The temporal carriage touches down in the city square with barely a whisper of displaced air, its enchanted frame settling onto cobblestones that gleam with recent rain. Ananke steps out onto streets she's never walked before, in an era she's only read about in history texts, some fifty years before present day. She has been sent back in time. The city of Mundingsmauer spreads before her in layers of forested terraces built into the eastern hills near the nationâs border, its buildings nestled among ancient trees that seem to embrace the architecture rather than resist it.
The world is so colourful it almost hurts to look at. Vibrant banners hang from every building, announcing guild affiliations and adventuring companies in bold reds and brilliant golds. People move everywhere around her, flowing down a spiral pathway that winds through the terraced city toward a massive dungeon gateway visible in the central valley below. The entrance yawns like an inviting mouth, ornate stonework framing darkness that promises both danger and fortune to those brave enough to enter, of which there are many.
She looks around herself in wonder, her eyes wide as she takes in details her present-day world has lost. People walk everywhere, but they're not the tired labourers and displaced war refugees she knows from Hafen. These are adventurers. Real, actual adventurers like the ones from the history books. Their armour gleams with fresh polish, their weapons hang from belts with casual readiness, and their faces carry expressions of excitement and determination rather than the weary cynicism she's grown accustomed to. Fairies shoot through the air, darting around the city in large swarms.
The air itself feels different here. It's clear and bright, carrying scents she's never encountered in her own time. Clean mountain pine mingles with something else, something she finally identifies as magic itself, raw and abundant in the atmosphere. There's no coal smoke, no industrial oils, no acrid tang of alchemical factories. Just crisp, pure air that fills her lungs with energy she didn't know she was missing.
Ananke just stands there for a moment, breathing in and feeling a tingle in her lungs.
Despite the massive temporal carriage having materialised directly in the middle of the busy city square, nobody pays any attention to it or to her. Neither the vehicle nor Ananke has touched any of the local temporal threads, making them essentially invisible to the people moving through their daily lives. The crowd flows around the carriage as if it were simply empty air, completely unaware of the impossible thing in their midst.
Behind her, the elevated transport begins its ascent back to the Crux, rising smoothly into the sky until it vanishes among the clouds. She's truly alone now, decades in the past, surrounded by a world that feels simultaneously familiar and completely alien.
Ananke adjusts the wide-brimmed hat perched on her head. It's comically oversized, clearly designed for someone with her master's larger frame. He had insisted she wear it despite her protests, his concern for her safety manifesting in this protective gesture that she found endearing nonetheless. The hat serves a dual purpose beyond shielding her from recognition. If she encounters an emergency beyond her abilities to handle, she can use it as a portal back to the Crux, diving into its temporal folds to escape danger.
So far, sheâs managed to break two of his conditions for her apprenticeship: being paid and getting to wear the hat. Ananke canât help but grin. Her master is a softy at the end of the day.
Her expression rests. This is her first solo mission. The weight of that responsibility settles over her shoulders with surprising heaviness. Her assignment is more unusual than her previous tasks, requiring subtlety and social manipulation rather than direct chronomantic intervention.
And, worse still, itâs entirely out of her depths of life experience.
She has been instructed to remain completely unseen while secretly orchestrating circumstances that will bring two specific people together romantically, individuals who are destined to form a relationship that will have significant consequences down the timeline.
They want her to be a matchmaker, an angel of love.
She has absolutely no idea how to accomplish this given her limited experience with romance and social dynamics. But here she is and now itâs too late to go back.
Ananke takes a deep breath and lightly slaps her cheeks to focus herself, then begins moving through the city with careful attention to the temporal threads visible only to her enhanced sight. She ducks and weaves through the silver strands like someone navigating an invisible obstacle course, ensuring she doesn't accidentally touch any connections that would make her presence known to the local population. This must be what her master meant to her a while back when he said to enjoy not seeing the threads of time while she still couldnât.
Having to move between them, rather than just through them, really is rather limiting.
She makes her way downward through the terraced levels, heading toward the adventurers' guild that sits prominently beside the dungeon entrance. Along the route, she catalogues every difference between this vibrant past and her industrial present. Fashion here favours practical leather and chain mail over the cotton and wool common in her era. Swords and staves are as commonplace as the tools carried by craftsmen and merchants. There are as many adventurers as there are ordinary citizens, all coexisting in an economy built entirely around dungeon delving rather than mechanical industry.
