Ebonheim stood before the construct, the weight of the task ahead settling upon her shoulders. The pulsing runes—gold, blue, and silver—seemed to watch her as much as she watched them. Time itself was the lock, and she needed to find the key within herself.

  She glanced back at her reflections in the mirrored walls. Each one was a fragment of herself, moving just out of sync. The delay wasn't constant; it shifted, sometimes lagging by mere moments, other times by longer stretches. An idea began to form in her mind. If the reflections represented her past selves, perhaps she could use them to her advantage.

  She turned back to the construct and extended her hand cautiously. The air shimmered around her fingers, a ripple coursing through the chamber. The blue runes brightened at her movement, confirming their connection to her present actions. She withdrew her hand, and they dimmed once more.

  "All right," she murmured to herself. "If the present runes react to me now, then the past runes must be linked to what I've already done."

  She considered the golden runes. They pulsed steadily, unaffected by her current movements. But perhaps if she could replicate her past actions, align them precisely with the echoes in the chamber, she might trigger a response.

  Ebonheim recalled her earlier steps upon entering the chamber—the way she had approached the construct, the hesitation in her movements. She retraced her steps backward, careful to mimic her exact path. As she did, she watched the mirrored walls, noting how her reflections began to align more closely with her.

  She reached the spot near the entrance where she had first paused. Taking a deep breath, she started forward again, this time paying close attention to each movement. She stepped deliberately, matching her stride to the lingering echoes of her reflections.

  Left foot, pause, right foot, slight tilt of the head—she mirrored her own past.

  As she approached the construct once more, she noticed the golden runes beginning to glow brighter.

  Her heart quickened. It was working.

  She continued, repeating the small gestures she had made earlier—the tentative reach of her hand, the way she had withdrawn. The golden runes pulsed in response, their light growing steadier.

  Encouraged, Ebonheim decided to test her theory further. She stepped back again, this time moving to the side where she had glanced at the mirrored wall. She turned her head slowly, just as she had before, observing her reflection with the same curious tilt. The golden runes flared slightly, a warm glow filling the chamber.

  "It responds to me reenacting my past actions," she whispered. "But I need to be precise."

  She repeated the sequence once more, this time focusing on the exact timing of her movements. Each step, each gesture had to match perfectly. As she did, the golden runes began to hum softly, their light intertwining with the blue runes of the present.

  Now, the challenge was to bring the past and present into alignment, matching the sequence of runes to her actions in both time periods. She needed to synchronize her reenacted past actions with her current movements. It was like performing a dance with herself, but out of step, and her partners were echoes of her own memories.

  She moved gracefully, her lithe form echoing through the chamber as she traced her path. The reflections in the mirrors began to sync more closely, the delay shrinking. The golden and blue runes pulsed in unison, their combined light casting intricate patterns on the walls.

  Ebonheim felt a surge of confidence. Two layers were responding to her. But what of the silver runes—the future? They remained faint, elusive. How could she interact with something that hadn't yet happened?

  She paused, considering.

  If the past responded to her reenacted actions and the present to her current ones, perhaps the future required her to anticipate her next moves. But how could she demonstrate actions she hadn't yet performed?

  An idea sparked.

  Perhaps she could set the stage for her future self. If she created a scenario now, she could predict how she would act in response. It was a gamble, but it might just work.

  She looked around the chamber for anything she could use. The room was sparse, but her gear might suffice. She reached into a small pouch at her waist and retrieved a handful of shimmering leaves—tokens from her town, imbued with a touch of her own divine energy.

  Ebonheim placed a leaf gently on the floor at a specific spot near the construct. Then another, forming a subtle path that curved around the device. She imagined herself walking that path in the moments to come, visualizing each step.

  Closing her eyes, she focused her thoughts ahead, picturing herself following the trail, reaching out to touch the construct at just the right moment. She opened her eyes, the silver runes flickering slightly, a hint of brightness emerging.

  "Yes," she breathed. "That's it."

  She began to move, stepping back to her starting point. This time, she followed the path of leaves she had laid out, each footfall deliberate. As she progressed, she concentrated on the actions she had envisioned, aligning her intent with each movement.

  The silver runes responded, their glow strengthening. They were still faint but now visibly connected to her actions. She reached the final leaf, standing directly before the construct. Summoning her resolve, she extended her hand toward the device, fingers outstretched.

  The runes of all three layers—golden, blue, and silver—pulsed together, their lights merging into a brilliant cascade. The construct hummed, its sound rising and falling in rhythm with the rippling waves of light.

  Ebonheim flinched involuntarily but stood firm. She felt a connection, a thread linking her past, present, and future selves. She understood now—the key was not just in reenacting or anticipating actions but in uniting all aspects of herself in a single moment of harmony. By blending her past, present, and future into a cohesive whole, she had activated the device.

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  The air shimmered around her hand as she touched the luminous sphere at the center of the construct. Her fingers brushed lightly against its smooth surface, warmth radiating outward. The light flashed once—blinding white—and disappeared.

  The oppressive weight lifted from the chamber. The reflections in the mirrors snapped into alignment, moving perfectly in sync with her. Time flowed naturally once more.

  Ebonheim withdrew her hand, staring intently at the now-still orb. The chamber was silent. A low hissing noise emanated from the construct as the orb broke apart, its fragments crumbling away like ash. A burst of golden light emerged from within and shot skyward, passing through the mirrored walls into the fractal dimension beyond.

  Ebonheim exhaled, feeling the tension leave her body.

  She had done it. The way forward had been opened. Now, all she needed to do was follow the trail of Quintessence into the next part of the fractal dimension.

