POV: Time Variance Authority

TVA.

Elias Crane read the words on the seal. "Time Variance Authority…?"

He held the small wax imprint between two fingers, lifting it to the sunlight filtering through his office window, observing the ghostly red glow within. In that crimson swirl, a right hand pointed straight toward the blazing sun, strong and unyielding, its extended index finger as though intending to pierce the sky.

It felt both ominous and lofty—an emblem that taunted the world with its uncompromising ambition.

"So this must be their logo, their crest," he murmured.

He clutched the wax seal in his palm, the first physical item connecting him to the TVA since glimpsing that mysterious letter. This was the closest he'd come to the group—one that, from Claw's telling, reached darkly through history, steering events behind the curtains.

As he stared at that strange design—a resolute finger stabbing the heavens—Elias tried copying the gesture with his own right hand, palm turned inward, index raised. It looked like a teacher emphasizing a crucial point, but it exuded a primal sense of domination, as though unstoppable mastery over the world was contained in that single stance.

Exhaling, Elias slid the stamp into his jacket pocket.

"It's safer at home," he told himself. "No sense leaving it around at work."

Yet a more disturbing thought quickly rattled him:

If that wax seal had been dislodged from the invitation, it meant Ms. Harrington must have opened it—and read it. So, what was her attitude about the TVA's overture? Would she dismiss it, consider it, or even… sign up?

He swallowed hard, recollecting Claw's ominous hints about the TVA's hidden power. Could Ms. Harrington be enticed by such an organization's offer? What motive might she have? His mind swirled with half-formed worries.

He closed his eyes, reminding himself that his knowledge of the TVA's alleged darkness came only from Claw, a man of questionable morality and credibility. Who knew if Claw's account was correct?

"At any rate," Elias reflected, "I'll worry about that after I figure out whether the dream is truly real."

For now, the dream itself was still unproven. And Claw's claims might be just as unreliable. He had enough on his plate without diving headlong into an uncertain conspiracy.

He refocused, recalling his plan to incite a timeline shift—a "Butterfly Effect"—by helping Professor West crack the secret of cryonics. If West advanced his research centuries ahead of schedule, then maybe the dream's future world, which had always seemed stuck in 2022-level technology, would transform dramatically, proving once and for all that Elias's dream was the genuine future.

All he needed was to find any sign, any building blocks of winter-sleep technology in that dream library—some theoretical breakthrough that had to exist after 600 years. Even small incremental progress might give West the spark he needed to actually develop a working chamber, lighting the fuse on humanity's quest for cryogenics. Once the dream world manifested that shift, it would confirm the dream's authenticity and Elias's ability to reshape the future.

"There's no time to wait," Elias resolved. "I can't rely on verifying known facts in the dream anymore. I need to create those facts—force the dream to change."

He eyed the cityscape outside the window, drifting into strategic thought. If the city's grand public library in his dream still functioned, it likely held some records, some domain of knowledge beyond what one might expect. Many times, he had glimpsed that library's towering columns and wide lawns, recognized as a city landmark. But it shut around 5 or 6 p.m., so he'd never gone there at night—his usual dream time.

He'd have to enter the dream in broad daylight.

From childhood, Elias knew 12:42 p.m. was the earliest time he could slip into the dream. If he tried napping before that, his sleep was blissfully dreamless. Precisely at 12:42, if he nodded off, he'd appear in the dream's plaza—staying until the destructive reset at 00:42. Twelve hours. Enough time to comb through the library's shelves for anything referencing cryogenic theories.

So, the next afternoon, after finishing some quick tasks in the office, Elias left early. He told his colleagues he was handling personal business. On the way home, he grabbed a fast lunch. At home, he quickly showered again, then lay on the bed. The clock read 1:20 p.m.—perfect for a midday dream session.

"The library closes around dinnertime in that world," he reminded himself, "so that still gives me three or four hours to search."

He shut the curtains, darkening his bedroom, and curled beneath the blankets.

"All right, time to go," he whispered.

He closed his eyes, let his breathing slow, and willed his mind to drift into that familiar dream world.