The storm had not yet reached the town, but the air trembled as if thunder waited behind every cloud. Inside a dim workshop filled with gears, springs, and rattling tools, Elira Thorn adjusted her goggles and wiped the dust from a brass cylinder no bigger than her palm. It was the final piece of her grandfather’s unfinished invention—an ancient clock rumored to hold a secret powerful enough to rewrite time itself. She set the cylinder into the heart of the massive device. Its gears ticked once, twice, and then fell silent again. Elira frowned. The markings etched into the machine were older than the town, older than the empire, older than anything she could easily translate. But tonight, she had no choice. A rival guild, the Iron Observers, was already marching toward her home, and they wanted the clock more than she wanted answers. A sudden knock rattled the workshop door. Elira froze. Footsteps scraped outside—heavy, deliberate, armored. She quickly extinguished the lamps, plunging the room into shadow. In the muffled darkness, the ticking of tiny mechanisms felt deafening. The door creaked open. “Elira Thorn,” a voice boomed, smooth yet threatening. “Hand over the Chronoheart. You are out of time.” She slipped behind the towering clock, clutching a small wrench like a dagger. The man entering wore a long coat stitched with metal plates that glowed faintly. Two enforcers flanked him, scanning the shop with lanterns. Elira inhaled sharply and twisted a hidden lever on the device. Suddenly, gears spun wildly. Light burst from between the plates of the clock, swirling in spirals of shimmering gold. The enforcers shouted, raising their weapons. The air rippled. The workshop bent like soft glass, colors stretching, shadows dancing. Elira felt her hair lift as gravity twisted sideways. The leader staggered, caught between two moments at once—his voice echoing forward and backward simultaneously. Objects floated, flickered, and snapped out of existence before reappearing somewhere else. Elira held her breath and slammed the Chronoheart fully into the mechanism. A booming chime rang out. Time snapped back. The enforcers collapsed unconscious. The leader froze mid-step, trapped in a loop of motion so small it looked like he was trembling. The workshop returned to stillness, though the clock now glowed with steady, endless energy. Elira exhaled, hands shaking but triumphant. “Grandfather,” she whispered, “your secret works.” And outside, the first thunder finally broke.