“I get not wanting to go back,” Akari’s mother said. “You’ve always been independent.”

“Right.” Akari paced around the forest in the dreamscape. “Some people can’t focus without school, but I never had that problem.”

If anything, school had been a constant distraction. Last year, she’d treated the Artegium like the most important thing in the world, but that attitude seemed so immature in hindsight. Her younger self had constantly looked toward the horizon, as if drastic changes would lead to drastic gains. The Artegium was just the latest example of many.

Akari glanced at the older woman across the forest clearing. She wore a floral skirt with a black top, and her dark hair seemed to glow in the evening sun. Or was it the morning sun? This was an imaginary forest, and she couldn’t tell the east from the west.

“And you’re right,” her mother said. “You might get bored as a second-year Artisan. You never want to be the strongest person in any room. Or the smartest.”

“Exactly,” Akari said. She would get complacent if that happened, just like her past self had gotten complacent in Last Haven. Back then, she’d felt entitled to greatness, as if it should come easy. Rather than training harder to beat Kalden, she’d looked for shortcuts.

That impatience had cost her everything.

“However”—Emeri raised a thin finger—“it might be possible for you to skip a year.”

Akari blinked. “What? Like—enroll as a third-year?”

She nodded. “It’s been done before. Back in my day, you needed to score better than the average third-year on your admissions exams.”

“Better?” That seemed ridiculously unfair, but Akari wasn’t surprised. The school wanted to earn their tuition, after all. “Anything else?”

“There were a few more rules,”Emeri said. “But I can’t recall the whole list. It’s been a long time.”

“I’ll check that out,” Akari said. Third-years didn’t compete in the same bracket for the war games, but her team didn’t care about those anymore. Not after everything that had happened last year.

They continued their discussion, but Akari’s thoughts kept drifting back to Last Haven, and the mistake that had cost her mother’s life. She cherished this time together in her dreams, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. Someday, her parents’ soul shards would burn out. When that happened, she and her mother would never speak like this again.

A question rose to Akari’s lips—a question she’d been waiting to ask all summer, but hadn’t found the courage “Do you know who attacked Last Haven?”

Her mother gave her a knowing smile. “I wondered when you’d ask me that. What took you so long?”

“I . . .” Akari found her throat suddenly dry, and she swallowed. “I didn’t know what would happen if I asked.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“No.” Leaves cracked beneath Emeri’s bare feet as she stepped forward.. “You were right to worry. If I answered your question, it could mean the end of all this.”

“What? How?”

“Your enemy works hard to keep his identity a secret, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Speaking his name could drain the last of my mana.”

Akari leaned back against a thick oak tree, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. “You’re saying you know who attacked us, but you can’t tell me?”

“I know his name,” she confirmed. “So did you at one point. It’s the same name you told Ashur Moonfire in that diner.”

“So why don’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know what will happen,” she said. “There’s a powerful technique at work here.”

“But you’re a Mystic,” Akari said. “Can’t you break another Mystic’s technique?”

“I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m saying it’s not worth the risk.”

Akari gave a slow nod. “Then how about a hint?”

“It’s not worth obsessing over. Knowing this person’s identity won’t help you advance, and it won’t help you save Relia. I doubt it will benefit you in the long term, either.”

Akari ignored that and pressed on. “Is it someone I know?”

Emeri heaved out a long sigh. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“I am, but . . .” She clenched her hands into fists. “I need to know. I need to know if someone’s gonna betray me.”

Ashur Moonfire was still a prime suspect in Akari’s mind. Especially after the battle with Storm’s Eye when he’d revealed his true power as an Aeon Mystic. A part of her wanted to believe it was him. They were already enemies, so it was the simplest answer.

And yet . . . His last few moves had felt so half-hearted. Almost incompetent. First he’d sent Elise to sabotage her during the qualifying rounds, and then he’d sent Valeria Zantano to the Darklight’s estate. Not only had those plans failed, but he’d gotten his own daughter killed.

These weren’t the actions of the all-powerful Mystic who’d attacked her home.

Then there were the Darklights. Akari wanted to trust them, but she’d never been able to scratch them off her list. Ashur Moonfire had veiled his power for years, so why couldn’t Elend do the same thing? He’d even restored her lost memories—a perfect inversion of the technique that had taken them in the first place. What if she saw exactly what Elend wanted her to see?

Her last suspect was . . . herself. The Archipelago existed inside a massive pocket dimension. That was the only explanation that made any sense. But no space artist had ever made a pocket dimension that large.

