The Watchers descended like an eclipse, their cloaks unfolding into wings of shadow that blotted out the fractured moonlight. Each step they took reverberated with the sound of ticking clocks, as though the very rhythm of the world bowed to their presence.
Orion braced himself against the balcony's shuddering stone. The brass dial in his hands flared, its golden light spilling across the frozen cityscape. It wasn't just a weapon—it was rebellion itself, a fragment of time that refused to bend.
Elias staggered beside him, eyes wide. "You can't fight them, Orion. They're not enemies—they're inevitability!"
"Then I'll defy inevitability," Orion growled.
The first Watcher raised its hand. The air between them cracked, and a ripple surged forward, distorting reality as though glass had been bent. Orion thrust the dial forward, and golden threads shot outward, weaving a barrier of shimmering light. The ripple struck, splintering the threads but not breaking them. The impact sent shockwaves through his chest, and he coughed blood, yet he stood firm.
The second Watcher advanced, its form unraveling into strands of shadow that coiled like serpents. They lashed toward Orion, seeking to bind him in stasis. Elias darted forward, slashing with his short blade, though it met only smoke. Still, his defiance bought Orion a heartbeat.
Orion twisted the dial, and the golden threads whipped around like whips of fire, cutting through the shadows. The Watcher recoiled, its form shuddering, as if surprised.
A third toll rang—louder than the others. The gears in the rift above turned faster, their grinding roar shaking the heavens. With it came three more Watchers, their hoods empty yet filled with unbearable weight.
Elias swore. "There's too many! We can't hold them—"
"Then we don't hold them," Orion said, his eyes blazing. "We strike back."
The dial pulsed in his hand, syncing with his heartbeat. He twisted it further, and for a moment, the world fractured. Time slowed—not for him, not for Elias, but for the Watchers. Their movements, once fluid and overwhelming, grew sluggish, as though submerged in honey.
Elias gasped. "You… you've bent their rhythm!"
"Only for seconds," Orion muttered. His body trembled with the strain, blood seeping from his nose. "Help me make them count."
Together, they lunged. Elias cut through the frozen tendrils of shadow, while Orion drove the dial's threads like spears into the first Watcher's chest. For the first time, the creature shrieked—a sound like glass shattering underwater.
The others surged in retaliation, their forms blurring with impossible speed. The dial flickered dangerously, and Orion's knees buckled. He felt the crushing weight of inevitability pressing down, threatening to snap his bones like twigs.
But then, a spark of memory flared. Safaa's voice—"If you stop me, Kairen… you'll stop the only truth we have." Her sacrifice wasn't despair. It was foundation. She hadn't ended the fight—she had given him the key to continue it.
Orion roared, twisting the dial with both hands. The golden threads exploded outward, weaving into a vast, blazing clock face in the air above him. Its hands pointed defiantly, not toward the Watchers' rhythm, but toward a time of his choosing.
The Watchers froze, their chorus faltering.
Elias stared in disbelief. "You… you've set your own hour."
The seventh toll rang, and Orion raised the dial high. "Then let this be the hour they learn man is no pawn of fate!"
The golden clock face struck, and the clash began anew—this time on his terms.