SOP CH27: Extension of the Nightmare

In a gloomy basement, a young girl abruptly awakened from her sleep.

She was currently situated inside a sealed metal capsule, sitting on a leather chair, her hand gripping a brass control lever. The steam apparatus had ceased operations, and the pale vapor formed by the “aether” had already dissipated. It was within this very mystical vapor that she had just glimpsed visions of the future.

The sharp pain in her heart seemed to linger, as if a red-hot iron pestle were slowly drilling into her flesh. Gasping heavily, Morana’s face was drenched in sweat as she struggled to push open the capsule door, tumbling to the floor.

Moonlight slanted in through a high transom window, leaving trembling patches of light on the gray walls. The air smelled of damp earth and mold. Leaning against the wall stood a massive brass machine—the very capsule Morana had just occupied. It emitted a clacking sound of rotating gears, its exterior fitted with a copper bell and a control lever, while hidden within its walnut paneling was a glass container filled with “aether.” This was a rudimentary time machine.

The prototype and blueprints for this machine were stolen by Morana from the Royal Society, slipping past the guards by utilizing “aether,” which slowed the flow of time when approached. She had spent many days studying them, pilfering the corresponding parts from the Lord’s manor to assemble a half-finished product.

Relying on this crude time machine, she had foreseen a scenario destined to happen: she would be murdered in an alleyway in London by a man from the future.

“I cannot let this become reality…” Morana shuddered as if a small snake had slithered up her spine.

That man named “Raven” had called himself a “Time Cleaner,” and mentioned perplexing terms like the “Time Entropy Group.” Morana surmised that since the existence of “aether” and the time machine were no longer secrets, enemies would come knocking at her door, attempting to take her life.

To prevent this, she had to keep the time machine firmly in her own hands.

Taking a deep breath, Morana stood up and pressed the control lever once more. The capsule door opened, revealing a darkness as thick as a snare, waiting for her to throw herself in. Pressing the activation button, she seemed to hear the buzzing of ten thousand bees in her ears. Countless visions flowed past her eyes like fallen leaves drifting along a stream. Her body grew light, as if disassembled and then reassembled.

An unknown amount of time passed—perhaps a fleeting second, perhaps an entire century—before she returned to the past.

In Everday Hamlet of 1805, nothing had happened yet. The morning mist was like a veil, firewood smoke curling up from the chimneys of stone houses. Seeing this sight, melancholy swelled in Morana’s heart. She hurried home and grabbed her kite.

This time, after acquiring the “aether” using the exact same method, she secretly used it to cure her grandmother. The villagers were astounded by her grandmother’s recovery. When they asked for the reason, Morana brushed it off with a smile:

“Grandmother recovered only after drinking a potion I mixed.”

She decided not to make her discovery of “aether” public, storing the “aether” acquired from that stormy night in her cellar. Relying on the knowledge obtained from the future, she built the time machine, hoping it would be used solely for the welfare of humanity.

A thought often popped into Morana’s head: was the substance she discovered truly “aether”?

Aristotle believed aether to be the fifth element residing in the upper heavens, a holy substance devoid of contradictions, eternally unchanging. The “aether” she discovered could slow or accelerate the flow of time, indeed sharing commonalities with the legendary aether. Yet Morana vaguely felt something was amiss; perhaps it was a gift from demons, the “fragments of time” belonging to forbidden fruit.

If that was the case, what would happen if a massive amount of “aether” were gathered together?

This thought illuminated Morana’s mind like a sudden spark of light. Perhaps one day, someone after her would discover the existence of “aether” and lead the world down the wrong path. Before that happened, she needed to accumulate enough “aether,” hoarding strength to change the world.

Thus, people often saw the girl from the Spades family heading out with a kite on every stormy night, running across the meadow despite the torrential downpour. A rumor began spreading through the hamlet: Morana had lost her mind and descended into madness.

Gradually, no one associated with her anymore, nor were they willing to purchase the potions she prepared. When Morana walked down the street, everyone cast sidelong, judging glances at her. The village children no longer sought her out to fly kites; instead, they made faces and threw stones at her. Morana turned a deaf ear, dedicating herself entirely to the pursuit of “aether.”

