The air was still when Ayan opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought the battle at the stairwell had been nothing but a fevered dream. But the weight in his hand told him otherwise. The Watch—cold, cracked, and pulsing with a faint glow—rested in his palm like a living wound.
Tick.
The sound was sharper now, as though each beat cut the silence apart. He closed his eyes, willing it to stop. Instead, another tick followed, but layered within was something worse: a whisper.
"You are late."
Ayan's eyes snapped open. He looked around the barren plain. No enemies. No Safaa. Only the endless expanse of grey mist that clung to the ground like old ash. His knuckles whitened around the Watch.
Another whisper came. This time from the crack running through the glass face.
"Break. Release. Be free."
Then, from the untouched half of the Watch:
"Hold. Chain. Preserve."
Two voices. Two ticks. Two wills.
The fractured side urged chaos, promising liberation from destiny. The pristine side demanded obedience, promising stability. Neither spoke like a friend. Both clawed at the edges of his mind, pulling him in opposite directions.
Ayan clenched his jaw. "You don't control me."
The Watch disagreed.
For an instant, the world around him bent. The mist slowed, its swirling patterns freezing mid-air as though even the wind had been trapped in amber. Then it lurched forward, racing ahead so quickly he could feel time scraping against his skin. His chest tightened, and his knees nearly buckled under the strain.
When it ended, he was standing in a different part of the plain. No footsteps had carried him there—only the Watch.
Ayan exhaled, forcing calm into his lungs. His thoughts sharpened. This wasn't just an artifact. It was a prison with two wardens, each one waiting for him to stumble.
He tested it again. A twist of will, a squeeze of his palm, and the ticking grew faster. The world dimmed, sounds stretched. A falling pebble slowed midair until he could reach out and pluck it from the air like fruit from a branch.
Power. Raw, unshaped, and terrifying.
But it came with whispers. This time louder, drilling into his mind.
"Break the hours. Let them scatter."
"Hold the hours. Bind them eternal."
His vision blurred, his temples pounded. He nearly dropped the Watch. For a heartbeat, he saw Safaa's face—not alive, not dead—floating between the shards of ticking time. Her lips moved, but no sound came.
He staggered back, clutching his head. "Stop… stop it!"
The whispers ceased. The Watch lay silent, only ticking in its usual rhythm. For the first time since holding it, Ayan realized it wasn't a tool. It was a trial. And if he wasn't careful, it would hollow him out until nothing of himself remained.
He straightened his back, drawing a slow breath. The grey plain stretched endlessly, but he felt certain of one thing: he wasn't lost. This was the Grey Expanse—the realm between seconds, where even shadows feared to linger too long. A realm meant for Watchbearers.
The Watch ticked again, faint but insistent. Not words this time, only rhythm. A challenge.
Ayan tucked it into his coat, forcing his heartbeat to match its beat. He could not serve the Fractured, nor the Pristine. He would master both—or die trying.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled. Low, drawn out, and impossibly far. Its sound rippled through the mist, and the whispers within the Watch began to stir again, almost… eager.
Ayan tightened his grip. "Then let's begin."