POV: Time Variance Authority

It was 12:30 a.m., and Cipher tapped her wrist impatiently.

"Could you snap out of it? We've wasted enough time already."

She eyed Elias Crane suspiciously. "You're not planning to cheat me, are you?"

Elias blinked, returning from his reverie.

"Relax," he said. "I always keep my word."

He moved closer to the deposit box that bore his name—Elias Crane—and pointed at the eight rotating dials that formed its lock.

"You were right: I was fixated on it being some date, but I really shouldn't have been so narrow-minded. Eight-digit sequences are limited, sure—but not that limited."

Cipher cocked her head. "Who are you talking to?!"

Ignoring her, Elias began turning the dials one by one.

"My whole life, aside from phone numbers and ID numbers, there's only one other long digit sequence I've memorized: my old chat ID. Actually, two—my buddy Stone had one I remember as well, but let's not get into that."

Cipher glanced around the dim vault warily.

"You realize you're just babbling nonsense, right? Ever since you saw my face, you've been acting… off."

He rattled the final digit, then gave her a wry smile.

"I suspect what's in this deposit box might be some humiliating teenage relic of mine," he mused. "Something from the time I was a clueless kid, messing around with cringe-inducing statuses and half-baked romances."

Cipher bristled at his bizarre train of thought.

"Does my appearance shock you so badly you've lost your mind? Seriously… maybe I should dial an ambulance once we're out of here."

But Elias merely exhaled softly, pressing his fist against the old metal latch.

"Once I open this, you'll see."

He swung his fist—

Bang!

Cipher tensed, her lips parted in uneasy anticipation…

Nothing happened.

The deposit box didn't budge.

"What?!" Elias stared, bewildered. He double-checked the eight digits—no, he was certain it was correct. He smacked the latch again.

Bang, bang!

Still, the lock refused to yield.

"It… it can't be," he muttered, stepping back. He was sure the code had to be his old 8-digit ID. After all, birthdays, anniversaries, and every other guess had failed. The ID was his last, best shot.

From behind him, Cipher was visibly seething, gripping her weapon so hard her knuckles showed white. She was clearly fighting an impulse to shoot him on the spot.

She marched forward, jaw tight as she leaned her ear against the deposit box. Her deft fingers began rotating the mechanical dials, listening to the subtle clicks inside.

Elias stepped back, supporting himself against the vault wall. His mind raced.

He'd tried every date imaginable—birthdays, special events, even the dream timeline date. Now this…

And it still wouldn't open?

Could it really not be his box at all?

Could it be that the dream was never his to begin with?

The shrill alarm of the bank's security reconnected and blared overhead. Then, right on schedule, that familiar wave of white light consumed the world, scorching every piece of it.

***

He opened his eyes, back in his darkened bedroom, sweaty and disoriented. The digital clock on his nightstand read 00:42, blinking faintly.

Elias shoved his window open, letting a blast of cold winter air into the room. The shock of it cleared his muddled thoughts.

"Dr. Morgan was wrong," he murmured. "Gavin was wrong, too."

He felt more certain than ever that no one else truly grasped the nature of his dream. They all assumed it was some psychological quirk—yet he alone sensed it was far from a mere conjuration of his subconscious.

He paced, letting the night wind swirl around him as he tried to gather his conviction.

"It must be the real future," he whispered. "Something about the timeline is off, but it's definitely genuine. There's just no decisive proof yet."

Sure, the three correct World Cup predictions offered strong evidence, but it still wasn't conclusive. If only he could check something like a lottery or official records. But the dream's internet never gave him any data from the present day—a puzzle that vexed him more than anything.

He needed a new strategy, one that didn't rely on verifying known facts.

"I need a different angle," he realized. "Let me create the facts myself."

His gaze lingered on the swirling papers on his desk—the design sheets for Rhine Cat, a creation he'd lifted directly from the dream. The cat's original name, Koko Cat, had changed to Rhine Cat in his dream once he introduced it to the real world. That was the only time, in two decades of repetitive dreaming, that anything had shifted.

That meant it might be possible to enact a temporal butterfly effect—information crossing from dream to reality, then bleeding back to shape the dream's future timeline. If that worked, it would confirm his dream was indeed a real future being manipulated by his present-day actions.

"Relying on others gets me nowhere," Elias thought, standing by the window and gazing at the starless winter sky. "I'll have to make my own evidence. Another ripple in time—stronger than the name Koko Cat turning into Rhine Cat."

Yes. He'd do it on purpose. Force the dream to evolve once again.

"If I can do that," he said, "no question remains: that dream is definitely a real timeline, 600 years ahead."

He clenched his fists, a tiny ember of determination flaring in his chest.

"All right. Time to take action. I'll craft a butterfly effect that no one can ignore—and see if the dream changes again."