Dust hung in the air like a lazy fog, disturbed only by the gentle sweep of Elion's cloth across the brass surface of a century-old grandfather clock. The tick-tick-tick echoed softly in the tiny repair shop, nestled between two forgotten alleys in the oldest quarter of Halvenreach. The scent of oiled gears and aged wood filled the space like incense in a temple—a place where time still breathed, even when the rest of the world seemed to forget it.
Elion Vale worked in silence, as he always did. Words were heavy to him. He found more comfort in gears and pendulums than in people. With delicate fingers, he replaced a rusted cog and leaned back, satisfied as the clock began ticking again—precise and proud.
A small bell above the door jingled. He didn't look up.
"You're early," he said, voice quiet but certain.
"I was early yesterday too," said a soft, amused voice. "Yet you didn't notice until I left."
Elion glanced up. Lyra stood in the doorway, wrapped in a dark gray cloak, the hem damp from the drizzle outside. Her eyes were sharp, reflective—like someone who had seen too much, and still wanted to see more.
Elion offered a rare half-smile. "The clocks noticed."
She stepped closer, placing a leather-wrapped bundle on the counter. "Another one. Old, shattered inside. But... it ticked once. Just once."
Elion carefully unwrapped it. The pocketwatch was cracked down the middle like an egg, its hands stuck at 12:01. Yet, as he touched it, a flicker of warmth pulsed through his fingertips—strange, like the echo of a heartbeat.
"You felt it too?" Lyra asked quietly.
Elion nodded, slower this time. "It's happening more often. Time's… skipping."
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "The Continuum Guild claims it's just regional anomalies. Solar storms, magnetics, whatever excuse they have this week."
"They're lying," Elion said simply.
For a moment, only the ticking filled the room. Then, Lyra looked at him sharply.
"You know what this means, don't you?"
Elion didn't answer. Instead, he turned toward the back room—toward the sealed vault he hadn't opened in years. Inside, hidden beneath layers of cloth and warnings, was the Clockroot—an ancient relic passed down through his family for generations. It looked like a tree carved from golden metal, its limbs forming a perfect circle. It hadn't moved in decades.
But last night… it had ticked.
Only once.But once… was enough.
That evening, Elion sat alone in the workshop. Rain tapped softly on the windows. The broken pocketwatch lay open beside the Clockroot, both pulsing faintly, rhythm syncing like a whisper between two old friends.
His thoughts drifted back to the first time he had touched the Clockroot as a child. How time had… paused. Birds in mid-air. A dropped mug frozen mid-fall. It had terrified him.
But now?
Now, he needed to understand.
He reached forward—and the moment his fingers touched the center of the Clockroot, the world stopped.
Literally.
The rain outside hung motionless in the air. The clock hands froze. The candle's flame ceased to flicker.
And Elion… still breathed.
His heart thudded in the silence. His own breath the only motion in a frozen world. Slowly, trembling, he pulled his hand back—and time rushed forward like a crashing wave.
He had stopped time.Just for a second.But it was real.
He stood there in the echo of it, heart pounding.
Outside, far beyond the workshop, something vast stirred in the fabric of space.
A figure cloaked in gold stood atop an expanding ruin, where a town had once been.
He lifted a hand.And made a mountain from a grain of sand.
"Soon," the figure whispered, as the stars seemed to stretch. "They will all be… big enough."