So where was I? Oh right. Standing in front of an attendant who wasn’t the same from blink to blink, trying to figure out how to tell them what time period I’m from.

“For my own frame of reference, could you give me any usable calendars to pick from?” I tried.

“I’m afraid not, sir. Without knowing more about your specific plane and time period, I might accidentally contaminate the timeline,” a child of some sort said (and I categorize them as that, because it wouldn’t matter in the next blink anyway).

I thought for a long minute. I hadn’t run into temporal shenanigans as yet, but I suppose it was only a matter of time. Magic being magic and all.

On a whim, I reached into my bag and pulled out my ever useful translator ring and put it on.

“I’m afraid that is unlikely to work here, sir,” the attendant, now a ‘girl-next-door’ with outfit to match, said smoothly.

“Let’s try it anyway. 2023 A.D by European Gregorian Standard,” I smiled and said again.

The face of the attendant was one of shock, a look that persisted between forms. They… it… whatever kept looking at me rather disturbed.

“Did I say something wrong?” I probed.

“I…. I simply haven’t heard ANYONE use that timescale in all my time here,” the attendant admitted after a long moment and a return of the customer service composure.

“I am going to presume you mean the standard that my translator provided, not me,” I prompted.

“Yes, yes of course. May I see it?” the lizardman who most certainly wasn’t from a famous spacefaring TV show asked.

I held out my hand and the lizardman come dryad waved their hands (or what I’ll presume were their hands) over the ring and a series of energized runic rings seemed to materialize in the air over it, moving with my hand.

“Ah… I see…. So simple and yet… so versatile. How strange though… this shouldn’t work for you. Why does it?” the golem attendant asked.

I simply pointed to a small crystal placement on the band, rather than explain.

“Ah Essentia. But crystalline. Why? Oh. I see, you have an Essentia charge, but you do not generate it. How facinating. I must speak internally about acquiring something similar,” the man who could have passed for any number of adult movie stars said (as he lacked the clothing to match).

“Now where were we?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. Checking you in. How long will you be staying with us?” the fantasy court wizard attendant asked.

“I wasn’t planning to stay. I was asked to investigate where this was since I was the only person who could see how to reach here, where-ever this is,” I shrugged.

“Ah, an accidental arrival. They do happen on occasion. You are… in simplest terms, you are nowhere and everywhere, but you are also nowhen and everywhen. This is a place of all times, no time, and everytime. It was never been, never is, and never will be, but has always been, always is, and ever shall be,” the attendant rattled off with amazing speed.

Luckily, I’m used to clients rattling off technical information like this, so my mind was already hard at work in dissecting the whole of the statement, even if I wasn’t entirely aware of it.

We stood in silence for a few moments as I digested this. As I said, my first experience with temporal shenanigans.

“What happens if I walk back through the way I entered?” I asked.

“You will presumably be returned to your own timeline in your previous starting location,” the attendant said, a bit hesistantly.

“But?” I knew there was more to it.

“But there is some room for error, so returning you to precisely when and where is a matter of fine determination. And most beings who reach us here do not desire to simply return. Most prefer to end up some other when or some other where.”

“Not accounting for standard time lapse, of course,” I commented, trying a bit of levity.

“That depends on the individual or group as the case may be, sir. Most beings from similar regions to yours do prefer what you consider to be the linear flow of time,” the attendant, now looking like a doppleganger, said.

“Based on a generic understanding, would this be construed as a fifth-dimensional space, plane, or construct?” I asked.

“Yes. How wonderful your mind to have caught on, sir. Most beings can’t quite grasp that concept, at least not in the timescale you managed,” the attendant grinned a toothy grin with far too many teeth in a mouth that seemed to open just a bit too wide.

“So let me sum up, I found an entry way to this place hidden behind a glamour in a place that is supposed to be nigh impossible to use a glamour. Through that entry way, I have entered into a fifth-dimensional construct which is imprecisely bound to the associated planes of what I understand within the bounds of my senses and this place serves as?”

“As a place of service if you will, sir.”

“That’s maddeningly unhelpful,” I grumbled.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s what I can tell you. Would you like to finish checking in?” the attendant said, turning a book which hadn’t been there until now towards me.

My mind had caught on something.

“A place of service, you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“From whom to whom?”