They flood into the massive gateway with bright eyes and youthful hope, their voices carrying eager discussions about treasure and glory. Others emerge from the depths carrying monster parts and magical artifacts, their faces flushed with triumph or pale with the memory of narrow escapes. The energy is intoxicating, a sense of possibility and adventure that permeates every conversation and interaction.
Is this what the world really used to be like before the war changed everything? The contrast with her own time staggers her. This feels alive in ways her present has forgotten, as if some essential spark has been extinguished by the decades of conflict and industrial transformation that separate her era from this golden age.
It sounds odd, but the shine in peopleâs eyes feels like itâs duller in her day and age than it is here.
Quietly, sneakily, and admittedly quite awkwardly, she navigates the crowded streets. Her movements become almost animalistic as she ducks low, sidesteps suddenly, and occasionally freezes in strange poses to let particularly dense clusters of threads pass by without contact. She probably looks absurd to anyone who could actually see her, moving through the city like some peculiar creature rather than a proper person, but maintaining her invisibility requires this ungainly dance through time's invisible web. Plus, itâs quite the workout. She can feel it in her core, making her thankful for all of her endurance training back in the Crux, the purpose of which she is beginning to understand.
image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]
The adventurers' guild bears absolutely no resemblance to the dusty, half-abandoned building Ananke knows from her own time in Hafen. That future establishment sits mostly empty, its halls echoing with the ghosts of glory days long past, its job boards covered in requests for mundane labour rather than heroic quests. But this guild, decades before the war that will drain the world of its magic and wonder, is bursting with life that spills out through every door and window.
Parties of adventurers stream in and out constantly, their laughter ringing off the timber beams as they recount tales of narrow escapes and hard-won victories. Young hopefuls cluster around recruiting boards where established parties post openings for new members. Veterans sit at long tables sharing drinks and dreams, their conversations painting pictures of futures they're actively building rather than simply surviving.
That's what surprises Ananke most as she navigates the crowded space, listening to conversations bloom around her like flowers. People are talking about the future here, planning expeditions months in advance, discussing what they'll do with their earnings and where they'll settle when they retire from active delving. In stark contrast, her own time in Hafen was filled with people who only discussed the immediate present or recounted tragedies from the day before.
She can barely avoid touching the temporal threads that crisscross the guild hall in dense, tangled webs. The sheer concentration of people and their interconnected destinies creates an almost impenetrable barrier of silver strands that pulse with life and possibility. After several close calls where she nearly brushed against someone's thread while trying to navigate the crowd, she's given up attempting to move at ground level entirely.
Instead, Ananke has climbed into the rafters high above the main floor. She sits perched on a thick wooden beam with her legs dangling over the edge, the oversized hat tilted back on her head as she watches the swarming crowd below live their best lives. Priestesses in flowing white robes mingle freely with mages wearing academy colours. Swordsmen compare blade techniques with archers who demonstrate proper stance. Every race she can imagine fills the space with conversation and camaraderie, discussing dungeon rumours and tactical approaches and their daily struggles and aspirations with equal enthusiasm.
Then she spots them, her assigned marks for this impossible mission.
A deeply sun-touched elven woman stands near the far wall, covered in flowing fabrics layered in soil tones that seem to shift between green and brown depending on how the light catches them. A flowery crown rests on her silver hair, woven from living plants that continue growing even as she wears them. Across from her, separated by perhaps twenty feet of crowded space, stands a human man encased in gleaming steel armour that bears the holy symbols of the church militant. A druidess and a paladin are old pseudo-religious specialisations of adventurers that have completely died out by Ananke's modern day, replaced by more practical professions.
"Alrightâ¦" Ananke mutters to herself, studying both targets with careful attention while trying to formulate an approach. She supposes the first step should be getting them to actually notice each other in this chaotic environment. But how can she accomplish that when the room is so crowded and loud, when they're both completely absorbed in their separate conversations with other people? She thinks hard, extending her temporal sight to study the connections and threads surrounding them, looking for patterns she can exploit.
An idea begins forming.
Ananke moves along the rafters with careful balance, jumping over one beam to reach another, then crawling down a support post until she's positioned directly above the main floor. She takes a deep breath and pauses time just before dropping down, feeling the familiar shimmer spread through the air as the world freezes around her.
