The city of Aeteris was a marvel of brass and steam, its skyline dotted with towering spires and colossal ChronoGears. The air hummed with the rhythmic clinking of metal and the soft hiss of pressurized steam. Here, time was not a river but a resource, parceled and traded like gold. The wealthy elongated their lives, stretching decades into centuries, while the poor sold their hours to survive another day.

At the heart of Aeteris stood the Celestial Tower, home to the Eternal Clock—a masterpiece of engineering that regulated the flow of time across the city. Its creators, the enigmatic Chronomancers, had long vanished, leaving behind only their secrets and their machines.

And their warnings.

Deep beneath the city, in the forgotten Catacombs of Dissonance, a boy's footsteps echoed. Kallan Riven, an eighteen-year-old Time Mechanic, ran his fingers along the walls, their surfaces engraved with glyphs that pulsed faintly in the darkness. His lantern cast long, flickering shadows as he approached a massive, ornate clock embedded in the stone.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its face was black as obsidian, its hands motionless, and its edges adorned with intricate carvings of stars and moons. A single phrase, written in an ancient language, circled the clock's rim.

Kallan's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognize the script, but the symbols radiated unease. His mentor, Master Jorran, had told him never to tamper with artifacts of unknown origin. But curiosity was a dangerous companion, and Kallan had never been good at saying no.

"Just a quick look," he muttered, pulling out his tools.

As his wrench touched the clock's surface, it came alive. The black face lit up, and the hands began to spin wildly, faster than any mechanism should allow. A deafening hum filled the air, and the glyphs on the walls flared with blinding light. Kallan stumbled back, shielding his eyes, as a voice—soft, yet infinite—whispered in his ear.

"You've wound the clock, Kallan. Now let's see how much time you've got left."