The muted chime of his phone stirred Dr. Elias Chen from his trance-like focus. He blinked rapidly, the vibrant threads of ancient Sumerian cuneiform dissolving from his vision as he reluctantly returned to the present. His small office at Oxford's Faculty of Linguistics was bathed in the warm amber glow of afternoon light, dust motes dancing in the beams that cut across his cluttered desk.

  He gnced at his watch—4:37 PM. He'd been lost in transtion for nearly six hours straight.

  The phone chimed again. With a sigh, Elias picked it up, squinting at the screen.

  Professor Harrington. Interesting.

  Elias hadn't heard from his former doctoral advisor in nearly eighteen months, not since the conference in Berlin where they'd argued over the interpretation of Proto-Sinaitic inscriptions. The disagreement had been professional, but Harrington's pride had clearly been wounded when Elias's analysis was ter vindicated by new findings in the Negev.

  "Professor," Elias answered, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse. "This is unexpected."

  "Elias, my boy!" Harrington's boisterous voice seemed to fill the small office. "How's Oxford treating you? Still buried in those dusty texts instead of enjoying what the world has to offer?"

  Elias smiled despite himself. Harrington had always chided him for his solitary nature, continually trying to drag him to social events during his PhD years.

  "The texts are rather fascinating at the moment," he replied, gncing at the high-resolution scans of cy tablet fragments on his monitor. "I'm reassessing the evolution of numerical notation in—"

  "Yes, yes, I'm sure it's absolutely riveting," Harrington interrupted, and Elias could practically hear him waving his hand dismissively. "Listen, I'm in town. Are you free for dinner? There's something I'd like to discuss with you. Something rather... extraordinary."

  Elias hesitated. He had pnned to continue working, but curiosity piqued his interest. Professor Harrington didn't use words like "extraordinary" lightly.

  "The Eagle and Child at seven?" Elias suggested.

  "Perfect! And Elias? Bring an open mind."

  The call ended, leaving Elias staring at his phone with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

  The Eagle and Child pub was busy, as it always was on Friday evenings. The historic tavern, once the meeting pce of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis's literary group, now catered to a mix of students, tourists, and academics. Harrington was already seated in a corner booth when Elias arrived, nursing what appeared to be a gss of scotch.

  At sixty-two, Professor William Harrington still cut an imposing figure—tall, with a full head of silver hair and piercing blue eyes that had intimidated generations of doctoral candidates. He rose to greet Elias with unexpected warmth, csping his hand firmly.

  "You look well," Harrington said, though his appraising gaze suggested otherwise. "Still forgetting to eat when you're working, I presume?"

  Elias shrugged, sliding into the booth. "Food is a distraction when the patterns are starting to align."

  A waitress appeared, and Elias ordered a simple ale and shepherd's pie. Once she departed, Harrington leaned forward, lowering his voice.

  "What do you know about Project Chronos?"

  Elias frowned. "Nothing. Should I?"

  "Good. That means security is doing its job." Harrington took a sip of his scotch. "It's a joint research initiative, very hush-hush. Quantum physics primarily, but with some... unexpected archaeological implications."

  The colors came unbidden—azure and sharp gold, the pattern Elias associated with intrigue and partial truths. His synesthesia wasn't limited to nguage systems; it extended to speech patterns, especially when people were being selective with information.

  "What sort of archaeological implications would a quantum physics project have?" Elias asked cautiously.

  Harrington slid a mani envelope across the table. "Before I show you what's inside, I need your verbal agreement that this conversation never happened."

  Elias raised an eyebrow. "That seems rather dramatic."

  "It's not dramatic enough, believe me." Harrington's expression was deadly serious. "Do I have your word?"

  After a moment's consideration, Elias nodded. "You have my word."

  Harrington pushed the envelope closer. "Open it."

  Inside was a single photograph—a high-resolution image of what appeared to be a manuscript page. The material wasn't paper or papyrus, but something Elias couldn't immediately identify. The writing system, however, sent a jolt through his nervous system. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, yet somehow familiar—complex pictographic symbols arranged in a spiral pattern around what appeared to be mathematical diagrams.

  Colors exploded in Elias's mind—deep indigo, burnt sienna, vibrant emerald—as his brain struggled to identify patterns. His fingers tingled as they traced the air above the photograph, not daring to touch it directly.

  "What is this?" he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away.

  "That's what we'd like you to tell us," Harrington replied. "This is one page from a collection of simir artifacts discovered in a sealed chamber beneath a limestone formation in the Atacama Desert. The chamber showed no signs of entry since it was sealed, approximately 5,200 years ago according to carbon dating."

  Elias looked up sharply. "That's impossible. This system is far too complex for that time period. The earliest known writing systems—Sumerian cuneiform, Egyptian hieroglyphs—aren't nearly this sophisticated, and they emerged around 3200 BCE."