But she immediately notices a troubling wavering in her temporal field. She can't maintain frozen time for nearly as long as her master can. Her pause will only last for a few precious moments before collapsing.
She moves quickly, rushing through the frozen crowd while nudging this person slightly and correcting that object's position. She repositions someone's gesturing arm to point in a different direction, then carefully pours half of one adventurer's mug into another's tankard, creating an imbalance that will lead to complaint and confusion.
Just as she feels her temporal pause beginning to collapse, Ananke scrambles back up onto the rafters, pulling herself to safety with burning arms.
Time resumes its normal flow.
A sequence of connected events unfolds all at once in a beautiful domino effect. The man whose drink was partially stolen notices the shortage and accuses his neighbour of theft. The resulting argument creates a disturbance that makes people nearby turn to watch. Someone bumps into another person because they're looking at the commotion instead of where they're walking. That collision sends a serving tray flying, which startles someone else into backing up directly into the druidess's path.
The chain reaction culminates perfectly as the paladin and the druidess bump into each other with considerable force, both caught off guard by the unexpected contact.
At first, Ananke feels elated that her plan worked so flawlessly. But then she watches in growing horror as the two don't apologise or laugh off the accident like normal people would. Instead, they lock eyes with immediate recognition and mutual disgust. Because of their opposing, extremist religious beliefs, the nature-worshipping druidess and the church-militant paladin bristle at each other like natural enemies.
"Watch where you're walking, you simple-minded drone,â the druidess snaps.
"Perhaps you should open your eyes, tree-worshipper,â the paladin retorts with equal venom.
They launch into a heated theological argument right there in the middle of the guild hall, their voices rising above the general chatter as they debate the relative merits of their faiths with increasingly personal insults. Ananke clutches her face with both hands, certain she's made the situation dramatically worse rather than better.
image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]
Days pass as Ananke stalks them through the vibrant city like some kind of determined predator. She learns their routines with obsessive attention to detail. The paladin wakes before dawn to study holy texts, then trains in the church courtyard with brutal discipline before saying prayers and heading to the dungeon with his party of fellow militant believers. The druidess meditates in parks and forest groves, heals the sick with natural magic in exchange for modest donations, then makes her own way to the dungeon with a party of nature-aligned adventurers.
Finding a rare moment where their schedules overlap, Ananke manipulates a series of events near the central fountain. She loosens cobblestones and redirects foot traffic until the paladin loses his footing and tumbles directly into the water with a tremendous splash. She's absolutely certain the compassionate druidess will help him out, creating a moment of connection that could bridge their differences.
However, when the paladin surfaces sputtering and soaked, the druidess simply stops walking, observes the scene, and bursts into delighted laughter at his misfortune before continuing on her way without offering any assistance whatsoever.
Ananke clutches the wide-brimmed hat in pure frustration, resisting the urge to throw it at someone.
image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]
She tries a different angle the following day.
This time, she targets the druidess, carefully removing her coin purse from her bag and hiding it back on her bed just as the elf approaches a breakfast vendor. The paladin's daily route passes directly by this spot at exactly this time. Ananke positions herself in the shadows, confident that the charitable paladin will offer assistance to someone in need, demonstrating the compassion his faith supposedly teaches.
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The druidess reaches the vendor's stall and begins ordering her usual meal. When she reaches for her purse, confusion crosses her features as she fumbles through her bag unsuccessfully. The vendor grows impatient, other customers behind her start complaining, and embarrassment colours the elf's pale cheeks as she continues searching frantically.
The paladin walks up right on schedule. Ananke's heart leaps with anticipation. This is it! He skips the line and sets a coin down on the counter with a solid clink.
But instead of offering the purchased food to the struggling druidess, he takes the warm pastry for himself and stands directly in front of her, eating it with obvious enjoyment while she glares at him with impotent fury.
Why is this so impossibly difficult?!
image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]
Ananke sits on a park bench days later, her eyes tired and circled with dark bags from lack of proper sleep. She hates them both.
She's been stalking these two stubborn fools like a criminal, slinking through shadows and hiding behind foliage while tracking their movements with increasingly desperate intensity. "Now I'm definitely going to get themâ¦" she mutters to herself with grim determination, glaring at both her targets as they unknowingly approach their fated meeting.
By carefully orchestrated chance, the paladin and the druidess both find themselves in the park at the same time. She has come here to perform her daily meditation among the ancient trees. He walks this route because the main road to his church is supposedly under repairs, at least according to the convincingly official-looking sign Ananke placed earlier to redirect him.