What if a spacetime artist had done that? More specifically, a spacetime Mystic like her future self. There were still issues of causality, and the fact that time travel was impossible. But even the Solidors hadn’t ruled out Future Akari as a suspect.

More likely, it was some combination of all her suspects. What if Elend advanced in the future, then used Akari to make the Archipelago? Ashur Moonfire was also a space artist, and he might still be hiding his true power. Then there was Glim, and—

Emeri stepped forward, pulling her back to the present moment. “Can you trust me, Akari? Can you trust that I know what I’m doing?”

“I do.” Akari let out a long breath, forcing away her worries. “But that line’s getting old. And . . .” She shook her head. “This is crazy. I’m so close to answers, and my own mom’s keeping secrets from me.”

“For what it’s worth,” Emeri said. “This isn’t easy for me, either.”

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Akari furrowed her brow as she recalled a comment from before. “You said it takes mana just to answer a question. How does that work? Is it because you’re . . . ” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“A memory?” her mother offered.

“Yeah.”

Emeri shook her head. “It’s not that. Do you remember learning about paradoxes inside time Constructs?”

Akari rubbed at her temple. “Vaguely.”

She smiled. “Then I think it’s time for your next lesson.” And with that, her mother made a slow circle around the clearing, and time mana flowed from her outstretched hands. The mana gathered on the forest floor, forming the base of a massive Construct.

Most of her lessons began this way, with a simple time bubble, roughly thirty yards in diameter, tall enough to encase several trees. But this setup was different from her previous lessons.

Before, they’d begun their lessons inside the Construct where they could destroy the trees and reverse time as if nothing had happened. Now, they stood on the outside.

“Look away.” Her mother gestured toward the horizon, putting her back to the massive Construct. Akari complied; she didn’t know what her mother had planned, but she had a few guesses.

They stood that way for several minutes, making small talk as they waited. Finally, her mother turned around and formed an entrance in the Construct. Akari followed her through the invisible doorway. The transition felt seamless, and it seemed like a good way to lure an opponent into a trap.

Several broken saplings lay on the forest floor near the dome’s entrance. Weird. Had those been broken before? Akari followed her mother toward the center where a taller maple sapling loomed over the others. It was about the same height as Akari and her mother.

“We normally destroy things in these lessons, “Emeri said. “But this time, I want you to focus on this tree. That’s all.”

Akari did so, burning the image of the sapling into her mind. She noted as much detail as possible, from the number of leaves and branches, to the texture of the bark.

Then they turned around and walked out of the Construct. Mana flowed from her mother’s hand as she rewound time inside the dome. Emeri normally slowed this process down for the sake of their lessons, letting Akari witness the backward flow of time. But this happened in a split second, too fast for her eyes to process.

“How can you tell what you’re doing?” Akari asked. “Can you see in four dimensions?’

“It’s more of a mental perception,” her mother said as she worked. “Less like ordinary sight, and closer to how Kalden experiences his knowledge mana.”

The time bubble snapped into sudden stillness when her mother reached the start of the timeline, then they stepped forward through a new entrance

The larger sapling looked exactly the same, but the surroundings had changed in this version; not a single plant had been cut.

“Now,” Emeri said when they reached the center of the clearing. “Go ahead and destroy our favorite little tree.”

Akari stretched out her hand and cycled mana to her palm. She aimed at the sapling and tried to form a Missile, but nothing happened. An invisible force pushed back against her mana. No matter how hard she tried, her Missile wouldn’t form.

As an experiment, Akari shifted her hand away and targeted one of the other saplings by her feet. The mana flowed easily from her hand, and she sharpened the Missile into a blade, cutting the plant at the stem.

She sliced through several more saplings with ease. But when she turned back to the first one, her mana wouldn’t budge.

“So . . . breaking that first tree would create a paradox?” Akari turned to her mother who flashed her an innocent grin.

Akari stepped closer to the tree. Maybe she could break it with her bare hands instead of her mana. She almost got within arm’s reach, but then her body refused to budge any closer. She Cloaked her muscles and fought back against the invisible force. That earned her a few more inches, but not close enough.

“See?” Emeri’s smile widened. “Any mundane action can cost mana. Even taking a step, or answering a question.”

“I guess.” Akari still wasn’t happy, but she felt better than before. “What am I pushing against here? The power has to come from somewhere.”

“You tell me,” her mother said.

Akari made a show of glancing around “We’re in your Construct. Does that mean I’m pushing against you?”

“Pretty much. You drain my technique’s mana every time you try to destroy the sapling. Lucky for me, you’re just an Artisan. I would have struggled much more if you were a Master or Grandmaster.”