The attendant had a flash of being hunted run across their face and it was gone in a blink and a new face.

“Why, to your benefit, sir.”

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“That doesn’t answer my question though. If this is a place of service as you say, it could just as well be a full service hotel or a prison come labor camp. This book of yours could very well be an acceptance of indentured servitude,” I kept my hands away from the book, despite wanting to point at the thing.

I don’t want to claim that I’d caught it immediately, but having spent a few weeks in dealing with the exact meaning of words with wizards and lawyers, you learn to appreciate either exacting specificity or you come to hate it. I’m part of the latter, but in the moment, I had zero intention of committing myself to anything without enough specifics.

The attendant looked a bit forlorn.

“You’re quite right, sir. And the truth of the matter is that it is both and neither,” the attendant said.

“You’ll have to explain that,” I was lost now. A prison come labor camp is nothing like full service hotel, at least not from my perspective, except in general terms of food provided, a room to sleep in, and some manner of associated activities.

“Because, as you have indicated, this is, by your metric, a fifth-dimensional construct, this place tends to be a reflection of your own mind. To that effect, it is a kind of full-service hotel for some and a prison come labor camp for others,” the attendant explained.

“If this is a construct of my own mind, why is it so blank in here?” I prompted.

“Because you have not signed in and so the construct does not conform to your mind yet.”

“Am I able to meet other people within this construct?” I asked.

“Certainly not. You might contaminate the timeline in doing so,” the attendant looked aghast, as if I’d just suggested genocide.

“So I can only meet people who come with me,” I said.

“Quite so and only if their version of the construct aligns with yours,” the attendant said.

“So I’m here alone.”

“Not quite. I’m here, sir and the construct which creates me is here,” the attendant tried, brightly.

I decidedly frowned and might have even glowered a bit.

“Which still brings me back to how is this any different from a prison, one where I am the only prisoner?”

“Sir?” the attendant looked confused.

“Any being, given enough time within their own company, even within the scope of their imaginations, will eventually be subjected to the fact that they are still alone and unless they can and do leave, they are almost certainly likely to become ill in a way that I cannot hope to describe in a few meager sentences,” I glared at the attendant but didn’t raise my voice.

The attendant seemed to consider this.

“This would perhaps explain why some beings have rendered themselves non-functional,” the attendant said, a bit too cheerfully for my liking.

“This does not trouble you?” I was a bit shocked, but I tried not to show it.

“It does not concern me. It was their own choice,” the attendant said blankly.

“Did any of these being arrive dressed with chains or bonds?” I asked.

“Yes, quite a few have. Are you informed as to why?” the attendant acknowledged.

“Those were prisoners. They came with some manner of form or writing or demarcation as to how long they were to request to stay,” I surmised.

“Quite so, but I fail to take your meaning,” the attendant looked blank.

It was my turn to try and size up the attendant. It was an impossible task, but I tried it anyway as it/they changed from one form to another to another and another.

“Whenever and where-ever those beings came from, they were sent here to be imprisoned. For good or ill. And I’d wager every single one is dead,” I half-way snarled.

“I cannot confirm that summary,” the attendant tried dodging the statement either way. “But I can confirm that it would be highly irregular for that state of affairs, should it exist, to exist for long.”

“Why’s that?” my dislike for the attendant abating slightly.

“The entrances to this construct move,” the attendant said simply.

It took me a moment to consider what this meant and I was reminded of a creepy-pasta I’d read some time ago.

“Doors in the woods,” I murmured to myself.

“That is something that has been mentioned by some of the visitors, yes,” the attendant was smiling again, but carefully not showing teeth.

I mused on it a bit. Doors to nowhere. Doors to an everywhere and an everywhen. The only constriction being that you could only ever return within your own timeline, but….

“Hold on a second. You mentioned not wanting to contaminate the timeline,” I said.

“Quite right. Without the appropriate flow of the timelines, a fundamental disruption might, will have, always, never occurred,” the attendant said in a flurry of words that made the gears in my brain feel like I’d gone full reverse while at forward highway speeds.

“So you’re saying that a disruption always has occurred or always will occur or only might occurred and only might occur?” I tried, trying desperately to wrap my head around the problem that I already was seeing.

“Something on that order, yes, sir,” the attendant declined to explain.

