Through the glass window, Felix Corwin stood motionless, watching the last sliver of the pale moon dissolve behind the slated rooftops. The moon left a faint shadow trace before it finally disappeared, swallowed by the rising glow of a crimson sun bleeding slowly into the sky.
Dong. Dong. Dong.
The distant toll of a cathedral bell rolled across the city, low and hollow, its echoes clinging to the narrow streets below. Felix rested his fingertips against the cold glass of the window, feeling the faint tremor of the morning chill seep into his skin. Far beneath the apartment, the alley dogs barked relentlessly, as the first voices of early risers drifted upwards from murmured greetings to the scrape of carts and carriages and the dull rhythm of a waking city.
Hallow City was rising. And with it, the hazy memories from last night.
Felix had spent the entire night scrubbing the blood from the room floors, working until even the faintest stains had been erased. By dawn, almost nothing remained to suggest what had happened, not a trace nor evidence. Nothing except the journal he had found wedged between his wall and the bed frame.
With a deep sigh, he snapped the journal in his hands shut. Deciphering it would be even harder now. The entries he knew he had seen the night before, pages filled with strange symbols and frantic writing, had mysteriously vanished. In their place were a few jagged nonsensical scribbles that had no meaning.
None of it made sense.
He slid the journal carefully into the drawer, fearing it might change again if he left it unattended, then reached instead for his mechanical toolkit. Metal clasps clicked softly as he opened the slightly rusty box. If last night had taught him anything, it was that some things couldn't be left neglected. For example, family.
For now, his priority was simple.
Fix the music box brooch his sister had given him.
As he reached into his right pocket to retrieve the brooch, Felix paused. His fingers brushed against something cold and unfamiliar. Frowning slightly, he pulled it out. A pocket watch . He stared at it for a moment, his brow tightening as he turned it over in his hand.
Strange. I am sure I left this on the bed last night.
The thought lingered tirelessly as he sat in deep worry,
A sudden laughter burst from him. It came out louder than he expected, sharp and uneven. His shoulders shook as he doubled slightly, one hand clutching his stomach. The sound twisted into something almost manic, his expression flickering through strained, unnatural shapes as he tried and failed to contain it. Eventually, his laughter broke free. He dragged in a long breath, filling his lungs until it almost hurt. For a moment, that was enough to fill him with relief.
I almost died yesterday…
His grip tightened around the pocket watch.
No.
He paused. I definitely died yesterday.
"…What's the point in worrying about a few strange details?" he muttered under his breath, a faint, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's not like I can trust my memory anymore."
The weight of this thought settled heavier than he expected. He remembered the blood, too much of it. The tearing pain. The glimpse of bone where his flesh should have been, skull exposed. He exhaled slowly, staring down at his hand as if expecting to see it unravel the same bloody scene. Whatever had happened, whatever had brought him back. It wasn't something he understood, but he was certain of one thing. He had been dead. But he was standing right here now, so he would make the most of it.
Felix drew a magnifying glass from his toolbox and held the pocket watch up to the light. He squinted as the casing gleamed, a soft, muted silver that looked… too clean. It was definitely not plated nor an imitation.
Real.
His fingers traced the fine indentations etched into its surface, following the delicate grooves of unfamiliar symbols. They curved and coiled into one another, intricate and deliberate, until his gaze settled on the largest engraving. A silver serpent devouring its own tail. Underneath the serpent was a single, pupil-less eye. Felix exhaled softly.
"… such beautiful work.." He murmured reverently, his thumb brushing across the cold metal. Whoever had made this wasn't just skilled; they were meticulous. A master, perhaps. His fingers moved quickly now, anticipation creeping in as he unclasped the watch. It slowly clicked open.
He froze in silent awe
Then, a quiet, disappointed breath slipped from him.
"…It's broken."
Inside, the mechanism shimmered with an eerie blue sheen, like a night sky trapped beneath glass. At its centre, a slender golden axis needle stood perfectly still.
Not slowed, completely still.
Felix hesitated. Repairing something like this wouldn't increase its value; it would ruin it. A piece this refined… even the smallest flaw would matter. Then, a flicker of realisation crossed his eyes as he turned the watch over sharply.
"Where's the batch number…?"
His gaze swept across every edge, every seam, every hidden corner. Nothing.
"…Maybe it's a one-off," he muttered, though the thought didn't sit right. "No batch… no registry…" He paused, "…No approval stamp either." The words felt a bit heavier this time. He rubbed his temple, tension creeping back into his forehead.
Illegal.
Of course it was. A dry laugh escaped him, humourless this time.
"How do I keep ending up like this…?"
His thumb pressed unconsciously against the casing as he searched again, more thoroughly this time. But the result didn't change. Nothing traceable. His eyes drifted back to the frozen axis.
3:33 AM.
A faint unease twisted in his stomach, as his heart dropped slowly, dulling whatever curiosity remained. His appetite for the thing vanished just as quickly as it had come. As a law-abiding citizen, Felix knew exactly where the line was and how dangerous it was to cross it. Tinkering, as he usually did without a machinist's license, was risky enough. The consequences were manageable. Maybe a fine and a few days in a cell.
But this, Unregistered machinery with no identification, that wasn't a mistake, that was fifteen years in county jail. The guild of engineering works was thorough in its searches for unidentified machines. Getting caught for someone like him… that might as well be a death sentence.
Felix shut the watch with a quiet snap as he sighed quietly
"What a shame.."
The strange, almost hypnotic allure of the strange pocket watch was still there, but it was not worth cold iron bars and a locked cell. He shook his head, forcing the thought aside. Later, perhaps… when it was safer, or when he was desperate enough to ignore the risk and sell it. He wrapped the pocket watch in paper and hid it in the drawer.
Felix finally found the blue music box brooch in his left pocket. The metal was cool against his fingers as he drew it out, a delicate piece, most of its surface etched with fine snowflake patterns. They spread outward in careful symmetry, mimicking the frozen landscapes of the distant Lorne continent. At its centre rested a tiny music box, fashioned from a pale, unfamiliar metal that caught the light in soft blue hues. For a moment, he simply looked at it.
Eleanor had loved those stories, Endless snowfields, Foreign cities. Strange customs from a world far beyond their own. She used to read about it for hours, tucked away in the quiet corners of the library, dragging him along with her excitement, whether he liked it or not. Their father had made this for her and engraved it himself, a meticulous gift for her twelfth birthday.
Felix exhaled slowly and reached for his tools. The work came easily to him with steady hands and precise movements. He replaced the damaged dial with practised care, fastening each piece into place without hesitation.
Then, almost absent-mindedly, he turned the dial as the music began softly. A quiet, lilting tune. Felix's hands immediately stopped. His eyes lowered unfocused as the melody filled the room. It was faint and imperfect, but unmistakable.
A whistle. Their father's whistle.
Eleanor's favourite.
His throat tightened, bile rising from his throat as he pressed his lips together, but the feeling lingered anyway, sitting heavy in his chest. She used to say she'd take him there someday. To Lorne. To the "new world." He had agreed, of course. Without question, without even a single doubt.
As if it had ever been possible
The happiness the promise gave them was a cruel dream, and reality would soon snap them both wide awake. The brooch was the last remnant of her childhood, her dreams, her wishes and hopes.
Felix's fingers moved, and the music cut off with a soft click.
"…That girl," he muttered, shaking his head faintly.
"Getting sentimental over a box." But his grip on the brooch didn't loosen. Because he knew, they both knew, it had never been about the stories, never about the snow, or the new world, or the places she would never see. It had always been about him
Their last living memory of 'him'.