The mirrors of the hidden chamber haunted Asha's dreams.
All night she drifted between reflections: versions of herself walking different paths, clocks beating in rhythms she almost recognized. When dawn came, she woke with the taste of brass and lemon oil on her tongue.
She dressed quickly, the ring warm against her skin, and stepped into the corridor. The palace breathed a hush as if it too had dreamed. Somewhere deep in the east wing, she thought she heard a single, patient chime.
Kairon waited in the workshop, a dark silhouette against the early light. His coat was unfastened, his eyes shadowed but alert.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
"Neither did you," he replied. The words carried a quiet understanding. "What did the chamber tell you?"
"That it knows more about me than I do." She set a small pouch of gears on the bench. "And that whoever built it expected me to arrive."
Kairon moved closer, stopping just short of touching her. "I read the archives. The room isn't on any map. No record of its creation. But…" He paused, choosing words like tools. "There's mention of a 'keeper of hours' who could weave memories into metal. The name was lost."
Asha's pulse quickened. "A craft that remembers. Like this clock."
"Exactly," he said. "And it was always a woman."
They walked the inner garden paths, morning mist rising like quiet smoke. The scent of crushed mint lingered underfoot. Kairon's hand brushed hers once—not by chance, not by boldness, but by a need to be sure she was real.
"You think my family is tied to that machine," Asha said.
"I think you are," he answered. "And I think someone wanted you to finish what they began."
A bird startled from a hedge, scattering silver droplets into the air. She watched them fall like moments she couldn't hold.
"What happens if we wake it completely?" she asked.
Kairon looked at the sky, then back at her. "The city may remember things it has paid dearly to forget."
Back in the workshop, Asha spread her tools across the bench. The half-built forgetting clock seemed to hum with the same deep resonance as the chamber. She fitted the new gear—etched with her name—into its cradle. The piece clicked perfectly into place, as if it had been waiting.
The sound was not the crisp tick of a normal mechanism.
It was softer.
Like a heartbeat turning inside out.
Kairon watched, his breath caught. "You've bound it to yourself."
"Or it's binding me," she said quietly.
He reached out, hesitated, then rested a gloved hand on the edge of the table. "We'll face whatever comes. Together."
Asha met his gaze. The weight of his words settled like a promise neither of them had spoken aloud.
Outside, a single bell rang across the palace—one long, low note that didn't belong to any known hour.
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