By Blue Cicada
The workshop smelled of oil and old wood. Elias had spent the morning polishing the brass gears of the town hall clock, his fingers blackened with grime. The clockmaker, Master Veyra, watched from the doorway, her arms crossed.
"You’re distracted," she said. "The gears don’t lie."
Elias wiped his hands on his apron. "I keep thinking about the boy who came yesterday. The one who asked about the clock in the square."
Master Veyra sighed. "That clock hasn’t worked in twenty years. The town council gave up on it."
"But it *could* work," Elias said. "I’ve seen the plans. The mechanism is still there—just frozen."
She studied him for a long moment. "You’re not just an apprentice, Elias. You’re a dreamer. And dreamers get hurt."
That night, Elias crept into the square. The clock tower loomed over him, its face dark. He carried a lantern, a set of tools, and a single, stubborn hope.
The door at the base of the tower was locked, but the hinges were rusted. With a little force, it creaked open. Inside, the air was thick with dust. The clock’s gears were still, their teeth clogged with time.
Elias set to work.