The Clockmaker's Secret

In a dimly lit attic, dust danced in beams of light that cut through the gaps in the shutters. A young clockmaker hunched over his latest creation: an ornate silver pocket watch, its intricate gears glinting like tiny stars. He worked tirelessly, unaware of the shadows creeping closer as the sun dipped below the horizon.

When the final gear clicked into place, the watch sprang to life with an otherworldly hum. The hands moved in a direction the clockmaker couldn’t comprehend—forward, backward, then splitting into arcs like tangled threads of light.

“It’s done,” he murmured, his voice trembling with awe.

He reached for the watch, but a knock echoed from the door below. The sound jolted him, and he froze. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

Reluctantly, he wrapped the watch in a cloth and tucked it into his pocket before descending the creaking stairs. The moment he opened the door, a stranger in a dark coat pushed inside, their gloved hand extended.

“You’ve made it,” they said, their voice smooth yet cold. “Good. You’ll hand it over now.”

The clockmaker stepped back, clutching the watch protectively. “It’s not just a timepiece. You don’t know what it can do—”

“Oh, I know exactly what it can do,” the stranger interrupted, their gaze sharp. “And so does the one who sent me.”

The watch in his pocket pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat.

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