Chapter 15: The Clockmaker's Secret
After the meeting with the Council, Mikel returned to his room, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The vision in the mirror lingered, haunting him with its implications. The boy in the forest, the golden door—what did it all mean?
Unable to sleep, Mikel decided to explore the inn. The halls were quiet, the usual bustle of activity replaced by an almost reverent stillness. He wandered aimlessly until he found himself in a part of the inn he didn't recognize.
The corridor was narrow, lined with strange clocks of every shape and size. Some were ornate, with gilded frames and intricate carvings. Others were simple, their wooden faces worn with age. All of them ticked in unison, their rhythm steady and hypnotic.
At the end of the corridor was a small workshop, its door slightly ajar. Mikel pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was filled with gears, springs, and clock faces, all meticulously organized. At the center of the workshop sat an elderly man hunched over a workbench, his hands deftly assembling a clock.
The man looked up as Mikel entered, his eyes sharp and piercing despite his age. "Ah, you've found me," he said, his voice surprisingly strong. "I was wondering when you'd arrive."
"You were expecting me?" Mikel asked, startled.
The man chuckled. "The inn has a way of guiding people where they need to be. You're here because you're ready to learn."
"Learn what?"
The man gestured to the clocks surrounding them. "Time is fluid in this place, Mikel. It moves differently here, bending and shifting to reveal what was, what is, and what could be. The inn exists outside of time, but its guests do not. Each clock here represents a story, a life touched by this place."
Mikel's gaze fell on a clock with a cracked face. Its hands moved erratically, ticking out of sync with the others.
"That one," the man said, following Mikel's gaze, "belongs to you."
Mikel stared at the clock, a sense of unease creeping over him. "Why is it broken?"
The man's expression grew somber. "Because your story is unfinished. The pieces of your past, present, and future are scattered, and the clock reflects that. To fix it, you must find those pieces and bring them together."
"How?" Mikel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The man smiled faintly. "The inn will show you the way. Trust its guidance, and trust yourself. But remember—time is a gift, not a guarantee. Use it wisely."
Mikel nodded, his resolve hardening. He didn't fully understand what the man meant, but he knew one thing for certain: the inn was giving him a chance to uncover the truth. And he wouldn't waste it.
As he left the workshop, the ticking of the clocks echoed in his mind, a steady reminder of the path ahead
Mikel awoke the next morning with a singular purpose—to uncover the fragments of his past and understand the role he played in the inn's mysteries. The ticking of the cracked clock in the workshop haunted him, its erratic rhythm a reminder of his unfinished story.
His first stop was the east wing, where the journals of past guests were kept. He needed to find any record that connected to the visions he'd seen: the boy in the forest, the village on fire, the golden door.
Naira met him there, her face shadowed with concern. "You're delving deeper than most," she said as he approached. "Are you sure you're ready for what you might find?"
"I don't have a choice," Mikel replied, gripping the pendant around his neck. "The answers are out there, and I need to know the truth."
Naira hesitated, then nodded. "If you're going to do this, start with the journals marked with this symbol." She handed him a small, weathered book with the same glowing rune as the pendant on its cover. "These were written by guests who shared your connection to the inn. Their stories might give you clarity—or more questions."
Mikel took the book and began flipping through its pages. The entries were fragmented, the handwriting erratic, as though the writer had been racing against time to record their thoughts.
"April 12—The shadows came again last night. They whispered names I didn't recognize, but they felt familiar, like echoes from a dream. The inn grows colder with each passing day. I fear I'm running out of time."
"May 3—The golden door appeared in my dreams again. It's always there, waiting. But I can't reach it. Something holds me back. Am I afraid? Or is it something else?"
The entries struck a chord with Mikel. The writer's experiences mirrored his own, their struggles and fears uncannily familiar.
As he read further, he found an entry that sent a chill down his spine.
"June 15—The boy in the forest. He's real. I saw him tonight, standing at the edge of the clearing. He didn't speak, but his eyes… they were my eyes."
Mikel's breath caught. The boy. The forest. The writer had seen the same visions. But what did it mean?
Naira, who had been watching him closely, broke the silence. "Do you recognize any of this?"
Mikel nodded slowly. "The boy… I think he's me. But I don't remember any of it. It's like pieces of my life have been erased."
Naira's expression softened. "The inn doesn't just reveal truths—it helps you remember what you've forgotten. But the process isn't easy. Sometimes, the truths we uncover are the ones we buried for a reason."
Mikel closed the journal, his mind racing. "Then I need to find more. If this writer saw the same visions, maybe their story can guide me."
Naira hesitated, then handed him another journal, its cover identical to the first. "This one belonged to the same guest. But be warned—what's inside might be harder to face."
Mikel opened the book, his heart pounding.
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The entries in the second journal were darker, the tone growing more desperate with each passing page.
"July 8—I heard the names again. Mikel. Elara. Davin. They echo through the halls, calling to me. I don't know who they are, but I feel drawn to them. As though they're a part of me."
"July 22—The fire… I saw it tonight. The village burned, just like in the dreams. But this time, I wasn't watching from the outside—I was there. I saw my hands reaching for someone, but they slipped away into the flames."
Mikel's chest tightened. The names. The fire. The visions were becoming clearer, more vivid. He felt a connection to the writer, a shared pain that transcended time.
But the final entry stopped him cold.
"August 5—The shadows are here. They've come for me, just as I feared. I won't let them take me without a fight. If someone finds this journal, please—find the boy. Find Mikel. He's the key. The inn revolves around him."
Mikel's hands trembled as he closed the journal. The words echoed in his mind: Find the boy. Find Mikel. He's the key.
"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Naira looked at him, her expression unreadable. "It means the inn has been waiting for you for a very long time. And so has whatever lies beyond the golden door."
Before Mikel could respond, the room seemed to shift, the air growing colder. A faint whispering filled the space, the sound of countless voices overlapping.
Naira grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with fear. "We need to leave. Now."
But Mikel didn't move. He turned toward the source of the whispers, his gaze fixed on a shadowy corner of the room.
From the darkness, a figure emerged. It was the boy—the younger version of Mikel from the visions. But this time, his face wasn't frightened. It was determined.
"You're getting closer," the boy said, his voice calm but urgent. "But you have to hurry. Time is running out."
Before Mikel could respond, the boy vanished, leaving only silence behind.
Mikel turned to Naira, his resolve hardening. "I need to find the golden door."
Naira nodded, her fear replaced by a quiet determination. "Then we'll find it together. But you need to be ready for what's on the other side."
As they left the east wing, the cracked clock's uneven ticking echoed in Mikel's mind, a reminder that the answers he sought were closer than ever—but so were the dangers waiting in the shadows.
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