Edward woke slowly, his senses flooded with unfamiliar sensations. The ceiling above was pale and cracked, the faint buzz of a ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. He blinked against the soft morning light filtering through a narrow window, dust motes dancing like tiny stars caught in its glow.
His fingers twitched. They were young—unmarked, smooth—nothing like the hands he had seen before. And yet, when he lifted his palm to the light, there it was: the faintest shimmer of an hourglass etched beneath his skin, glowing softly like a secret beacon.
A chill ran through him.
He pushed himself upright, every muscle tense with confusion. Memories clawed at the edges of his mind—fragments of a burning void, a sword that shimmered like the night sky, and a woman cloaked in silver moonlight. But they slipped away before he could grasp them.
The room was sparse. A small wooden desk cluttered with sketches and mechanical parts sat by the window. Blueprints of gears and cogs sprawled across it, the lines crisp yet unfamiliar. Edward ran a hand over them and felt a strange familiarity—as if the drawings whispered secrets only he could hear.
A clock ticked loudly nearby, its sound steady and relentless. Edward's eyes flicked toward it—and his breath caught. For a moment, the hands spun backward, unwinding time itself, before settling again with a soft click.
Was the world trying to tell him something?
He stood, swaying slightly, and moved toward the window. Outside, the city of Halden stretched beneath a gray, rain-soaked sky. Neon signs flickered through the haze, and distant cars left glowing trails on the wet streets. It was a place both foreign and strangely inviting, a world he'd never known but somehow belonged to.
Edward's thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime of his phone vibrating on the desk. The screen lit up with a message: "Don't forget your shift today — Master Orrin's shop, 3 PM."
He frowned. Who was Master Orrin?
The clock's ticking seemed to echo louder now, each beat a summons. Edward's gaze dropped to the mark on his palm, and a spark of determination flickered inside him. Whatever this life was, it was his now.
And the river of time was still flowing beneath his feet.
---
Edward's first day at the repair shop was a blur of hands and tools. The shop was cramped, walls lined with clocks of every size—grandfather clocks with ornate woodwork, delicate wristwatches ticking softly, and odd devices Edward couldn't name.
Master Orrin was a stooped old man with eyes like polished amber. He watched Edward with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper—recognition?
"You've got a steady hand," Orrin said, handing Edward a cracked pocket watch. "Let's see if you can bring this one back to life."
Edward examined the watch, the brass casing cold in his palm. As he opened it, the familiar scent of old metal and oil filled his senses. The gears inside were tiny and intricate, but something about their arrangement called to him.
His fingers moved instinctively, adjusting a tiny spring here, nudging a cog there. The watch began to tick softly, steady and true.
Orrin smiled. "You have the touch, lad. But be warned—these aren't just machines. Some of them hold more than time."
Edward's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There are legends," Orrin said quietly, "of men who could bend time itself. Some say they were called Time Lords. Rare gifts, dangerous gifts."
Edward glanced at his palm again. The hourglass mark burned faintly beneath his skin.
"Watch yourself," Orrin said. "Power like that… attracts attention."
---
That night, Edward dreamt of the void again—the endless strands of shimmering glass threads vibrating with light. The woman in moonlight appeared once more, her face hidden but her voice clear.
"Walk the river again, Edward. This time, change its course."
He awoke gasping, the words echoing in his mind. Outside, rain began to tap softly against the windowpane, freezing for a moment in midair before falling in steady drops.
Edward's fingers curled into a fist. This life was no accident.
Somewhere, the threads of time were pulling him forward.