The clockmaker’s shop was a cavern of ticking. Every surface—walls, ceiling, even the floorboards—was lined with clocks of every size and shape. Some chimed in unison, others in discordant waves. The apprentice, Elias, had learned to tune out the noise, but today, the clocks were whispering.
"You’re running out of time," they seemed to say. Elias shook his head. It was just his imagination. The clockmaker, Master Veyra, had warned him about this—about hearing things that weren’t there. But the whispers grew louder, more insistent.
Elias knelt beside a small pocket watch, its face cracked. He pried it open with a screwdriver, revealing a gear missing three teeth. As he reached for a replacement, the watch snapped shut on his finger, drawing blood. He yelped, more from surprise than pain. The clocks around him fell silent.
Master Veyra appeared in the doorway, her shadow stretching long across the floor. "You’re not listening," she said. "The clocks don’t lie. They’re telling you something."
Elias wiped his finger on his apron. "They’re just machines," he muttered.
Master Veyra smiled, but it wasn’t kind. "Are they?"