Akari glanced behind her and frowned at the implications. “I saw those broken saplings the first time—in the middle of the timeline. Does that mean I had no choice but to break them this time?” She’d never liked concepts like fate or destiny, and this seemed uncomfortably close for her tastes.

“You could have left the saplings alone,” her mother said. “But inaction creates inconsistencies, too. If you hadn’t cut the saplings, my aspect would recognize the timeline as invalid. Then I never could have merged the outcome with reality.”

Akari nodded. “So I could use that to break an opponent’s time bubble?”

Emeri rocked her head from side to side. “I could have broken the saplings myself, and that would fix it. Besides, I’m the one who put you in that position. If you're ever trapped inside an opponent’s time bubble, you should find the edges and break them. That will either merge the timelines, or bring you back to before the technique’s creation. It all depends on the parameters.”

“What if I was born inside a time Construct?” Akari asked. “And destroying the technique reset time to before I was born?” This was all hypothetical, of course; no one could ever make a technique that large in the first place.

Emeri laughed, but she seemed impressed by the question. “Sounds like a variation of the grandfather paradox. You can’t take any action that erases your own existence.”

“Can’t?” Akari echoed.

“The Construct would push back, just like it did with the sapling.”

“But that’s only because you’re stronger than me. What if I had more mana than the time artist who made the technique?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” her mother said. “Advancement is impossible inside space and time Constructs.”

That was true. She hadn’t advanced to Silver until after she’d left the Archipelago.

“Okay,” Akari said. “But what if I left the time bubble, then came back after I was stronger?”

Emeri hummed in consideration. “In that case, you’d probably end up destroying the Construct and erasing your own existence. But I can’t say for sure. Your own soul might sense the consequences and prevent this from happening.”

“Who makes these rules?” Akari asked. “The people who invented time mana? Or . . . the universe?” She made a vague gesture at the purple sky. Some people, like Zukan, thought the Angels wrote all the laws of the universe. But Akari didn’t believe in the Angels much these days. At least not in the same way Zukan did. She had a piece of one in her chest, but that proved they weren’t as strong as some people thought.

“A bit of both,” her mother said. “The rules are written into the aspect. But the mana costs would be impossibly high if the creators hadn’t done that. Does that mean a paradox is impossible in real life?” She shrugged. “We don’t know yet. If we discover proof of branching timelines, then we might modify our techniques to account for that.”

With that lesson done, they returned to their house. They didn’t even have to walk there—her mother just waved her hand and made it happen, thanks to the crazy physics of the dream world.

Apparently, this world was actually the Ethereal, the source of all mana. Anyone could project their consciousness here in their sleep, but Aeons were far more proficient than ordinary people. They could retain full lucidity in their dreams, and use this place for training. Training with few costs or long-term consequences.

The Ethereal also served as a record for all human memory, and dream artists like Elend used that to restore missing memories. Beyond that, no one knew much about the mysterious realm. Not even the Solidors, who’d supposedly been coming here for the better part of a century.

“Now,” Emeri said when they sat down at the dining room table. “How are your own techniques coming along?”

“Same as last time,” Akari said with a wince. “Portals came easy to me, but time mana’s . . . weird.”

“Space mana is more direct,” her mother agreed. “You have to force your will on the universe.” A sly smile crossed her face. “And if there’s one thing you’re good at . . .”

“Yeah, yeah.” Akari rolled her eyes. “Dad made the same joke.”

She nodded sagely. “I did marry him for his sense of humor, you know.”

Her parents weren’t actually that funny, but Akari didn’t mind so much anymore. They’d always tried hard to make her feel safe, even when they knew exactly how dangerous this world was.

“Anyway,” her mother said. “Time requires more finesse. It’s less about bending iron rods, and more about weaving threads.”

Akari slumped back in her chair. “Be honest—can I really learn this in a few months?”

Emeri considered that. “The real problem will be learning your Cloak technique. Not to mention training your Aeon abilities, and finding the mana to advance.”

“So I need to go faster. Any advice?”

She gave a slow nod. “I’ve been teaching you my approach to time mana, but that’s not the only path forward. Other cycling patterns might be a better fit.”

Akari frowned. “You said yours was the best way.”

“It’s the best way I know of. But there might be a faster way.

“How?”

“The technique manuals in the Artegium library. Other time artists have recorded their techniques, and those manuals will let you share their experiences. Now that I think about it, these might help you with your Cloak techniques, too”

“I’ve never heard of these,” Akari said.

“They’re on the restricted floor,” Emeri said. “Only for third-years. Or lowerclassmen with permission from a teacher. That should be no problem for Elend, though.”

Well, that settled it then. She was going back to school after all.