Sunlight spilled across the floorboards, warming Edrin's small room. He stretched, feeling the familiar hum of his mechanical leg as he shifted. Outside, the city was already alive: trams clanged, gears whirred somewhere distant, and voices drifted up from the streets. A small smile tugged at his lips — the rhythm of it all felt steady now, like a heartbeat he could follow.
He moved downstairs quietly. Henry was at the counter, checking and wiping tools, while Lilia moved between shelves, stacking supplies with careful precision.
"Morning," Edrin said, letting his voice carry a lightness he hadn't had before.
Henry glanced up. "Morning, kid. Breakfast's almost ready. Sit."
Lilia offered a gentle smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," Edrin said, settling into the chair. The table felt warm beneath his hands, faint traces of grease still clinging from yesterday's work. It grounded him — a tiny, tangible proof that he was part of this world.
"You'll need energy," Henry said, placing a bowl of thick stew in front of him. "Can't be climbing ladders or tightening bolts on an empty stomach."
Edrin nodded, lifting the spoon. The rich aroma of broth filled his senses, and a spark of eagerness lit in him. He ate with steady movements, savoring the rhythm of the small, ordinary morning.
Once breakfast was finished, Henry clapped him on the shoulder. "Today, you start helping with the workshop orders. Small repairs, polishing, carrying materials. Stay sharp. Mistakes cost more than time."
Edrin's chest tightened with anticipation.
"Understood."
Lilia leaned against the counter, brushing flour from her hands. "I'll show you where things are. If you're unsure, just ask. Don't worry."
The walk to the workshop carried familiar scents of coal, baked bread, and warm metal. Edrin's steps were light, energized by the morning air. The hum of the city, the hiss of steam vents, the shuffle of boots on cobblestone — it all felt alive, familiar, like something he belonged to.
Inside the workshop, the familiar smell of oil, varnish, and copper wrapped around him.
Lilia moved gracefully between benches, demonstrating how to handle delicate gears.
"Careful with this one," she said, handing him a small brass gear. "Easy to strip the teeth if you force it."
Edrin turned it slowly in his hands, a quiet grin forming. "Got it."
Henry passed by, inspecting a bench. "Steady hands. Don't rush. Mistakes now can cost later."
Edrin worked steadily, a small rhythm forming between polishing, adjusting, and testing parts. Each successful motion made him lighter, happier, more certain of his place.
By mid-morning, the first customer arrived — an older man with a patched leather coat. Edrin watched Henry greet him with that precise, courteous tone that made the man's face relax.
"Morning, sir," Edrin said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Henry gave a subtle nod. "Ask what he needs."
The man's eyes softened. "A young helper. Steady hands?"
"I'll do my best," Edrin said, lifting the small component the man had brought. The motion made him feel useful, connected.
"That's all I ask," the customer replied with a faint smile.
Hours passed in a quiet rhythm. Edrin polished, adjusted, and carried materials with growing confidence. Each small success filled him with a warm, energetic satisfaction. Occasionally, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. Its faint ticking seemed to match the pulse of the workshop — a silent, steady companion.
Lilia leaned over a workbench. "You've been steady all day. Don't tire yourself too much."
Edrin laughed softly, brushing a smudge of oil from his sleeve. "I'm fine.
A customer approached, carrying a small, intricate device. "My brother said you've got a steady hand. Can you fix this?"
Edrin took the piece carefully, examining the gears.
Henry's voice, calm and reassuring, came from across the room.
"Don't rush. Focus on the work.
"Minutes passed. Edrin's hands moved deliberately, guided by memory, rhythm, and care. When he finished, the device ticked perfectly. The customer's eyes widened. "Impressive. Thank you, young man."
Edrin's chest lifted slightly. Pride, but tempered with humility, warmed him. Lilia's approving nod from across the room added another small ember to that warmth.
The workshop finally quieted. Henry wiped his hands and leaned against the counter. "Kid, take a break. Look around, breathe."
Edrin leaned back against the workbench, his gaze drifting to the watch. It rested on his wrist like a small anchor, the faint tick syncing with his pulse. There was something soothing about it — not power, not magic, just presence.
Edrin looked around the workshop — the worn wooden floor, the faint smell of oil and varnish, the light through the dusty windows catching the edges of gears. The day had been tiring, but it felt nice warm even.
----
By late afternoon, the workshop had grown quiet. The steady hum of tools faded, replaced by the distant whistle of the trams outside. Henry had given him an early leave, saying, "You've done good work. Go rest before you wear yourself out."
Edrin thanked him, brushing the dust from his sleeves, and made his way upstairs to his room. The building creaked faintly with every step, old wood breathing in rhythm with the pipes beneath it. His legs felt heavy, but there was a lightness in his chest — the kind that came from honest work.
Halfway up the stairs, a faint sound drifted through the air — a soft, soothing melody. It wasn't from below, nor from any nearby room. It was… coming from him.
He paused.
The glow drew his eyes before the thought could form.
The watch on his wrist pulsed with light — not bright, but alive, the faint shimmer of something breathing. His skin prickled.
"What the—" he muttered, fingers fumbling for the clasp.
It didn't move.
He tried again, harder this time. Nothing.
The metal grew warm beneath his touch — then, with a sudden, impossible shift, it sank into his skin. The surface rippled, the brass edges fading into him like ink into water. His breath caught in his throat.
And then — darkness.
The world fell away.
When his vision returned, he stood beneath a black sky. Rain fell in thin, endless threads, each drop catching the faint red hue of the moon above. The air smelled of rust and lightning. He knew this place — this night.
The night of the Crimson Moon.
He looked around. He was standing high above the ground — maybe a rooftop, maybe something else entirely. Below, streets shimmered wet with rain, and in the distance, he saw movement. A figure.
His younger self.
Edrin's voice broke without thought. "Run! Don't stay there!"
No answer. His words vanished before they could reach the world. No echo, no sound — as though his voice didn't belong to this place.
Below, the younger Edrin stood frozen in the crimson glow. Then the man appeared — a tall figure wrapped in dark, rain-soaked clothes. He stepped forward slowly, his presence bending the light around him.
When the man moved, his coat fell open, revealing a single monocle glinting against the blood-red moonlight. Edrin's stomach dropped.
That face — he remembered it. One of the strangers who'd examined him after his leg was torn apart. The one who said it wasn't an injury, but a mutation.
"What are you…" he whispered, but the words failed.
The man reached toward the younger Edrin — and then snapped his fingers.
The sound wasn't loud, but the world itself seemed to answer.
The rain stopped. The moon's surface shivered — then cracked.
Piece by piece, the sky folded inward, swallowed by a spiraling void. Cities crumbled like ash, oceans turned to black glass, and the ground itself peeled away as if erased from memory. The world vanished — not destroyed, but rewritten out of existence.
Edrin floated above it all, weightless, breathless, untouched. His heart pounded, but his body felt distant, ghostlike, as though he wasn't part of the same reality anymore.
Below him, his younger self hung inside a translucent sphere — a bubble of stillness that the man had left behind.
The man grabbed my younger self and stepped backward into a twisting void of shadow and light, vanishing without sound.
Edrin was alone in the silence that followed. Space stretched infinitely around him. The red moon flickered once — and went out.
Then came a single note.
Soft. Pure.
Like the final chime of a clock before time itself stopped.
Everything dissolved into white.