I examined the dirty cell around me. It was the second time in a row that I’d woken from a forced drug-induced slumber to find myself somewhere new. Seeing in the dim lighting was difficult, but there was just enough illumination for my advanced senses to make out my immediate surroundings.

The dirt along the cell’s back wall had started forming clumps of mud where small cracks had developed over time, allowing moisture to seep through. The area around the hole in the floor that served as a toilet was probably the cleanest portion of the cell, likely due to the efforts of my predecessors.

I shivered at the thought of using such a thing. Thankfully, blocks of wood covered the holes in each cell, sparing everyone the associated smells.

I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious, but I doubted my captors would leave me alone for long. I wracked my mind for a solution to my predicament.

My party and I had been captured, my wards and alarms somehow failing as we slept for a few scant hours. Someone had been on watch, but they’d also been neutralized…somehow. There were too many unknowns.

At least I knew who our captors were. Harbinger cultists. They were the worst of the worst, according to the Adventurers’ Guild. While it was easy to recognize the markings on their robes, knowing who had captured my party wouldn’t help us escape.

A quick glance around the prison showed lightly glowing runes related to communication and Space spread throughout the area. While I didn’t recognize all of them, I understood the gist of what the enchantments were likely meant to do – block communication, teleportation, and other avenues of potential escape.

Undeterred by the markings, since even a failed attempt would provide valuable information, I tried to Teleport anyway, not bothering with the spellform but going straight to Direct Casting, using my affinity to guide me like I’d learned to do the only other time I’d ever been imprisoned. Before the effect could manifest, my focus was broken by a searing pain in my neck. I reached up, feeling the cold metal collar around my neck.

“Fuck,” I exclaimed quietly. Active mana suppression collars were a much bigger issue than some old enchantments. Shifting into a lotus position, I pulled my consciousness within and attempted to gauge how much the collar impacted my mana. It was…not good.

I could still access my secret storage space – the one I’d anchored to a small piece of purified bone I’d implanted several years earlier after having all my equipment stolen by people who should have been allies. Though it appeared my captors had stripped me of everything valuable, taking everything but the thin underarmor I’d worn to sleep in, they’d missed the largest cache I owned.

At least there was some good news.

Though I couldn’t cast spells, it seemed I could still activate enchantments – something I had loads of hidden away in my personal storage. Unfortunately, nothing jumped out as immediately helpful. I could probably fight with the manatech devices I had hidden away once they removed me from the cell, but it still wouldn’t get the collar off my neck.

“Think, Emie,” I whispered to myself.

“You can’t escape,” a dull, feminine voice said from the cell across from me. The sudden noise caused me to jump slightly, but I kept from crying out. I could see movement in the shadows of the cell. Looking closer, I noticed small signs of life within several of the darkened cells.

I ignored the voice and continued to mentally catalog my belongings, hoping something would trigger an idea.

“It’s useless,” the voice whispered hopelessly. “They’ll never let us go. We’re going to die here.”

Hoping my continued silence would deter further comments, I turned away, angling my back toward the speaker. She sounded young, but I’d quickly learned that appearances were highly deceptive when magic was involved.

One of my long-term projects caught my eye, and my breath quickened. Finishing the formation wouldn’t immediately help the rest of my party, but I'd have time to figure something out as long as it didn’t kill me. Given my collar and the spatial wards in place, I wasn’t even sure the formation would work. However, it relied more heavily on Time than Space, so I hoped it would be okay. If it failed, I could always try again, assuming the intricate enchantment I’d spent so much time and effort on wasn’t destroyed in the attempt.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

On principle, I avoided using the cleaner area around the toilet for anything but its designated purpose. Instead, I brushed as much dirt off the floor as possible on the opposite side of the cell before spreading out the valuable beast skin I’d removed from my hidden storage.

Given the darkness, I couldn’t see as well as I wanted to, but Enhanced Mana Sense allowed me to perceive enough to complete my task. Thank goodness the collar didn’t wholly block mana usage.

I’d been dragging my feet on completing the formation for weeks already, telling myself I needed better, stronger reagents for the final segment instead of just using what I’d collected. Maybe the situation in which I found myself was the motivation I needed to overcome whatever psychological block had been keeping me from finishing it.