She used the time machine to spy on the future, acquiring fragments of future knowledge. She hypothesized that “aether” was not an element comprising the sky, but rather, under extreme environments involving intense electromagnetic radiation, drastic atmospheric electric field shifts, and massive energy release, originally invisible time particles manifested and aggregated, forming the “aether” of today.

“Extremely high energy may generate new particles. In the future, people will discover that the intense gravitational fields near black holes can significantly distort spacetime.”

At night, Morana sat in the candlelight, carefully penning lines of text in her notebook. She even attempted injecting aether into a pocket watch, altering gravitational fields by turning its hands, which could, under low probability, alter localized time. Today, her understanding of “aether” had surpassed the current era, and her actions were destined to be misunderstood by the people of her time.

Lately, even her grandmother had grown terrified of her bizarre experiments. Initially she would offer worried dissuasions, but now, facing Morana’s angry reprimands, she shrank back in silence like a frightened quail.

Morana concentrated the collected “aether” within the time machine. Under the influence of a strong magnetic field, massive amounts of time fragments aggregated, forming a distorted pathway. As long as one possessed spacetime coordinate information, traversing this pathway would allow travel to any point in time. It was far freer than the time machines that would be built in the future, yet also far more unstable. Observing that pathway from within the time machine capsule, seeing massive amounts of spacetime data overlapping and weaving into a net locally, Morana could not help but marvel:

“This looks… exactly like a labyrinth, a labyrinth constructed of time.”

All of this should have proceeded in utmost secrecy. Yet Morana never expected that her peaceful life would soon be shattered.

On this day, a barrage of pounding struck her door like a sudden squall of rain.

Opening the farmhouse door, Morana saw several familiar villagers standing outside: an old carpenter wearing a coarse burlap coat with frayed, glossy cuffs, a plump woman who worked as a baker, and a young blacksmith’s apprentice. Their expressions were indignant, their eyes seemingly burning with fire.

The old carpenter demanded sharply: “Miss Spades, what is the meaning of the potions you sold us?”

Baffled, Morana was suddenly shoved by the plump woman: “My old man drank your cold medicine, but he still hasn’t recovered! His throat is tight as if possessed by a demon, and his forehead is burning like a branding iron!”

The apprentice waved his fist: “Didn’t you cure your grandmother? It was exactly because of that we bought so many of your potions. You must be hiding the ‘miracle cure,’ hand it over!”

Morana was somewhat at a loss: “Gentlemen, ladies, please be patient. Treating any disease cannot be accomplished overnight; it’s not as if drinking a single dose will yield immediate results…”

She suddenly realized that while her traditional formulas were effective, they did not produce instantaneous results. By hiding the existence of “aether” and using medicine as a cover to brush everyone off, she had inadvertently caused the villagers to harbor excessively high expectations for her potions.

“Liar!”

Pointing at her, the plump woman’s shriek exploded in the air like a blast of scorching heat. Her grandmother had been burning peat by the fireplace, but upon hearing the commotion, hurried over in an attempt to mediate: “What happened? Everyone, please calm down first…”

The apprentice immediately pointed his spearhead at the grandmother: “You were faking your illness earlier, weren’t you? Colluding with Morana just to peddle your shoddy medicine!”

Subjected to such vitriol, Morana’s heart felt as though it was being twisted by a knife. She argued desperately, but the villagers had long since labeled her a lunatic and a swindler—someone who sprinted wildly during thunderstorms and spent all day conducting mysterious research indoors. The group vehemently demanded refunds and compensation. It was unclear who threw the first punch, but the argument devolved into a brawl. Amidst a flurry of fists and kicks, Morana and her grandmother were knocked to the floor. The villagers barged into the farmhouse, eyes red with greed, and began ransacking the place for silver coins.

Failing to find the silver coins Morana had hidden, they turned their attention to her herbs. The old carpenter grabbed handfuls of American ginseng and vanilla from the medicine cabinet, saying gruffly: “Look at these precious herbs! You clearly didn’t use them when brewing medicine, only tricking us with inferior ingredients!”

