The tower groaned like a living beast as Kairen and Safaa pressed deeper into its heart. The ticking of unseen gears no longer felt like background noise—it was a pulse, sharp and unrelenting, echoing through their bones. Every step toward the chamber intensified the rhythm, as though the machine itself was aware of their intrusion.
They entered the throne room. The vast chamber was wrapped in shadows, lit only by the faint glow of molten glyphs etched into the walls. At its center sat an empty throne of interlocking gears, draped in a cloak of black threads that writhed with a life of their own. It radiated presence without form, an entity of silence and time.
Kairen's instincts sharpened. His hand drifted to his sword, eyes narrowing. Enemy. Break it before it awakens. He could already feel the calculations running through his mind—angles, distance, weight. He was ready to act.
But beside him, Safaa froze. Her fingers clenched around the glowing manuscript, her breath uneven. The light from its pages, once steady and warm, now pulsed with frantic desperation, like a heart on the verge of bursting.
"This… this is it," she whispered, voice trembling. "What my mother bound me to."
Kairen shot her a sharp look. "What are you talking about?" His tone was clipped, commanding, anything to drown the growing unease in his chest.
The cloak stirred. The sound of ticking grew louder, faster, like a drumbeat of awakening. Invisible pressure filled the air, crushing and heavy. The machine wasn't just waiting—it was listening.
"We destroy it now," Kairen snapped, drawing his sword. Its steel caught the frantic glow of the manuscript, reflecting shards of light across the chamber. "Before it consumes us."
He reached for Safaa's arm to pull her back—but she tore free with surprising strength. Her eyes, wet with tears yet burning with a clarity that chilled him, met his. "No! If I break it, I break myself. I was made for this!"
The gears of the throne roared to life, vibrating through the floor, rattling the air. The manuscript could no longer hold itself together. Its binding ripped apart, pages scattering like glowing embers in the dark. Words—shimmering, ethereal—spiraled around Safaa, drawn into her body as if she had always been their vessel.
A silver pendant at her neck flared with golden light, humming in resonance with the throne. The pull was magnetic, inescapable. The chamber became a storm of spinning cogs and tearing shadows, and Safaa was caught at its center.
"Safaa!" Kairen lunged, hand outstretched. His fingers grazed her cloak, but the gravitational pull wrenched her away. She was no longer just a girl—she was becoming part of the machine, skin glinting with a metallic sheen as the throne claimed her.
She looked back, eyes shimmering with tears and a strange, terrible acceptance. "If you stop me, you'll stop the only truth we have," she said, her voice both plea and warning.
And then he understood. She wasn't a tool to fight the Watchmaker's remnant. She was its legacy—the heir, the daughter bound to inherit its will. The manuscript hadn't been a weapon. It was a key. And she was unlocking herself.
Kairen's chest tightened. His blade felt suddenly useless, his strategies hollow. He wasn't facing a ghost in a cloak. He was watching his partner vanish into the destiny she had been born for.
The gears shrieked louder, swallowing her form in spiraling light and shadow. For the first time in years, Kairen hesitated—not because he lacked a plan, but because the battlefield had shifted into something no strategy could account for.
The heir of the Clock had awakened.