“I know why then,” I said after a moment’s thought.

“Really, sir? I would seriously doubt that, given the limits of your sensory confines,” the attendant seemed to puff up a bit at the suggestion.

“Those who prefer the procession of linear time and leave, to when are they sent?” I asked.

“As close at the construct is capable of, accounting for the procession of linear time as they described,” the attendant admitted.

“So for the period of time in which they are absent from their timeline, their affects on that timeline are null,” I followed on.

“That’s correct, sir. They are not within that timeline or plane in the strictest sense while they are here,” the attendant said, looking puzzled.

“Then you’ve missed the fundamental. Because their affects on that timeline and plane are null for that time period, their absence is a fundamental impact to the timeline and plane. Because they cannot have otherwise had an impact on the things they were, will, might have had impacts on, simply by existing,” I explained, what little temporal mechanics I remember from various science fictions helping me as best I could hope for.

The attendant still looked puzzled.

“How so, sir?”

“Consider this book. If it were to disappear for a time and then to suddenly reappear, would the between time not have any impacts?” I gestured vaguely at the book which was still set for me to sign in.

“That is impossible,” the attendant said simply. “That object is a product of this construct. It could not simply disappear. The information contained has always been.”

“But the absence would have an impact,” I tried again. “A soldier on the battlefield stumbles in here and stays for a week, a month, a year. When he returns, he discovers his side lost, possibly because he wasn’t there. If he had returned to the instant at which he left, then what?”

The attendant seemed to consider this for a long moment before their eyes going wide.

“You are quite right. We have overlooked this practice. We did not perceive because it was outside of our doing but was entirely our doing,” a voice that was more on the order of a god delivered judgment echoing from all around.

The attendant looked blank and the space seemed to swirl around us, the desk, the book, everything seemed to hum with a kind of energy I was unfamiliar with, but strangely could sense. It wasn’t my ‘Seer’ sense tingling, but it was something definitely off normal.

Several minutes passed, at least by my gauge.

The everything of the space seemed to stop humming and re-settled. The attendant looked at me anew.

“Welcome sir. Checking in?” they asked.

“No. Can you tell me what just happened?”

“Forgive them. They are a simple being,” came a voice like thunder. “I/we have fixed the disruption based on your/their observation. Such a solution from one so unlike this one.”

“So what of all those prisoners?” I asked the space at large.

“Returned to their own places and times so their absences are not noteworthy,” the rumbling voice said.

“Did they still die?” I decided to press.

“That was/will be their choice,” the voice indicated.

“So they appear to have died by strange means upon their re-entry into their own times and places?”

“Yes.”

“Are there any fewer now than there were or will be?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good at least.”

“You indicate this to be a pleasing state of affairs. Why?”

“Civilizations which exile prisoners rarely seek their deaths, for one reason or another. If it appears most commonly that they are dead upon their return from a time outside of time and a space outside of space, then all that those outside perceive is that they entered and died. Those few who survive are the rarities, not the rule and the equivalence of exile or death via the doors of your existence is tested,” I attempted to explain, having zero idea if any of this was getting across to this construct, being, whatever it was.

A long silence persisted.

“It would seem that this too would be an impact to the temporal nature of your perceptions,” the construct rumbled.

“But notionally one far less disruptive than the one that existed previously,” I admitted. “I’m still not fond of allowing this to be a prison come labor camp. Especially one where those within are segregated from one another in the name of protecting the timelines.”

“Do you have a better solution?” the voice thundered, albeit unintentionally.

“Not one that I can give you in this moment. At least not one that wouldn’t involve disconnecting entirely, which would effectively eliminate that. Impact will happen regardless. But how much impact is acceptable?” I asked. “Interference will always happen as long as there is a connection.”

The space seemed to dim slightly, as though substantial thinking was occurring, before brightening again.

“Some impact is acceptable and minimizes disruption,” the voice said.

“Figured it out already?” I asked, grinning slightly.

“I have always been thinking of it, will have been thinking of it, might never/always have been thinking about it. There is not benefit in full disconnection. Temporal manipulation is necessary, but within reason to limit the impact,” the construct said.

“So will you be checking in after all?” the attendant tried again.

“No, I don’t think I will. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get back to,” I said and stepped through the door.