The apprentice, meanwhile, discovered Morana’s notebook on the table. Flipping through it casually and seeing it filled with incomprehensible text and hand-drawn mechanical blueprints, he shouted: “This is proof she is possessed by a demon!”

Struggling to get up, Morana yelled: “That is not proof of demonic possession!”

“Then tell us, what is this? Are these blueprints stolen from the Lord? You already act bizarrely; we only bought your medicine out of pity. You’re either running a scam, or studying witchcraft!”

Like a flock of noisy crows, the group hurled a barrage of curses at her before leaving with the herbs and the notebook. Morana tried to chase after them, but her ankle was bruised and purple, sending sharp jolts of pain through her leg. Her grandmother lay slumped to the side, seemingly unconscious.

After settling her grandmother and bandaging her wounds, Morana limped all the way to the blacksmith’s shop. The loss of the herbs was secondary; that notebook contained messages from the future and absolutely could not fall into anyone else’s hands.

Yet upon reaching the shop, the apprentice was nowhere to be found. She hurriedly questioned the blacksmith. The blacksmith cast a sidelong glance at her, a hint of mild disdain in his eyes. He harbored no fondness for this unkempt, bizarrely behaving girl:

“What apprentice? That boy quit his job here half a month ago. He was a temp worker from another village to begin with. Though he seemed to be wandering around the village recently, he packed his bags and left a long time ago. How would I know his whereabouts?”

With the notebook missing, Morana felt as if a tiny mouse were gnawing restlessly at her heart.

She hoped this interlude would not have any impact on the future, but she already knew that even the tiniest ripple could conjure monstrous waves in the future.

Sure enough, three months later, she felt this impact firsthand. Rumors circulated that a factory owner in the northern industrial district had suddenly solved the jamming issue of the flying shuttle. Unlike the traditional method of greasing the sliding rails with lard, the factory owner, as if divinely inspired, used a lathe to manufacture standardized gears. Another rumor claimed that a coal mine somewhere was already utilizing a highly efficient water pump—a machine that simply should not exist in the original timeline.

“My inspiration was enlightened.” A mine overseer boasted to others, “While at the tavern earlier, I chatted with a young man who showed me a bizarre notebook. He said it was filled with gibberish, but it held astonishing wonders nonetheless. I saw the blueprints for a new type of water pump. Good heavens, it was an absolute miracle!”

A factory manager excitedly slapped his knee, exclaiming: “A few handwritten manuscripts circulated on the black market, described as incomprehensible blueprints. Once I got my hands on them, I tried building the corresponding machine. And guess what? Once operational, it easily did the work of ten old flying shuttles!”

This minor incident acted like a spark falling onto dry kindling, gradually erupting into a raging inferno. This “unjustified progress” firmly convinced the craftsmen that the factory owners and mine overseers who possessed the notebook blueprints were relying on “witchcraft” to squeeze them out of their livelihoods. Unable to explain the true source of their technological breakthroughs, the factory owners and overseers could only wipe their sweaty foreheads with handkerchiefs and claim: “It is a ‘gift from God.'”

The black market saw unprecedented overcrowding, unseen for a decade. People drooled over the notes that carried future information and promised skyrocketing profits, frantically scouring the black market. Forged “future notes” ran rampant; many purchased fakes, losing everything they owned due to erroneous future predictions. On the other hand, crowds surged outside factories. Craftsmen brandished wrenches, shovels, and picket signs, furiously condemning the factories utilizing “witchcraft.” The Luddite movement, originally slated to erupt in 1811, launched six years early. Workers rallied under the banner of “General Ludd,” smashing stocking frames, shearing frames, and those machines that inherently belonged to the future. Factories were set ablaze, orange-red flames licking the sky, as the world plunged into chaos once more.

The workers smashed everything in a red-eyed frenzy. Hearing that the notebook containing future information originated from a remote hamlet, many arrived in a rage, roaring:

“Smash those stolen machines! Give us back our livelihoods!”

“Expose the lie of ‘God’s’ gift! Don’t let witchcraft technology run rampant!”

The soil of Everday Hamlet was trampled by countless boots. The chaotic footsteps and sounds of smashing fell upon the village like dense hail, shattering its former tranquility. Clutching her shivering grandmother, Morana cowered inside the farmhouse.

