone to activity than others. The Blue Iris Gate sees the most of it, but most people are unaware of the changes that happen. There were five out of a thousand experiments where someone reacted to any shift in their environment. All of them saw something, with varying degrees of solidity.
Some mention a pitched battle. Others see a soldier with a feathered helm or a woman kneeling on the ground holding a man in her arms. The visions are never clear, but what these few people see overlap with the same time of the readings.
Thousands of hours are recorded at the places where the anomalies occur. They are especially eager to see what Damir experiences. The prince meets with them grudgingly, but watches all of the recordings with rapt attention.
“I’m not alone.”
Miranu barely hears him. She says nothing.
“What’s causing it?” the prince asks.
“We don’t know,” the lead tech admits. “We need more data. We were hoping-“ she hesitates.
Damir gestures for her to continue.
“The anomalies are random, but some locations appear to be more prone to occurrences than others. One percent of the population is able to see something, and it’s always the same thing at certain locations.” She flips through her papers, listing all the things he’s seen before: the woman holding the dying man, the prince and the beggar, the feather helmed warrior, a shadowy figure talking through the halls, the column of troops, a small and diverse group of people standing in front of the temple (those same people running down the hallways, fighting something), and a figure in desert garb staring at the center pool of the temple.
“We think they may be… ghosts,” the assistant tech says. He clenches his right hand nervously, glancing from the prince, the bodyguard, to the lead tech.
“You don’t believe that.” Damir hates that he can tell when someone is lying (How many times has he gone through this loop? But he’s never gone down this path before).
“No,” she says, “I don’t. The data collected doesn’t suggest such a phenomena.”
Damir hears the unspoken disbelief in such supernatural things. He asks, “What do you think it is?”
The lead tech freezes, then says quietly, “I think it might be another universe touching ours, or a realm. Even another world, if we consider the multiple worlds theory. We need more information. We were hoping for your help. You and the others.”
Damir doesn’t agree immediately, instead asking, “What we’re seeing are people from another universe overlapping ours?”
“Maybe. Like I said, we need more data.”
He doesn’t know where this path will lead. This is the first time he’s ever agreed to go to the academy in search of a solution. Maybe he went to them too soon in previous loops. “What about time travel?”
“Time travel is improbable .” The tech puts great stress on the word. She scribbles a note on her pad. “But it’s not impossible .”
He thinks it over, pulling out the red notebook and a pen. He makes notes, glancing at previous ones. All of this was new. “Why agree to study this?” he asks abruptly.
“Something is touching or passing through our world,” comes the ready answer. “We’d like to know what it is.”
Damir stares down at his notebook. If this path is wrong, there are two hundred some odd days before everything resets. He can leave notes, but the next time around might mean Miranu doesn’t believe him. He remembers a few of the previous times.
~*~
They tried again.
“Are you sure it will work?”
He paused. Did he lie to her, reassure her that it would work? Nothing worked so far. Whatever evil he was supposed to find and defeat hid well. “I don’t know,” he admitted, leaving the small clue – a piece of paper from the red bound book – in her room.
“What if it’s not there when the loop resets?” she asked. “What will you do?”
“Convince you. Again.” The prince shrugged. “I can’t do this alone. I know that. Requesting to lead the trade negotiations and you being assigned as my protector changed things enough that I don’t know what will happen next.”
“Then I hope it works.”
And again.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. How did it end in so much chaos? He came to the same conclusion again and again: his wild Fae magic. He needed to find a way to control it, but for all he knew the magic was the reason why time kept resetting.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, clutching her close.
Her breathing was labored, blood seeping through her clothing. His magic did this. His one friend…
He waited for time to reset.
And again.
“You idiot.” Her voice lacked the biting edge that it normally did as she tried to stop the bleeding. She ignored her own wounds. She would survive. Probably. The prince’s were numerous and worse.
“It must be him,” he whispered, then wheezed as he struggled to breathe. “You have to write it down.”
“Who?” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that the book was lost. All she could hope for was to maybe remember.
“The Seren.” The prince craned his neck to find the person in question. “He doesn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Why we’re here.”
He wasn’t making sense any more. She hoped the end would be swift, and given the weapons leveled at them, she was confident it would be.
And again.
“What is that thing?”
“Ancient technology,” the prince replied glibly, fingers flying over the terminal keys. There was a niggling memory at the back of his mind that he can’t place. Like they did something like this before, but there was no mention of it in the notebook. Maybe he thought about doing this so often that he half convinced himself that what they’re doing happened before.
“No shit.” She came up beside him to watch.
“It’s an old terminal station that sends out a signal into space,” the prince explained.
“Space?” she echoed.