  Good thing she decided to take this path. If it had been Syntris who'd picked this place, he would likely be stuck here forever. Nephri might also struggle with the strange space. Heck, she doubted even Ariastra could tackle the complicated puzzle she had solved.

  She smiled at her reflection in the mirrored wall. She was getting good at this. With time on her side.

  "Another down," she said. "Let's get out of here before everything gets reset..."

  How many fractal dimensions has she traversed? Five? Seven? Ten?

  The endless maze-like journey began to tire her mind. Each riddle, puzzle, and trial she endured in the distorted spatial realms taxed her focus and resourcefulness to the limits. What started as a fun and challenging quest gradually became a tedious and frustrating task.

  She couldn't help but let the weariness seep out in her voice. "I hope I don't get lost..."

  Ebonheim stepped through the shimmering veil, her vision blurring as she left behind the last stable point of the dimensional pocket she had just navigated through. She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. The new realm resolved itself after a few moments.

  She landed on something solid, though it didn't feel quite like ground. A thin, translucent layer, shimmering like oil on water, spread beneath her feet. She looked down and saw nothing beneath it but a vast void—a dark, endless space, dotted with strange, swirling shapes.

  After going through so many confusing realms in the fractal dimensions, this shouldn't have phased her. But even still, she stumbled on unsteady legs.

  "Where am I?" she wondered aloud.

  There were layers beneath the surface she stood on, each one shifting like the pages of an invisible book being turned and turned again.

  Ebonheim took another cautious step, then another, her eyes flicking from side to side, searching for something familiar—anything to anchor herself. But nothing stayed the same for long. The landscape shifted in her peripheral vision: one moment, there were floating mountains, jagged and immense, casting long shadows across the expanse; the next, they dissolved into something akin to clouds, nebulous and uncertain.

  She turned her head to focus on them, but they vanished again, leaving only faint, quivering traces of what might have been.

  At least in previous parts of the fractal, she found things. Puzzles or traps she could overcome with the right amount of luck, creativity, or finesse. But here? What kind of puzzles could she possibly solve if she didn't have a grasp on the rules of this place?

  Her eyes scanned the horizon, but it too wavered, like a mirage on a hot summer day. She could have sworn she saw something—herself, maybe? A reflection? She blinked again, harder this time, but the figure disappeared before she could study it closely. Strange. It had moved just like she did but slightly out of sync.

  And it had been watching her.

  She shivered, her hair standing on end as if electrified.

  "Right," she whispered, more to herself than anything else. "Stay calm. Just figure it out. Focus on the things that don't shift and go from there."

  It sounded easy enough.

  A soft sound caught her attention—a pebble skittering across the ground—though "ground" felt like an overly generous word for the patch of unstable space beneath her.

  Yet, when she looked down, she saw the pebble hadn't moved at all. Puzzled, she nudged it with her toe. It rolled forward, but a moment later, it was back where it started.

  "That's not how pebbles usually behave."

  She picked up the pebble and tossed it ahead.

  The pebble spun in the air, but instead of falling, it hung there, suspended for a long, unsettling moment. Ebonheim waited. The pebble hovered, unmoving, as though time had forgotten about it entirely. She frowned and stepped closer to inspect it, but the moment she did, it dropped—clattering to the ground like nothing strange had happened.

  "All right, I get it," she murmured, folding her arms. "Time's funny here too."

  This was either a mind game or something weirder. The latter was often more troublesome.

  She bent down to pick up the pebble again, but her hand passed right through it.

  No, not through it—through the space where it had been. The pebble was there, and not there. After squinting her eyes, she could tell the pebble existed in another layer beneath her.

  "Well, that's not unnerving at all," she muttered.

  This place seemed out of sync, like it was holding its breath, waiting for her to catch up with it—or maybe waiting for her to fall behind.

  She bit her lip, unsure of what to do.

  The air around her vibrated with a low hum, and she turned, expecting to see something. Nothing. But she could sense movement—something just out of sight, like a shadow flickering at the edges of her vision. She turned again, slowly this time, and there it was—a glimpse of herself, just for a second, standing several paces behind her.

  Her heart thudded, but the figure vanished before she could react. A reflection? No, this one was different. It didn't feel like a mirror; it felt like...a version. A version of her, doing something else, somewhere else.

  Ebonheim took a slow breath, trying to steady her nerves. She had to think. She had time to stop and think.

  Just like her experience with the clockwork orb construct in the last dimension she exited, she couldn't perceive things exactly as they were.

  What was the theme of this place...?

  Layers? Misalignment? Does it have something to do with time again? Maybe.

  This fractal dimension was like a stack of paintings stacked up and flipped through, with each painting overlaid over the others. Layers of realities? Possible. A warped form of reality? Likely. Whatever the answer was, it involved this sense of layeredness.

  Would that explain why she saw a mirage of herself? Was it another version of her? Another layer of this fractured place? That sounded like it would make sense. But what could she do about it?

  "This place is layered. I'm misaligned. That's the issue," she said quietly to herself. "So how do I fix that?"

  Maybe, if she focused and worked out the pattern in this fractal...if she could line things up correctly...she could pull herself back into sync. Or maybe she'd stumble across another clue. Anything to put her on the right track.

  She walked forward again, this time slower, more deliberate. The world flickered, fractured, but she tried to move in rhythm with the pulses of the space around her. As she did, she caught her echo following suit, but now, she could see the pattern—the slight delay, the almost-perfect mimicry.

  If she timed it just right... She raised her hand a second time, slower still, matching the rhythm of her echo. When their movements aligned, the world steadied. And as she brought her hand to rest by her side, her echo did the same.

  Gotcha.

  "Okay," she breathed. "So far, so good."

  She moved forward again, carefully this time, watching the world bend and shift around her, but now, at least, she had a thread to follow.