“Grandmother, these people are here because of me. I’ve already packed your luggage. Slip out through the back door in a moment and run as far away as you can.” Morana’s heart ached with sorrow. She had triggered global turmoil once again, even though this was never her intention.

In 158 years, she would learn that American meteorologist Edward Lorenz would coin this phenomenon the “butterfly effect”: her actions were like a butterfly gently flapping its wings, where a minuscule air current, compounded by multiple factors, could ultimately trigger a storm thousands of miles away.

Sighing, her grandmother stroked the top of Morana’s head with coarse palms: “Little Morana, what fault of yours is this? You are an honest, diligent child, merely striving relentlessly to make a living, nothing more.”

Morana smiled and sighed: “You go first. I’m going down to the basement for a moment, and I’ll catch up soon.”

Standing up, she bolted toward the basement. Tears streamed from her eyes the entire way. She heard countless footsteps tramping through the mud, sounding like a boiling pot of porridge; she heard the booming crashes as rioters smashed through the hedgerows and charged the farmhouse; she heard her grandmother’s desperate, shrill cries calling her name. She slammed the time machine’s control lever down. “Aether” seeped from the glass tube, smoke swirling as her body seemed to float and disintegrate, gradually drifting off the ground.

In that moment, Morana couldn’t help but burst into tears. She had abandoned her grandmother once again, abandoned her own world.

After that, she relied on “aether” and the time machine to return to the past multiple times.

Yet time seemed possessed by an immense stubbornness; the slightest flaw would lead to the worst possible outcome. And following every collapse of the world, she would always encounter a Grim Reaper in a dark alley—that time cleaner named “Raven” would arrive uninvited, piercing her heart with his cane sword.

And on the brink of death, Morana would turn the hands of the “aether”-infused pocket watch, briefly returning to five minutes prior, running with all her might as if her bones would fall apart to escape Raven’s location, returning to her residence to use the time machine and jump back into the past once more.

Every time, Raven would offer her a mock-elegant smile and say: “Miss Spades, why do you flee? The Time Entropy Group merely wishes to secure time-jump technology a bit earlier. By refusing to be our technical partner, you place us in a very difficult position.”

Raven’s silhouette stretched across the damp alley pavement like the gnarled branches of an ancient tree, exuding a chilling aura. Refusing to believe a word this executioner said, Morana only wanted to run for her life. She asked with a trembling voice:

“Is this… your first time meeting me?”

“Would you care to guess whether this is our first meeting, or if we have already crossed paths hundreds of times? However, the answer to this question is irrelevant, because what awaits you is nothing but a dead end.” Striking a thoughtful pose, Raven suddenly added, “Ah, right. Your name is ‘Morana,’ isn’t it? What a beautiful name.”

Morana backed away cautiously. Raven laughed: “Isn’t that the name of the goddess governing death and winter in Slavic mythology? Miss Spades, you are destined to bring turmoil and death to the world.”

His gaze then fell upon the pocket watch clutched tightly in her hand, his eyes suddenly widening in exaggerated awe:

“That pocket watch can reverse time, can’t it? To concoct such an invention in 1805, you truly are a genius!”

Morana shuddered as if struck by a whip, turning tail and running. Raven’s laughter drifted through the wind: “I should have the Group install a pocket watch on my cane too! A sword capable of reversing time and impaling prey from seconds ago—don’t you think that’s incredibly cool?”

His voice coiled around her ears like a venomous snake, sending violent shivers down her spine.

“That way, I’ll be able to kill you much more efficiently, Miss Spades.”

______

Morana realized that she had indeed opened Pandora’s box.

She sat quietly in the capsule of the time machine like a piece of deadwood soaked by autumn rain. In the darkness, she tried hard to recall Pandora’s fate in the myths; after opening the box of calamities, the stories about her were lost to time. She must have been filled with endless regret, eternally watching over the world suffering because of her.

To resolve all these disasters, only one choice remained: never open Pandora’s box from the very beginning.

Do not pick up that small vial containing “aether.” Do not fly a kite on a stormy night. Do not leave the house. Do not research the formula for eternal life. Do not save the grandmother who was her sole family and relied on her for survival.

