A suffocating blanket of dark smoke smothered the city. Total blackness, pierced only by angry fires consuming the last remaining rubble of what were once the proud buildings of Cape Lumous. The city was destroyed, and all Tempora could smell was death. Why does this always happen? she thought, a weary echo in her mind. This can’t be the only path. She moved through the ashes of chaos, undistracted. She had lived this moment too many times already. But she knew she had to be careful; if she died now, this scorched fate would be sealed for everyone.
She found the ruins of the palace, its once-grand facade now a jagged silhouette against the fiery sky. The marble staircase, fortunately, remained mostly intact. She climbed it, stepping through a gap where a door used to be, then dropped to her knees. She searched for the box. It was always in the same spot. Tempora opened it, her fingers closing around the contents: a purple rock, a piece of Ether. Why didn’t Lilirose ever give this to her sister? she wondered. Maybe things would have been different then. Maybe this war could have been avoided.
Tempora had to move fast. If events were repeating exactly as they always did, the zombie horde would soon be upon her. In other timelines, she had squeezed the Ether, absorbed some of its power, and fought them off with her bare hands. But that had almost been a devastating mistake; if she consumed too much now, she wouldn’t have enough for later. Instead, she gripped the Ether firmly, and as its force pulsed through her, she released. The boost allowed her to jump through the broken palace window and land unharmed amidst the ruined street. Zombies surrounded her, a moaning, shambling tide, and Tempora had to control her impulse to punch the face of the one closest to her. Instead, she ran, propelled by the Ether that was still resonating through her body.
Just like so many times before, Techa’s motorbike sat miraculously preserved in the ruins of the library. Only a week ago, peace had reigned, and her sister had brought both her bike and the book she'd written about it to Lexa, to be added to the shelves of knowledge. Now, all the archives had been consumed by the flames of war, but Techa’s bike remained somehow, scratch-free.
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Tempora opened the small furnace hatch near the engine, packing it with fragments of old books scattered on the floor. With one piece, she caught a flame from a fire consuming the last section of the library. She primed the boiler, and water flowed into the tank. The bike hissed, a serpentine whisper, as the pressure gauge needle slowly, agonizingly climbed. Tempora tapped the gauge anxiously, waiting for the red mark that signaled enough pressure to run. Next, she engaged the pistons, flipping a chunky brass switch that linked the boiler pressure to the drive pistons in the engine. Gears clunked into place. Steam vented out the side for a moment, a sharp pssst clearing condensation and stabilizing the motor. Tempora kicked the pedal, urging the first piston stroke to move. The wheels lurched as the engine caught, sputtering, then roaring to life. She twisted a heavy throttle valve, and steam thundered through the piping. The bike coughed, shuddered, then settled into a rhythmic, chuffing beat, like a mechanical heartbeat.
Tempora released the brakes. The chain clattered, and a plume of white steam trailed behind as she surged forward. She was so used to this ride, so attuned to its every tremor, she felt she could beat Techa and Mecha in a race. With breathtaking speed, Tempora zoomed through the destroyed city, heading back toward the eastern industrial district where her workshop lay. Despite the grim severity of the events, Tempora loved riding the motorbike. It mirrored her own creation, the machine that was about to save the day, again. Her device had a huge mainspring, crafted from the same type of brass used on this motorbike. But unlike this bike, her invention demanded something far more powerful than mere steam, for it was designed to tear a hole in time itself.
Tempora reached her workshop, this part of town was untouched from the war. With the last bit of Ether coursing through her system, she kicked down the door and rushed to her invention. She dropped the purple rock into a sealed chamber and cranked the handle. Rotating gyros hummed into life, a symphony of ticking clocks filling the air. Soon, reality blurred, stretched thin, and in an instant, Tempora found herself back in time, ready to give the city another chance.
