The sound was faint at first. A subtle, rhythmic ticking that Astra Valen had lived with for as long as they could remember. It was their constant companion, blending into the hum of the Rusted City's bustling streets, where clock towers loomed like guardians and the faint scent of oil and ozone filled the air. Most days, they barely noticed it. But today was different.
The ticking was louder. Faster. And it wouldn't stop.
Astra stood in the shadow of the Bellspire Clock Tower, gripping the strap of their satchel as the marketplace buzzed around them. Vendors shouted over the crowd, hawking gleaming trinkets powered by Aetherium, their mechanical creations whirring and clicking in practiced synchronization. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mixing with the hiss of steam from nearby pipes. But all Astra could hear was the ticking.
It thudded in their chest like a second heartbeat, a relentless rhythm that quickened with every passing second.
"You alright, Astra?" The voice of Old Merrin, the clockmaker, snapped them out of their thoughts. He leaned over his stall, his gnarled fingers twisting a gear into place on a delicate pocket watch. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," Astra lied, forcing a smile. "Just… distracted."
Merrin squinted at them, his gray eyes sharp despite his age. "You'd best watch that clock of yours, kid. Too much strain, and it'll stop ticking." He tapped the watch in his hand for emphasis. "Nothing worse than a broken timepiece."
Astra nodded absently, their gaze drifting to the tower above. The Bellspire was ancient, its iron gears and brass mechanisms exposed like the bones of a long-dead giant. It ticked in perfect harmony, its steady rhythm echoing across the district. For years, Astra had felt a strange connection to it—a sense of kinship they couldn't explain. But today, even the tower's ticking seemed off-kilter, a discordant melody that set their teeth on edge.
The ticking in their chest grew louder.
"Gotta go," Astra muttered, clutching their satchel tighter as they pushed through the crowd. Merrin called after them, but the words were lost in the noise. The marketplace blurred around Astra as they hurried down narrow alleys, past steam vents and rusted pipes that hissed like angry snakes. The air grew heavier, the metallic scent of Aetherium thick in their lungs.
By the time they reached the edge of the district, their vision was swimming. The ticking was deafening now, a drumbeat that seemed to rattle their bones. Astra stumbled, their legs buckling beneath them as they collapsed against the cool stone wall of a crumbling building. Their satchel slipped from their grasp, its contents spilling across the cobblestones—a scattering of gears, wires, and a half-finished device they'd been tinkering with for weeks.
"What… is happening?" Astra gasped, clutching their chest. Their heart was racing, but it wasn't a normal heartbeat. It was mechanical, precise, as if someone had wound a key too tightly. The world tilted, the edges of their vision darkening as a sharp pain lanced through their ribs.
Then, everything went still.
In the silence, Astra became aware of another sound—a low hum, soft and melodic, like the gentle hum of Aetherium when it powered the city's machines. It seemed to emanate from the ground, the walls, the very air itself. Slowly, Astra opened their eyes.
The Bellspire Clock Tower loomed in the distance, its massive face frozen at 12:01. Around them, the world was eerily quiet. The marketplace noise, the hiss of steam, even the faint clatter of distant machines—it had all vanished. Astra pushed themselves upright, their body trembling. The ticking in their chest was steady now, a soft metronome that matched the hum around them.
And then they saw it.
A figure stood at the end of the alley, cloaked in shadow. Their silhouette was sharp and angular, like a marionette carved from gears and metal. Two glowing eyes pierced the darkness, watching Astra with unnerving stillness.
"You are the key," the figure said, their voice echoing like a bell tolling in an empty cathedral. "It has begun."
Before Astra could respond, the world lurched. The frozen clock tower began to tick again, its hands jerking forward in uneven increments. The hum faded, replaced by the roar of the marketplace, the hiss of steam, and the clamor of everyday life. Astra blinked, disoriented, and the figure was gone.
The ticking in their chest resumed its steady rhythm, quieter now but no less insistent. Astra staggered to their feet, their hands trembling as they gathered their spilled belongings. The device they'd been working on was broken, its delicate wires frayed and sparking faintly. Astra shoved it into their satchel, their mind racing.
Who was that figure? What did they mean by "the key"? And why did their words feel so… familiar?
As Astra made their way back through the crowded streets, a sense of unease settled over them. The Bellspire's ticking seemed louder than ever, its rhythm syncing with the faint pulse in their chest. For the first time in their life, Astra began to wonder if the ticking wasn't just a quirk of their body.
Maybe it was a warning.