Suddenly, Morana’s feet felt as though they had sunk into a deep swamp, losing all strength to stand. She had to negate the goal she had pursued all this time, and abandon the person she most wanted to save.

Stumbling out of the capsule, she climbed the stairs with steps as soft as cotton, returning to the farmhouse in Everday Hamlet in the year 1805.

Sunlight flowed thickly over the roof like melted honey, while cooking smoke drifted lazily in the wind. An old woman sat on a small wooden stool with her back to her, quietly shelling broad beans.

The old woman’s back was hunched and frail, a back that had once carried sacks full of wheat, wicker baskets, and a young Morana herself. Time had slowly carved deep scars into her grandmother, that body gradually resembling earth turned over by a plowshare. Looking at her, tears unconsciously seeped from the corners of Morana’s eyes, crawling down her cheeks.

Hiding in the shadows behind the door, she called out softly: “Grandmother.”

Her grandmother turned her head. It was still that familiar face, the corners of her eyes drooping, the wrinkles around them like ripples stirred by the wind across a water’s surface, seemingly radiating a warm, gentle glow. She squinted: “Little Morana, where are you? Are you playing hide-and-seek with me again?”

Morana did not dare step out from the shadows. After multiple time jumps, she was no longer her former self; more sorrow had gathered between her brows, making her look exhausted and weathered by time. She tried her best to speak in a cheerful tone: “Yes, I’m playing hide-and-seek with you. Grandmother, I have some things I want to say to you. Just listen to my voice.”

Her grandmother chuckled softly: “What kind of mischief is Little Morana up to now? Go ahead and speak.” She turned back around and continued shelling the broad beans.

Morana bit her lower lip tightly, speaking with a hoarse voice: “Grandmother, I’ve studied the pharmacopeia so hard these past years just to cure your illness. But what if this wish can never be fulfilled?”

She suddenly choked on a sob, her body trembling like a leaf buffeted by the wind. “If, for the sake of the happiness of many more people, I have to abandon you… what should I do?”

Her grandmother’s figure did not move, save for her gentle and slow motions. Sunlight paused upon her silvery-white hair, as if afraid to disturb this fleeting moment of tranquility.

After a long while, she spoke, her voice soft. “What does that matter, Little Morana?”

Morana froze. Her grandmother’s gaze wandered across the ground, finally settling on a daisy. “Life is like a seed that accidentally falls into this world, and death is merely the fully ripened fruit rolling back into the soil. If there were no night, the brightness of the day could not be highlighted. If flowers never withered, we would never cherish their blooming.”

“Little Morana, I will leave one day; it is something that cannot be helped. But why not view this matter with a lighter heart? Because an end exists, every single moment I spend with you feels so incredibly blissful.”

Suddenly, tears flowed disobediently from her eyes. Morana sank to her knees, cupping her cheeks with both hands. “But… I want to save you! I want to be with you forever! I don’t want you to leave! That has been the goal I’ve worked so hard for all this time!”

“Oh, Little Morana,” her grandmother said kindly, “that is also the goal I strive to stay alive for. But you must know, ‘eternity’ is something that does not exist. All things are beautiful because they are ‘finite.’ Rather than prolonging my life, I much prefer to spend every day more happily with you.”

Teardrops fell to the corners of her mouth, and Morana tasted a salty bitterness, like tasting an ocean of sorrow. Her grandmother’s smiling voice carried over from outside the door. “Now, hide-and-seek is over. I want to hug my Little Morana, okay?”

The girl in the shadows wiped her face vigorously, took a deep breath, stepped out of the darkness, and ran toward the old woman in the light. The instant she fell into her grandmother’s embrace, she felt all pain, clamor, and strife fading away from her. Her grandmother’s embrace smelled of sunlight and held a slow, reassuring heartbeat, like an unhurried pendulum. Holding this beloved family member she was about to give up, she once again wept uncontrollably.

Her grandmother’s hand rested gently on her hair: “Little Morana, why are you crying? Compared to your tears, I much prefer your smiling face.”

