Robotic Dimension
The chamber was built like a ring, layered with steel and light. Transparent screens floated in the air, constantly shifting with data that no ordinary mind could process. Machines whispered to one another in coded hums, as if the room itself were alive.
At the center stood the Chief.
His body bore the mark of his world—mechanical implants ran along his spine and into his neck, glowing faintly beneath synthetic skin. His eyes were sharp, calculating, and tired.
"We initiated Mission D fifteen years ago," he said, his voice echoing through the hall. "Fifteen years of resources, intelligence, and silence."
Around him stood the finest scientific minds of the Robotic Dimension. No one spoke.
"The objective," the Chief continued, "was to retrieve the Dimension Traveler before it disappeared beyond our reach."
A scientist stepped forward, hesitation visible even through his augmented mask. "Chief… our tracking algorithms have reached approximately fifty percent completion."
The room stiffened.
"Fifty percent," the Chief repeated slowly.
"Yes," the scientist said, lowering his head. "The device does not obey fixed dimensional coordinates. It adapts. It hides. Each time we get close, the signal fractures."
The Chief's jaw tightened. "You are telling me," he said coldly, "that after fifteen years, we are still guessing."
No one dared answer.
"We do not have time," the Chief went on. "If the Dimension Traveler falls into the hands of someone driven by greed, ambition, or hatred, the consequences will not remain contained. Dimensions will collide. Wars will spill across realities."
He turned, his gaze sweeping the room. "Accelerate the mission. I want results—not excuses."
The meeting dissolved quickly after that.
Far from the main hall, in a quieter sector of the facility, a junior researcher hurried down a corridor lined with pulsing lights. He stopped before a sealed chamber and waited until the door slid open.
Inside sat a man in his early fifties, his posture calm, his expression unreadable. Holographic displays hovered around him, showing fragmented star maps and distorted signals.
"Sir," the researcher said, breathless, "we've detected an unknown spacecraft orbiting our sector. It doesn't match any known design. We can't trace its origin."
The man looked up slowly.
"Is it observing us," he asked, "or hiding?"
"We're not sure," the researcher admitted.
The man leaned back, folding his hands. His name was Olive.
"Then watch it carefully," Olive said. "Unidentified things rarely appear without reason."
Modern Dimension
Erika woke up with a sharp breath, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
Her eyes opened—and nothing made sense.
The ceiling above her was smooth, pale, and unnaturally perfect. There were no wooden beams, no stone cracks. She pushed herself up, instantly alert.
The surface beneath her was soft.
Too soft.
She pressed her hand against it, frowning. "What kind of bed is this…?"
The room was filled with strange objects. Bright images covered the walls—colors clashing, faces frozen mid-expression. Symbols she couldn't read screamed from paper and fabric alike.
She stood cautiously, her muscles tense, every instinct screaming danger.
Where am I?
She opened the door and stepped into a hallway lit by an invisible source. The light didn't flicker. It didn't burn. It simply existed.
Voices echoed from below.
She followed them, silent as a shadow.
At the bottom of the stairs sat three people at a table—a man, a woman, and a boy. They were eating calmly, laughing softly, as if the world had not shifted at all.
The boy noticed her first.
"Mom," he said, grinning, "she finally woke up."
The woman turned and smiled warmly. "You slept for almost twelve hours. You must be starving."
Erika's eyes hardened instantly. "Where am I?"
The man raised his hands slightly. "You're safe."
"Safe?" Erika snapped. "Did you bring me here against my will?"
The boy laughed. "If we did, you'd have noticed."
Her hand moved instinctively to her side.
Nothing.
Her breath caught.
She stepped forward slowly, her posture sharp, defensive. "Where is my weapon?"
The boy tilted his head. "Weapon?"
"If you kidnapped me," Erika said coldly, "you will answer with blood."
The boy smirked. "Threatening us without a sword? Bold."
She froze, realizing the truth.
The woman exchanged a glance with the man. "We know your grandfather," she said gently.
Erika's world stopped.
"…How?" she asked.
Her eyes scanned the room again—smooth walls, strange furniture, foreign smells. "This place is not my world," she said. "And you are not my people."
"I am a general of a kingdom," she continued. "If you lie to me, you insult my king."
The man sighed. "We're not lying."
The boy leaned forward. "Look, General. You passed out. You were brought here. You can ask questions—but eat first."
Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl.
Silence filled the room.
"…Fine," Erika muttered.
The food was unlike anything she had tasted. Soft, warm, unfamiliar. She hesitated, then ate—slowly at first, then with quiet hunger.
Her eyes never left them.
Historic Dimension
Mira stood at the doorway of Erika's house.
The door was open.
The rooms were empty.
Her chest tightened.
"She left without telling anyone again," Mira whispered. "Did she go to spy the enemy nation…?"
The thought unsettled her.
At the palace, a lone minister stood before the king, his expression sharp with irritation.
"This cannot continue," the minister said. "She disappears without informing the council. This is the fifth time."
The king did not look up from his work.
"She is a general," he replied calmly.
"Yes," the minister pressed, "but even generals must answer to the kingdom. It is clear she has gone to observe—or spy—on another nation again. This time without informing anyone."
The king paused briefly, then resumed his work.
"She protects this land," he said. "That is enough."
The minister clenched his jaw.
Modern Dimension
Erika stood upright.
Her sword was in her hand.
The boy stepped back instinctively.
"You speak too casually," Erika said. "Do not mistake restraint for weakness."
Her eyes burned with authority.
Somewhere beyond sight, beyond logic, the distance between worlds grew thinner.
And something—patient, ancient, and watchful—waited.