He strides along the path with his characteristic martial bearing, then stops suddenly as he spots the meditating druidess in her peaceful grove. She senses someone watching her and opens her eyes to find him standing there. Her expression immediately transforms from serene to furious as she leaps to her feet.
"You again!â the druidess snaps with accusation. "Are you following me around, you creep? Do I need to call for the city guards?â
"Don't flatter yourself with such delusions,â he replies, matching her glare with cold intensity. "If you were a flower, bees would willingly choose death before approaching you. It is simply my cursed fate to encounter you like any other demon that plagues this world.â
The two of them engage in a staring contest filled with mutual loathing.
"Stop it, you idiots!â Ananke yells in pure frustration from her hiding place, though neither can hear her invisible voice. âLike each other!â she yells in annoyance, as if it were that easy.
Both targets glare for another long moment, then simultaneously turn away from each other with theatrical disdain, lifting their noses in the air. Ananke lets out a desperate cry of defeat, pulling at her own face in exasperation.
Sheâs going to give up. Sheâll have to go back and tell the Twelve she wasnât ready for this just yet.
The thought is crushing, but there doesnât seem to be any way around it. Ananke resigns herself to her fate, shaking her head.
As the paladin begins walking away with stiff dignity, the druidess stands with her arms crossed defensively. But then she turns her head slightly, watching him depart with an expression that doesn't match her hostile posture.
Ananke pauses time immediately. "Wait, what is that?â she asks herself, genuinely annoyed by this new complication. She steps out of her hiding place and approaches the frozen druidess, studying her features with careful attention.
Despite the defensive body language and crossed arms, the elf is staring after the departing man with eyes that communicate something entirely different from her spoken words or physical stance. Ananke recognises that expression from somewhere, though she can't immediately place where she's seen it before. But it tells her volumes about what's truly happening beneath the surface hostility.
"You dummies,â she mutters, looking between the frozen figures with new understanding.
A second later, she runs forward and carefully grasps the paladin's head with both hands. She turns it just slightly, angling his gaze back over his own shoulder so he'll be looking directly at the druidess when time resumes.
Ananke returns quickly to her hiding place. Time unpauses itself. Ananke watches with breath held tight in her chest.
Both the druidess and the paladin stop moving, separated by distance but connected by something invisible and electric. They're staring at each other, frozen in place because they've been caught by their opposite while secretly watching. The moment stretches impossibly long even though time continues flowing. The cool wind sweeps through the park, billowing their hair and the flowing fabrics of their clothes as they lock eyes, studying each other, waiting for something neither seems willing to name.
There's an energy in the air that Ananke can physically feel, crackling between them with intensity that has nothing to do with magic.
She clenches her fists, waiting with desperate hope. After what feels like an eternity compressed into seconds, both of them finally turn away from each other again without a word.
But this time, something has changed.
A thread spins itself into existence between them, materialising from nothing as their connection solidifies into something the timeline recognises. But unlike all the other silver temporal threads Ananke can perceive throughout the city, this one glows brilliant red. A tiny crimson string dangles between the druidess and the paladin, pulsing with potential that makes Ananke's heart sing with triumph.
She smirks from her hiding place, finally understanding what she's been trying to create.
"Got you,â she whispers with satisfaction.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind comes and blows the hat off of her head. Ananke lets out a desperate yelp, chasing after it. But it vanishes somewhere in the park and she canât find it.
Oh no.
image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]
The process becomes Ananke's entire world for what feels like an eternity. Days blur into weeks as she hounds after her stubborn targets. She manipulates events with increasing sophistication, always ensuring their encounters appear as pure happenstance and destiny rather than orchestrated intervention.
A loose cobblestone here causes the paladin to stumble directly into the druidess's meditation circle, forcing an awkward apology. A misdirected street vendor there sends the druidess seeking directions from the one person who happens to be nearby, the paladin returning from morning prayers. Each carefully arranged meeting looks entirely natural, as if fate itself has decided these two should repeatedly cross paths despite their outward mutual hostility. Every encounter between them starts and ends with outward venom. But with each encounter, the red thread connecting them grows slightly more vibrant, thickening from a gossamer strand into something approaching an actual cord. Ananke watches the progression with fascination, learning to read the subtle shifts in their body language and tone, despite the concrete nature of their words. They say the same things, but they say them differently. The insults become less venomous. The glares hold longer than necessary. Their arguments about theology begin including moments where they actually listen to each other's perspectives before dismissing them.
