The morning wind in London blew aimlessly, as if the world had forgotten which way to spin. The thick fog that usually crept from the River Thames now rolled down from the sky, descending buildings like a curtain falling in reverse. Elias Thorn stood in the middle of the street, his eyes fixed on the grey sky where a flock of black birds flew... backward. Their wings flapped slowly, as if pulled by an unseen force, defying the law of cause and effect.
Big Ben, the time tower that usually anchored the city's reality, was now melting slowly like old wax. Its Roman numerals fell one by one, glowing for a moment before dissolving into golden dust. Seconds no longer ticked—they just hummed. London began to fracture from its most intrinsic edge... time itself.
On the empty streets of the City of London, Elias watched a group of children playing tag. But their shadows... did not follow their bodies. The shadows moved first, staring at Elias while the children still laughed, unaware.
One of the girls stopped and looked at Elias. Her face smiled, but her eyes were hollow like a keyhole.
"Daddy said my clock is broken. But I don't have a clock," she said, before laughing and running off.
Elias clutched the pocket watch at his chest. The seconds inside it trembled, its glass beginning to crack from within. The Epoch Mark, which had previously only appeared in the Codex, now shimmered on its surface like a warning.
Suddenly, the wind stopped. The street froze. All sound vanished.
Elias felt something watching him.
He turned. Between the shadows of crumbling buildings, someone stood still. The figure was tall, imposing, wrapped in a long coat made of synthetic leather with blue fur at the collar. The jacket looked layered like thin armor, and the belt was lined with strange cylinders—some ticking, others floating mid-air, frozen in temporal stasis.
His face was mostly obscured by the silhouette and the glare of a street lantern, but one thing was clear:
His left eye glowed red, faintly, like an alarm clock that refused to die.
The figure didn't move, yet the world around him seemed to resist approaching him. The fog twisted away from him, and time—which was stuttering around Elias—stood still in his presence, subdued.
Then, soundlessly, he turned and disappeared into a narrow alley. Not by walking—more like being slid off the canvas of the world.
Elias just stood there, frozen, his whole body bristling.
As night approached, the sky began to lose its color. Not turning dark, but becoming... empty. Clouds no longer swirled but formed a repeating spiral. The clocks on the city walls stopped telling time and began pointing in a single direction—northward, toward the Museum of Broken Clocks.
Elias knew what it meant.
Time was writhing. And something long locked away—was trying to open the door again.
In his room, Elias opened the Codex again. This time, he didn't try to read it. He just stared at it, letting it speak in silence. The blank page warmed once more, but now without burning.
And in his mind's eye, he glimpsed the figure of a woman standing in fire—her hair unbound, her eyes misted, calling without a voice... Livia.
Or... whatever was left of that name.