The prince paused. He’s relived the same year so many times that he forgot that there were some things lost to his people. They forgot that at one time they traveled the stars and the doorways they used to travel from realm to realm were magic and science. “To the stars above, and to other realms,” he clarified, resuming his work.
“Why send it to the aether? Would it even matter?” She walked away, disappointed, frustrated, and hopeless. From what the prince told her, this wasn’t their first attempt at leaving messages for themselves when time reset. It was, however, their first attempt using technology that there was no guarantee of working.
“I’m sending it,” he said calmly, “to a space station. I’m turning it on; and once it is, I’ll send a message.” He glanced over his shoulder. That caught her attention.
She walked back over to the terminal station. “Why would leaving ourselves a message work this time?”
The prince verified the coordinates on the screen, comparing them to the manual he found. Satisfied, he pinged the station to wake it up. “Because the station may be far enough away to not be caught in the time loop. By the time the message returns…”
It wasn’t a guarantee. For all he knew, the message might get eaten up by whatever force was creating the time loop. Or it might make it through. Then again, it could be caught in an endless loop with them, always being sent out but never coming back in time for them to end this hell they were trapped in.
“We might be able to solve this,” she finished.
The prince hesitated the barest moment. “That is the hope.” By some miracle, the derelict space station was still operational. He typed up the message and hit the transmit button, quickly writing a note in the red journal to check the station in the next loop.
“And that’s it?”
“This time.”
“We risked being arrested for trespassing to send a message?”
“Yes.”
She sighed. “This better work.”
The prince hoped it did, too.
~*~
New path, new risks. He doesn’t even know if the transmission was successful. That transmission and agreeing to go to the academy were the two major things he did in the last loop and this one.
“Damir.” Miranu’s voice cuts through the haze of his thoughts. It’s a murmur in his ear and he realizes he’s drifted. His gaze focuses on the tech.
She stares at him, brow creasing. She wants to ask a question but isn’t sure if she’s allowed.
“There was a transmission,” the prince begins lamely, “on an endless loop, caught in the heart of a dying star.” Did he actually send the transmission? Now he’s not sure.
“Here? Just now?”
If he tells her the truth, research will stop. “Yes.”
He guesses he’s convincing, because she nods as if confirming something. She writes a note. He doesn’t know if the tech thinks he’s insane or not. He realizes she’s waiting on something. “Teach Major Davke to use the equipment and I will come in when I can for further experiments.”
Both technicians’ faces light up, and Damir wonders if this will be a mistake, if this will lead down a dark path-
-and then he feels gentle pressure on his back from Miranu and relaxes.
“We’ll solve this,” the tech promises. “You won’t regret this.”
Regret is the prince’s only fear.
~*~
“What if it doesn’t work?” He’s asked this question countless times before.
“What if it does?” Miranu counters. “You and a few others are seeing something . Maybe it’s related to the time loop.”
“Then you believe me?”
Miranu hesitates. “I’m open to the idea.”
She’s always open to the idea. He’s not sure if he remembers a time she does believe him. He knows he’s better at masking his emotions because she doesn’t comment on his disappointment.
“If I didn’t experience some of it myself, I would think you’re-“ She stops.
Damir finishes for her. “Mad?”
Miranu sighs, saying nothing.
~*~
The researchers gather more data, telling everyone that there will be results soon. Some are impatient, but their prince keeps them calm. Weeks go by and finally the scientists have an idea.
“An idea?”
“We can only do so much with the evidence we have,” the researcher says.
“A theory then?” No matter how many times he lives through the same year, Damir still has trouble with what scientists mean by theory and hypothesis.
“We think what you and others are seeing are echoes or impressions.”
Damir senses hesitation. There’s always hesitation. Before he can ask the question Miranu does.
“From what?”
“Black holes,” the lead tech says, earning a glare from the researcher.
At once, Damir’s brain makes sense of it and can’t understand what he’s told. But he freezes. He doesn’t remember this happening before. This is new information. “Explain,” he demands hoarsely.
“You gave us an idea. You mentioned a transmission,” the tech explains. “We decided to look and we found one. It’s from you.”
He is elated and dismayed. How long ago was that transmission? Which one made it back?
“The message is incredibly old.”
Damir shuts his eyes. He hears Miranu suck in a breath and still behind him.
“We thought it was a hoax,” someone tells him. “We examined it to prove it, but found the transmission to be authentic. We-“
“Play it.”
“Pardon?”
“Play the transmission.”
This is Damir Abillard Godris Veldia, Prince Royale and Heir Apparent of the Aestosi Empire. The year is 4576 after the Coming of Man. I find myself trapped in a time loop. Or about to be. I know it sounds crazy, but please listen.
There’s a red leather journal that’s not effected by the loop. Many of my notes are in it. What I’m about to tell you is not . There wasn’t time .