A month passes in this fashion, Ananke living in the rafters and shadows of Mundingsmauer like some kind of benevolent spirit devoted to a singular romantic cause.
Is all of this ethical? She has no idea. Sheâs become obsessed with the mission.
She learns every detail of their routines, anticipates their movements with precision that would impress her teachers, and weaves a web of causality so intricate that even she sometimes loses track of all the threads she's pulling.
Then, finally, the moment arrives.
Both the druidess and the paladin find themselves in the park again on a perfect spring afternoon. The timing appears completely coincidental, though Ananke has spent hours ensuring this exact convergence. They stand facing each other, but this time the distance between them has shrunk to mere inches. The hostility that once defined their interactions has transformed into something far more complicated, something neither seems willing to name but both clearly feel.
A light spring breeze sweeps through the gardens, carrying cherry blossoms past them in a pink and white cascade. The petals dance between their faces, catching in their hair and clothing as nature itself seems determined to create the most romantic atmosphere possible. Neither of them is aware of the fact that Ananke threw hundreds of the collected blossoms into the air herself from up in the trees. They watch each other with intense focus, studying features they've both pretended not to notice during their countless previous meetings.
Ananke perches in a nearby tree, biting her nails anxiously as the fruits of her labour finally ripen before her eyes. She leans forward precariously from her branch, nearly losing her balance entirely as she watches with rapt attention. This is better than any book sheâs ever read. Her targets move with agonising slowness, both clearly uncertain about what's happening but unwilling to break the spell that's settled over them. âCome on⦠come onâ¦â she mutters, not daring to blink.
Their faces draw closer together with careful increments. The druidess's eyes flutter closed. The paladin's breathing becomes shallow. Their lips meet in a kiss that starts tentative and uncertain but quickly deepens as weeks of suppressed attraction finally find expression.
Ananke watches the intimate moment with bright, sparkling eyes, completely captivated by the romance unfolding below. It's so beautiful, so perfect, exactly like the stories she used to read during her increasingly less rare encounters with romantic literature. Sheâs had to study the material a lot to figure this one out.
"Yes!â she whispers to herself triumphantly, pumping her fist in the air as the druidess lifts one leg gracefully, leaning back against the paladin who holds her with growing confidence. The red thread between them blazes now with brilliant luminescence, thick as a rope and pulsing with the kind of connection that will survive decades of life's complications.
Mission accomplished. Time to return home.
â¦Somehow.
Ananke sighs, looking around herself as she searches the park for the tenth time. Sheâs looked everywhere for the hat already.
Deciding to dig through some bushes sheâs already worked her way through a dozen times, she suddenly lets out a surprised gasp. Thereâs the hat, lying on the ground as if she had only just dropped it a moment ago. It looks entirely unweathered and fine. Although it is next to a puddle of fresh vomit. Thankfully, it didnât touch it. Did some drunk steal the hat and lose it themselves or something?
She has no idea.
But sheâs grateful fate is looking out for her, so she takes it and puts it back on her head.
Not wanting to intrude further on their private lives after a month of stalking them and breaking every personal boundary there might be to begin with, Ananke averts her eyes respectfully from the distant couple. She takes a moment to adjust the oversized hat.
She decides to take one final walk through the city before departing, wanting to experience this vibrant world one last time before returning to her industrial-age present. The contrast between eras has been educational in ways she hadn't anticipated, showing her what was lost when the war consumed the age of adventurers and replaced it with steam engines and pragmatic survival. The afternoon sun baths the streets in golden light as she wanders without particular direction.
Then, as she passes through a busy marketplace, she sees something that makes her blood run cold.
A flash of contrasting colour catches her attention amid the clothing common to this era. A vibrant scarf, brilliantly blue, overlays dark robes. The combination is distinctive, unmistakable.
Ananke spots a member of the Witching Hour moving through the crowd with purpose, heading toward another figure who waits in the shadows of a nearby alley. The second person wears similar dark robes with a green scarf, creating the same unsettling contrast she remembers from that terrible confrontation on the ship outside Skrosocivo.