She buried her cheek deeply in that gentle embrace, as if wishing never to leave for the rest of her life. This was the person she loved most, and the person she was about to abandon. Morana choked out: “I am not crying, Grandmother. In the next moment, you will see my smile.”

“Morana, what happened? Are you going on a long trip?” Daisy from next door stood before the farmhouse, her eyes wide with bewilderment.

In just a few days, she could barely recognize her good playmate. Morana wore a plain muslin black dress and a black veil, dressed as if for a funeral. The childishness on her face seemed to have been blown away by the wind, leaving only solemnity and weariness. A cowhide suitcase secured with metal rivets sat at her feet.

Morana’s smile was faint, her sorrow half-hidden and half-revealed: “Nothing happened. Daisy, I received a recommendation from the reverend and am preparing to study pharmacology in the city. My grandmother and I will be leaving here today.”

“Alright, I wish you smooth sailing!” Daisy gave her a hug, saying reluctantly, “Now I’ve lost another playmate to fly kites with. But no matter when, the doors to my home will always be open for you. If you ever want to come back to Everday Hamlet to fly kites, please come find me anytime!”

“Thank you, Daisy.” Morana said. Her gaze drifted toward the distance; before long, a freight carriage transporting butter would pass by here, and she and her grandmother would take it to the city. Then she would become an apothecary’s apprentice, continue acquiring knowledge, search for a remedy to cure her grandmother’s illness, and begin a new life completely devoid of “aether.”

The sky was just beginning to brighten, the air heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil. A torrential downpour had occurred the night before; the creek had swollen, and lively waves slapped against the pebbles on the shore. Last night was the very stormy night that had once changed Morana’s life, yet yesterday Morana had chosen to stay home, not going out to fly kites with Daisy, and thus never discovering the “aether.”

This was for the best. No one in the world would discover “aether.” A discoverer might emerge in the future, but that should be a very long time from now. By then, humanity should possess the power to harness this substance.

And she would remain an ordinary girl, living out a life free of turbulent waves.

Morana lowered her shoulders as if her bones had suddenly been extracted. At that moment, the freight carriage approached from one end of the muddy road; the time for their departure had arrived.

Daisy helped load the suitcase onto the carriage, and Morana supported her grandmother into a seat. Right then, pale golden sunlight spilled through the gaps in the clouds on the horizon, bathing the road ahead in brightness. As the carriage prepared to set off, Daisy looked up at the mysterious, clear-skies-after-rain smile on Morana’s face, breathed a sigh of relief, and waved: “Goodbye, Morana! Wishing you a happy new life!”

“I wish you the same, Daisy.”

“Oh, right! Morana, before you leave, I wanted to tell you that I made a new discovery last night!” “Huh?” Morana turned her head. Suddenly, her heart pounded violently without warning, as if slamming against her ribs. She saw a blush cross Daisy’s cheeks as she pulled a small glass vial from her pocket.

“Actually… my previous kite broke, so I copied you and attached a small vial to the kite to keep it balanced. Yesterday, while I was flying the kite, a thunderstorm suddenly hit…”

Daisy’s words felt like waterlogged cotton, stuffed heavily into her ears. All the sounds of the world seemed to drift away from her, leaving only the deafening roar of her heartbeat. Morana’s expression went blank as a voice screamed in her mind:Don’t listen anymore!

Yet Daisy’s lips parted and closed, spitting out the words she least wanted to hear. Her vision went dark, and Morana felt as if she were plunging into an abyss. She watched Daisy excitedly hold the small vial up to her; inside it, a faint light flickered, and transparent vapor swirled.

It was a substance she was all too familiar with—the root of all calamities. Her nightmare was still continuing, as if it would never end.

It was destined that someone would open Pandora’s box in 1805 and set off monstrous waves across the world. If it wasn’t her, it would simply be someone else inheriting the doom. Time was a prison, and she could not escape.

Ice-cold all over and unable to move, she stared at Daisy, whose cheeks were flushed as she asked with joyful excitement:

“After the rain stopped, I found this. It’s so beautiful, just like the legendary ethereal essence. I heard you read a story before, saying the sky is filled with this magical element.”

“Should I call it ‘aether’, Morana?”