Aryan Chaturvedi stumbled into the alley, his breath ragged, his vision swimming. Pain burned through his left shoulder where the knife was still lodged—thankfully, the blade had missed anything vital. But the wound was the least of his worries.
His attacker had stolen the most precious thing in the world to him—his last memento of his parents. And he would stop at nothing to get it back.
The chase led him to the Myabi Insud, the colossal tower housing the world's largest collection of clocks. The moment he reached the entrance, a wave of unease clawed at his chest. The rhythmic tick-tock of thousands of clocks filled the air, a chorus of mechanical heartbeats pulsing through the building like a living thing. He had never felt fear before. But now? Now, it slithered into his bones, cold and relentless.
Still, he pressed on. His trembling hand pushed open the heavy wooden doors, and he stepped inside.
The moment he did, a wave of sound crashed over him.
Countless clocks stretched endlessly in every direction, their ticking perfectly synchronized, creating an oppressive, almost hypnotic rhythm. The air was thick, suffocating. And there, standing amidst the ocean of timepieces, was the silhouette of the one who had stabbed him.
Then—silence.
Every clock in the tower powered down at once.
Aryan's body lurched forward, but his limbs no longer obeyed him. His vision blurred, his strength vanished. Before he could even process what was happening, he collapsed.
Something was wrong.
His breath hitched as he looked down at himself. His skin—white as snow, drained of blood, lifeless. But that was impossible. It had only been a minute. His bleeding had slowed. He wasn't supposed to—
A whisper of movement.
His attacker was in front of him now. A shadow looming.
Then—darkness.
His mind spiraled into the void, unable to resist.
The last thing he saw was the face of his assailant, grinning.
That was the last time Aryan Chaturvedi was ever seen.
To be continued...