Chapter 2: The Silent Clock

Chapter 2: The Silent Clock

Elias sat hunched over his workbench, a magnifying lens strapped to his head, hands steady despite his years. The lamplight flickered gently above him, casting golden shadows over gears no larger than buttons. In front of him lay the inner workings of a pocket watch, its heartbeat long silenced. With the care of a surgeon, Elias adjusted a gear, brushed away a speck of dust, and pressed the winding key.

Tick.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He listened for a moment, eyes closed, before slipping the watch into a velvet-lined box alongside dozens of others—each one repaired, cleaned, and ticking once more. But even as he worked on these small marvels, his gaze kept drifting toward the tall, veiled figure at the back of the shop.

The Heart of Time.

It had begun as a curiosity. A single brass ring Elias had discovered in a marketplace when he was a much younger man. It had strange markings—symbols not from any language he knew—etched into its edge. The seller, a wandering trader with cloudy eyes, had simply said, “It’s part of something bigger.”

Those words had haunted Elias for decades.

From that one ring, he had built a frame, then a body—layer upon layer of clockwork. Wheels within wheels. He had sketched hundreds of diagrams, studied celestial calendars, and read obscure books until the writing blurred before his tired eyes. And still, the Heart refused to tick.

It had gears unlike any other machine. Some spun backward. Others pulsed in slow, rhythmic motion like breathing. At times, he was certain it wanted to move—he could almost hear the hum of potential. But it remained still, as if waiting for something Elias could not yet give.

He often spoke to it.

“Are you missing something?” he’d ask, hands tracing its curves. “Or am I?”

The village rarely asked about it anymore. Most assumed the old man had lost himself in dreams. But Elias knew better. He felt the purpose in the clock, even if he could not name it. Sometimes, he dreamt of it running—its hands spinning like stars, its chimes deep and ancient. In those dreams, time warped: sunrises reversed, people moved like shadows, and the world spun differently.

Those dreams left him breathless.

That morning, Elias placed a new brass panel onto the Heart’s side, whispering as he tightened the screws. “You’ll speak soon. I know it. You have to.”

Just as he turned away, a gust of wind rattled the shutters. Unusual, as there had been no storm forecast.

And then—the front bell of the shop chimed.

It was rare for customers to come so early. Elias wiped his hands, tugged his vest straight, and shuffled toward the door. The rain had begun to fall outside in thin, steady sheets, misting the windows with silver.

Standing in the doorway, soaked to the bone, was a girl no older than thirteen. Her coat was torn, shoes muddied, and in her small hands, she clutched something wrapped in a handkerchief.

“Please,” she said, voice trembling, “can you fix my father’s watch?”

Raindrops clung to her eyelashes like tiny stars. And though Elias had fixed thousands of watches, this—somehow—was the moment everything began to change.

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