  "I'm well aware of the timeline," Harrington said dryly. "Which is why this discovery is so significant. But the dating isn't the most remarkable aspect." He tapped the central diagram in the image. "Our physicists are quite convinced that this is a rudimentary representation of quantum entanglement. And this—" he pointed to another section, "—bears striking simirities to current theoretical models of temporal dispcement."

  The waitress returned with Elias's food, forcing a pause in the conversation. Once she departed, Elias pushed his pte aside, his appetite forgotten.

  "You're suggesting these are instructions for... what? Time travel?" He couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice.

  "I'm not suggesting anything," Harrington replied carefully. "I'm simply telling you what the artifacts contain. The implications are... well, that's partly why we need someone with your particur skills."

  Elias sat back, processing. "Why me specifically? There are other linguists, other cryptographers—"

  "None with your particur combination of talents," Harrington interrupted. "Your work on pattern recognition in non-linear writing systems is unparalleled. Add to that your synesthesia, which gives you insights others miss, and your eidetic memory... You're uniquely qualified, Elias."

  The colors around Harrington had shifted—deep purple and steady bronze, the pattern of sincerity. Whatever game the professor was pying, he genuinely believed Elias was essential.

  "What exactly would I be doing?" Elias asked cautiously.

  "Transting the manuscript. All of it. Working with a team of physicists and mathematicians to understand what it describes." Harrington leaned forward. "The position comes with a substantial stipend—enough to fund your research for the next decade without university politics or grant applications."

  That was tempting. Elias's recent conflicts with the department head over funding priorities had left him frustrated and considering other options.

  "Where is this project based?"

  "A private research facility in northern Scotnd. Remote, but well-equipped." Harrington smiled slightly. "No distractions."

  "How long would the commitment be?"

  "Initial contract for six months, with the option to extend." Harrington pulled another document from his briefcase. "This is the non-disclosure agreement. Even reading it means you can't discuss this conversation with anyone."

  Elias took the document, scanning it quickly. The legal nguage was thorough and intimidating, with severe penalties for breaches. His eyes caught on a section about security protocols.

  "Are there safety concerns with this project?"

  Harrington's expression remained neutral, but Elias caught a flicker of tension. "Nothing specific. Standard security for a cssified research initiative. Actually, the facility has just hired a new security chief with rather impressive credentials—former Special Forces, multiple commendations. The pce is quite secure."

  Something in Harrington's tone made Elias wonder if there was more to the security question than he was letting on, but he didn't press the issue.

  "When would you need my decision?"

  "Now, ideally," Harrington said. "We're on a tight timeline. If you agree, you'd start next Monday."

  "That's... very soon."

  "The opportunity won't wait, I'm afraid." Harrington checked his watch. "I have a car returning to London in an hour. You could have the weekend to settle your affairs here."

  Elias stared at the photograph again, the mysterious symbols seeming to pulse with an inner light, though he knew that was just his mind's interpretation of the complex patterns. The challenges this manuscript presented were unlike anything he'd encountered in his career. The academic in him craved the intellectual stimulus, the mystery of an undeciphered nguage. And the financial security was certainly appealing.

  Yet something about the urgency, the secrecy, made him hesitant. This wasn't just another academic project. Whatever Project Chronos was really about, it clearly extended beyond pure linguistic research.

  "I'll need my reference materials," he said finally, his decision made. "And access to computational resources for pattern analysis."

  Harrington's face broke into a wide smile. "So that's a yes?"

  "It's a yes," Elias confirmed, already mentally cataloging what he would need to bring. "But I want full access to all discovered artifacts, not just selected pieces."

  "Of course, of course," Harrington agreed readily, sliding a pen across the table. "Just sign the NDA, and I'll have the full contract sent to your email tonight. The facility will provide anything you need for your work."

  As Elias signed his name, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was crossing a threshold from which there would be no return. The manuscript fragment seemed to burn in his peripheral vision, the strange symbols whispering of secrets beyond his comprehension.

  Saturday morning found Elias in his small Oxford apartment, surrounded by carefully beled boxes. Most of his possessions would remain here—clothes, furniture, the collection of antique maps he'd acquired over the years. What he was taking filled just three suitcases: essential reference books, his customized ptop and external drives, and a minimal selection of clothing.

  He stood at the window, gazing out at the familiar spires of Oxford, wondering when he would see them again. Six months seemed both brief and eternal. His phone buzzed with a text from Harrington:

  Car will collect you at 10:00 tomorrow. Bring warm clothes. Scotnd is unforgiving this time of year.

  Elias sent a brief acknowledgment, then returned to his packing. As he carefully wrapped his copy of Ventris's decipherment of Linear B—a first edition signed by the author, his most prized possession—he realized he felt something he hadn't experienced in years: genuine excitement.

  Whatever mysteries awaited him in Scotnd, they promised something he'd been cking in his comfortable academic life. Challenge. Discovery. Perhaps even danger, though he pushed that thought aside.

  As darkness fell over Oxford, Elias Chen closed his final suitcase, sealed his apartment, and prepared to step into the unknown, unaware that the manuscript he was about to confront would lead him not just to a remote research facility, but across the very boundaries of time itself.