Magic that affected time as a whole – not just individual items or people – was usually limited to a short window where the current timeline hadn’t solidified. The farther one traveled back, the more ripples would be created. All Time Mages understood there was a line that, if crossed, would cause a new timeline to branch away from the first.

Aside from whatever backlash the caster faced, creating branches in the timeline wasn’t supposed to affect the current timeline. Time Mages capable of casting such spells instinctively understood when their magic would cross this metaphysical line. They also understood that creating time branches might have personal repercussions – like soul damage or death within one or both timelines involved.

As a Time Mage, I understood this. I did not need to research to find the information; it was instinctive. However, I had still sought data sources regarding time travel outside the system’s framework, only to come out empty-handed.

It was almost like information on Time magic had been intentionally suppressed or withheld.

Given some of the nobility’s stance on power, it wouldn’t surprise me. However, it was just as likely that there simply weren’t enough Time Mages willing to share their knowledge. Regardless, now that I’d decided on a path forward, I needed to do everything perfectly. I likely wouldn’t get a second chance, at least not anytime soon.

If the formation worked and I didn’t die from casting such an unorthodox piece of Time magic, the part of me that stayed behind would still have to figure out some way to escape and rescue the rest of my party – if they were even still alive. Harbinger cultists weren’t known for keeping male captives for very long.

From what we’d been told at the Adventurers’ Guild upon arriving on Olym, Harbinger cultists were big into sacrifices and summoning demons to fight. Apparently, it provided more experience…or something. Given that they’d all be labeled as offenders of the Accords within the system, the whole cult thing didn’t make that much sense.

Hopefully, Ros and the others were still alive.

Regardless, I would ensure they were protected in the new timeline and complete the handful of requests my party members had. Requests like keeping Ros’s best friend from dying in the Arcane mana well where Ros somehow awakened his affinity years after accessing the system.

Edgar, Jorenda, and Marcus had made similar, if perhaps not as dramatic, requests for if my creation worked. With as much support as they’d given me since joining them, doing a few side quests was hardly fair recompense.

I carefully inscribed the final runes with reagents for Time and Space that I’d mixed with a drop of my blood, infusing the requisite mana through blood as the runes took shape and solidified.

There was no reason to review the formation again now that it was complete. It would either work… or not. I wiped my bare feet (because, of course, they took my shoes!) and carefully stepped onto the blank space I’d left for that purpose. I withdrew the only Time core I’d acquired during my travels, coincidentally from the same beast as the skin on which I’d inscribed the formation.

After activating the barrier to keep the mana from escaping, I took a deep breath. I pushed as much Time mana as possible into the area around me while shattering the core in my hands. Because I wasn’t trying to guide my mana, the collar hadn’t inhibited its release. It was a significant oversight I’d have to remember.

The foreign mana was stubborn, but it eventually mixed sufficiently with the mana I’d released to allow me to gain control. I quickly directed the mixed energy into the runes powering the formation. My mind strained as I focused on pushing every speck of mana I could control into the runes while triggering the formation to activate.

Pressure built from all directions, and it felt like something was squeezing my soul into a smaller shell. There was a sharp pain that went beyond the physical body. It was deep, almost spiritual, as was the sensation of tearing that soon followed.

It felt like my soul was being shredded.

Had I messed up, or was this part of forcefully creating a new timeline?

I started to panic. The formation was supposed to send my consciousness (maybe a part of my soul?) back to the beginning – when I experienced the first surge of mana during the start of the reintegration. I didn’t think it would be this painful.

Then again, I hadn’t factored in the stupid collar, either.

A crushing wave of disappointment hit me. I should have waited. I should have used an alternative method of escaping and saved the formation until I removed the stupid collar.

The pain at the center of my being made it hard to think. It became everything… before everything started to get fuzzy, then numb.

Not only had I failed, but I’d also probably killed or crippled myself in the process. Feelings of overwhelming regret and loss competed with the spiritual pain that writhed and shifted as my consciousness waned.

I had failed.