Amaris' POV
"No, this is all wrong," Trent muttered in growing frustration as he crumpled yet another sheet of paper. The ball of discarded sketches joined the small mountain at his feet.
I watched him from a short distance away, standing beneath the shadow of the western wing's balcony. We were supposed to be refining the design for Prototype 187—his design—but we had hit a roadblock difficult enough to sour the air between us into tense silence.
Trent leaned over his sketchbook again, pencil moving quickly, angrily.
I stepped closer and observed the new draft. Something was off—again.
"Oh, if we construct it that way, the wires will undoubtedly become entangled," I said gently, pointing at the crossing conduits in the drawing.
He paused. His shoulders slumped.
"You're right."
He crushed the page with a sharp exhale and tossed it aside. One hand rose to rake through his hair, agitation radiating from him like static.
But then, he looked at me—tired, but determined.
"Don't worry, Amaris. I'll finish this today."
Despite the heaviness in his voice, he forced a smile and went back to sketching.
I reached out and gave his back a soft, reassuring pat. "Allow me to retrieve some water for you, Trent. You must not overwork yourself.
He nodded, though he didn't look up from the page.
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I slipped back into the western wing, rummaging through the adjoining kitchen for water—not too cold, not too warm—before settling on something suitable.
But when I returned—
Trent was gone.
A strange stillness swept over the yard. The breeze carried no hint of where he'd gone. His sketchbook lay abandoned in the grass, open, pages fluttering helplessly.
My heart clenched.
"This is… not a good sign," I murmured, already reaching for my gauntlet morpher.
I slid the Ankylosaurus Dino Plate into place.
The Temporal Core Dial whirred to life, its symbols glowing in soft, steady pulses.
Click. Still.
Click. Slow.
Click. Flow.
Click. Heal.
Click. Strike.
Click. Balance.
A burst of violet enveloped me, my Ranger suit forming cleanly around my body. The familiar weight settled over me—calming, grounding.
'Please… let him be safe.'
'Please… let it not be what I fear.'
I sprinted inside, crossed the marble halls, and reached the surveillance room. My fingers tapped rapidly across the holographic screens.
The live feed blinked to life—
And there he was.
The White Ranger. Unstable. Erratic.
Energy crackling violently around him as he lashed out at anything near him.
A sigh escaped me, quiet yet full of dread.
"Drat."
My first instinct was to grab the Veloshade—but it was still in repairs.
Flying was out.
But there was one more option.
I pressed a sequence on my morpher, fingers swift and precise.
The motorcycle icon pulsed.
A low hum echoed through the courtyard.
Then—whishhh—a surge of air whipped around me, making my hair flutter.
I turned.
And there it stood.
The Chrono Phantom.
A masterpiece of deep violet alloy, polished so flawlessly it mirrored the sunlight like flowing liquid. Silver tracing curled across the frame in elegant arcs, each rune glowing faintly with lavender-blue luminescence—pulsing like a heartbeat.
Its wheels did not touch the ground. They hovered, humming softly, threads of temporal light swirling beneath the chassis.
The front was shaped like the armored head of an Ankylosaurus—smooth lines, resilient plating, the promise of impact without hesitation.
Small fins along the rear shifted slightly, adjusting to stabilize the hover patterns.
I stepped closer, the air around it vibrating gently with temporal energy.
A gift from my parents… a tool of war… a lifeline for moments like this.
I mounted the bike, gripping the controls, and the Chrono Phantom responded instantly, hovering higher, ready.
"Please wait for me, Trent," I whispered, my voice tightening despite my composed tone. "I shall reach you shortly."
Then I thrust the accelerator forward.
And in a flash of violet light and temporal wind, I sped toward wherever he was—hoping with everything in me that I could stop him
before he hurt someone…
Or himself.