<Damir! You have 20 minutes before they break through!>
There’s a creature. It calls itself Lyrac. It doesn’t have a physical form. It’s looking for a host. The Seren ambassador Lysacon- He’s – I don’t know – compatible, I think. We stopped it. Or tried to. The ambassador was gravely injured during our escape.
There was noise, and then-
This is Ambassador Lysacon Culvuth of the Seren Kingdom of Cailethia. This isn’t a hoax. This is very real. The creature wants a physical form. It is a limitless being, but it’s warped. I don’t know why it wants me. Whatever the reason, it has ripped Tymy – our Tymy, from our specific point in Time and Space – and placed it on the very edge of a black hole.
Scientists can confirm this, comes Damir’s voice. There are temporal distortion and time dilations, and a host of other things. But this thing has trapped us in an endless time loop on the very edge of forever.
It’s science and magic, comes Lysacon’s voice.
We’re out of time. This is Major Miranu Davke of the 105 th of the Aestosi Empire. This time loop won’t be broken until the creature possesses Lysacon. That’s what it told us. But here’s the thing: if it has conditions to meet, then that means we have conditions to meet. Everything in balance.
There is the sound of metal being destroyed amidst indistinct, chaotic noises.
Find those conditions! Break the loop!
The transmission cuts out amid the sounds of chaos. Silence descends. Hardly anyone breathes. There’s a pause until Damir looks at the team.
“We confirmed the presence of a black hole, but we’re unable to find evidence of existing within it.” A pause. “But if we are existing on that cusp, it would explain a great many things.”
Damir nods, then asks, “How old is that transmission?”
“…at least a thousand years,” comes the quiet answer.
He feels his sanity slip.
“Because of the time dilation. For us, if our calculations are correct, it’s been somewhere between 75 to 125 years.”
The prince breathes again. That calculation lines up with his internal clock and the journal. “Our situation: does it explain the echoes?”
“We think we’re caught in time dilation because of our proximity to the singularity. This Lyrac created a perfect trap using science and magic.”
“The time dilation and the echoes,” Damir prompts.
“We’re experiencing time at a different rate than the rest of the universe; however, we think we’re overlapping with our… previous physical place in space and time. We might as well be in another universe.”
They drift into silence as Damir loses himself in thought. Miranu watches him.
For her, everything is changed. She’s part of the solution to break out of the time loop. But who is Lysacon? Who is Lyrac, and why is the ambassador so important? What are the conditions to break free? She glances at the prince. How many times did he try to convince her of what he’s going through? How many times did she believe him? How many times did she not ?
She opens her mouth to say something. To reassure him? To ask questions? She’s not sure. But before she can say anything, he speaks.
“We have 67 days until the loop resets.” His mind is elsewhere. This entire time they were seeing people from another universe, across Time and Space. Their proximity to the singularity means their reality overlaps with their original one. Time is passing them by. They are ghosts, trapped in an endless loop.
Damir opens his eyes and looks over at Miranu. “Do you have the journal?”
She reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls the red leather journal out, handing it to him.
“Wait. Is that-“ the lead researcher begins.
“Yes,” Damir answers as he opens it. “The transmission- you said there should be conditions to be met,” he says to Miranu.
“What are you-“
“We have 67 days left.” Damir begins writing what he learned. Just in case. He’s not sure if his mind will still be in place when the transmission is discovered again. Or if Miranu will believe him once more. “We have a limited amount of time to find this Lysacon and meet the condition to break out of this loop.” He looks up. “It’s like a data loop, with two different sets of conditions to be met. We need to find Ambassador Lysacon and determine what our conditions are to return.”
“You believe this,” the man says. It isn’t quite doubt in his voice, but the researcher wants to believe.
“I’ve been living it, and I just found out that a part of my populace has been, as well.” Damir makes sure to include every detail in the journal. “Gather more data,” he tells the scientists. “I’ll provide you with any information I have.”
“I’ll look for Ambassador Lysacon,” Miranu tells him.
Damir shakes his head.
“You’re a prince. I’m just a soldier,” she reminds him. “I can go places you can’t and everyone knows I’m your bodyguard. I have a better chance of finding him without creating waves in court than if you were to demand his presence.”
The prince relents. “I think he’s part of the conditions to be met.”
“I know.” She stares at him for a long moment. “67 days can be an eternity. That’s plenty time enough.”
The prince realizes in that moment that if they can’t break free this time, he’ll descend into madness without her in the next loop. Hope and wait is all they have left. All he has left.
Maybe the scientists are right. Maybe they are on the cusp of a black hole. Maybe they are existing on the edge of forever. Maybe they are the ghosts of black holes from another world.
Caeruleus Aether 