The workshop smelled of brass, oil, and old wood. Every gear, pendulum, and spring seemed to hum in unison with Karien's heartbeat. Today, he wasn't merely repairing watches—he was observing them, searching for a pattern that no one else could see.
"Focus on the rhythm," Master Eldric said, leaning on his cane, shadowed eyes scanning Karien's meticulous work. "A watch isn't just time. It's a reflection of causality. One misalignment, and reality itself can ripple."
Karien adjusted the tiny escapement wheel, eyes narrowing. Something was off—not the mechanism, but the seconds. A single tick repeated twice, an anomaly invisible to ordinary eyes. His pulse quickened.
"Did you feel it?" he whispered.
Eldric nodded. "Time resists tampering when it senses instability. That sound… it's a shadow of what might come."
Karien traced the anomaly. Each tick corresponded to a memory—a student falling, a candle extinguished before its flame should die. He realized the watch wasn't broken; it was warning him. The past was bleeding into the present.
His hand hovered over the gears. Should he intervene? One wrong turn could erase someone's existence. But leaving it unchecked could let the error grow, cascading into consequences beyond repair. The ethical weight pressed on him heavier than the watch itself.
He took a breath, remembering Eldric's words: "A Watchmaker doesn't just fix time. They respect it. They choose carefully."
With precise adjustments, he nudged the wheel, aligning it to the correct rhythm. The shadow lifted. The repeated tick vanished. Karien exhaled, a quiet victory. But a creeping unease remained—this anomaly was only the first. Somewhere in the city, hidden threads of time were fraying, whispering secrets no ordinary mind could comprehend.
Eldric watched silently. "Good. But remember, Karien… each correction leaves traces. Time never forgets, and neither do the Watchers."
Karien nodded. The weight of the cult, the responsibility of his newfound path, pressed upon him. He had learned something crucial: mastery wasn't only skill—it was judgment, patience, and respect for the fragile lattice of time itself.
Outside, the city ticked on, oblivious. But in the shadows, a figure watched, a faint glint of a pocket watch catching the sunlight. The game had begun.
What will happen next?
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