She positions herself behind a market stall, studying them carefully while keeping sufficient distance to avoid detection. The two cultists meet with brief gestures that suggest familiarity, then begin walking together around a corner, disappearing from her line of sight.
What should she do?
Her master would absolutely want her to report this immediately, to return to the Crux and inform the Twelve Hands that Witching Hour operatives are active in this timeline. That would be the responsible choice, the obedient apprentice's proper course of action. But some rebellious part of Ananke wants to investigate this herself, to discover what they're planning without the filter of information her superiors would inevitably apply.
Even though the Twelve trust her more now than during those first uncertain weeks, she's absolutely certain there are still secrets they're keeping from her, knowledge they're deliberately withholding for reasons they consider justified.
Making a split-second decision, Ananke adjusts her oversized hat and begins following after them. Her targets move with confident purpose through the winding streets, apparently secure in the belief that nobody in this era would recognise them for what they truly are.
But she can see them.
Ananke ducks after them into the side street.
image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]
Ananke follows the two Witching Hour operatives through the winding streets of Mundingsmauer, maintaining a careful distance while staying within sight of their distinctive scarves. She expects to witness some terrible plot unfolding, perhaps preparations for a devastating attack on this vibrant city or the corruption of its timeline for sinister purposes. But as minutes stretch into an hour of observation, she grows increasingly confused by what she's actually seeing.
They're certainly manipulating time with casual disregard for the careful protocols the Twelve Hands have drilled into her. She watches them pause moments without proper preparation, reverse small events without considering broader consequences, and generally handle chronomancy with the kind of reckless abandon that would give her instructors collective heart attacks. But they're not doing anything particularly malevolent with these abilities.
Instead, to her growing bewilderment, they seem to be helping people.
She watches from behind a market stall as one of them notices an elderly woman struggling with a heavy basket. Instead of offering physical assistance like a normal person would, the cultist simply pauses time and redistributes the weight throughout her bags, making the load manageable when time resumes. The woman continues on her way, puzzled but grateful for what appears to be a second wind in her own strength.
At an apothecary's shop, Ananke observes as the second operative manipulates temporal threads around the building's interior. A customer enters desperately seeking medicine for a sick child, but the shopkeeper opens his cabinets to find them mysteriously restocked with exactly the needed supplies. Just moments before, those same shelves had been completely empty. The grateful father pays what little he can afford and rushes home with lifesaving remedies, while the apothecary simply puzzles at what he assumes is his own forgetfulness.
She scratches her head in confusion as she watches them continue their strange charitable work. They prevent a cartwheel from breaking by strengthening its structure through temporal manipulation. They redirect a lost dog toward its searching owner by subtly adjusting the animal's wandering path. They even engage in what appears to be harmless mischief, using their abilities to âliberateâ some colourfully decorated pastries for themselves from a baker's stall that would have been thrown away unsold at day's end anyway.
Is this what the Witching Hour actually does? Sheâs confused. This is nothing like what she saw in Skroscocivo.
Every intervention she witnesses seems beneficial or at worst completely victimless. Where's the terrible threat to cosmic order that her instructors warned her about? Where are the reality-warping schemes that supposedly make them so dangerous that she was expecting?
Perhaps the Twelve Hands have been wrong about their rivals all along. Or is it that these two guys just have a day off and are having fun in the city?
One of the cultists suddenly turns around, their gaze sweeping directly toward her hiding spot. Ananke immediately ducks back behind the corner of a building, pressing herself against the stone wall while her heart pounds with the fear of discovery. When she cautiously peers around the edge again, both figures have vanished completely, melted back into the crowd or perhaps into time itself.
Deciding she's learnt everything useful she can from this expedition, Ananke takes the oversized hat from her head and examines its interior. The temporal portal her master created shimmers in the depths like a pool of liquid starlight. She climbs into it as if it were a physical hole, feeling the sensation of falling through folded space as she vanishes into its depths. The hat itself disappears with her, leaving no trace of her presence in this earlier era.
The moment she disappears from the past timeline, two dark silhouettes emerge from side alleys flanking the exact spot where she had been standing just seconds before. They scan the empty space with obvious confusion.
After a brief, silent conference, they too fade back into the shadows, leaving the peaceful street of thirty years ago to continue its normal rhythm of adventure and hope, unaware of the dark reality that will await it several decades down the line.
A man in armour and a woman in a flowery dress walk by, holding hands rather sheepishly.