The storm didn't end that night.
It stayed, humming above the town like a living thing — the clouds red from within, the lightning whispering instead of striking.
Vyom didn't sleep. The letter lay open on his table, the words burned into his mind.
Protect the hour that remains.
But what hour?
He'd watched the Grand Clock shatter. He'd seen time stop, felt it yield to his voice. None of it should've been possible. And yet, when he tried to tell himself it was a dream, the cut on his finger — a thin, glowing line from touching the symbol — burned in protest.
By dawn, he'd stopped pretending.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the shards of glass still scattered near the staircase. They caught the early light like fragments of frozen dawn. But in some of them — only some — he could see faint movements. People. Shapes. Places he didn't know.
Each shard reflected a different moment.
In one, his sister was laughing — not from today, but a memory from years ago.
In another, he saw his father, older, standing alone by the Grand Clock.
And in one — near the edge of the pile — he saw himself, eyes glowing red, walking toward something burning.
He reached out, but the image flickered and vanished.
He drew his hand back quickly, trembling. "I'm… losing it."
"No," said a voice, soft as the echo of breath on glass. "You're remembering."
Vyom spun around. "Who's there?!"
Nothing. Only the gentle hiss of rain.
But when he turned back to the shards, one of them was missing.
---
Later that morning, the world pretended to be normal again. The storm thinned into drizzle. The air smelled of mud and rust.
Vyom's father had already left for work, and Aarika was making breakfast, humming her same tune.
Vyom sat quietly at the table, the letter folded in his pocket.
Aarika noticed his silence. "You didn't sleep again, did you?"
He shrugged. "Just… weird dreams."
Aarika frowned. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
Vyom managed a faint smile. "Guess my head's noisy."
She reached over, flicked his forehead. "Then clear it. You have school tomorrow. Can't skip again."
Her voice was playful, but her eyes weren't. She was worried — though she didn't know what about.
Vyom nodded halfheartedly. School felt like another planet now. The idea of sitting in a classroom, pretending to be normal, pretending clocks ticked properly — it felt impossible.
Still, he said, "Yeah. I'll go."
That seemed to satisfy her.
---
After breakfast, Vyom slipped back into the workshop. The shattered Grand Clock had been covered with a cloth — but he could still feel it hum faintly beneath.
He sat in front of it, staring. The mark inside — the double circle — had faded, but not gone. It pulsed like a sleeping heartbeat.
He pulled the black envelope from his pocket and looked at it again. The wax seal — a gear cracked clean through — felt oddly warm.
He turned it over. There was faint writing on the back, so small he hadn't seen it before.
If you want answers, look beneath the glass.
His breath hitched. Beneath the glass?
He looked down at the shards again.
The largest piece — the one that had shown him his reflection — was still lying there, edges glowing faintly.
He hesitated. Then, carefully, he picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched it, a sound bloomed — low, distant, like a hundred clocks ticking underwater.
His surroundings blurred. The air thickened.
He gasped as the shard brightened — the reflection inside deepening into motion. He saw a tower, enormous and ancient, filled with floating clocks spinning around a red core of light. The gears moved on their own, some turning backward, others sideways — all wrong.
And at the tower's center stood a figure — tall, cloaked in something that wasn't fabric but shadows of seconds. His face was hidden, but his presence felt infinite — like time itself was holding its breath.
The figure spoke without moving:
"Your hourglass cracked the day you were born, child of reversal."
Vyom tried to step back, but couldn't move. His pulse slowed, every heartbeat echoing through the space between worlds.
"Who are you?"
"A reminder. Nothing more."
The figure lifted its hand. The clocks around him froze mid-rotation.
"You've touched what should never be touched. The world is aligning to correct it."
"What do you mean?" Vyom shouted. "What's happening to me?!"
"You are happening. And the world resists you."
Before he could speak again, the figure's voice grew softer — almost kind.
"When the 18th hour dawns, the Devil will stir beneath your heart. Until then, resist the pull. Or time itself will devour you."
The vision shattered.
Vyom stumbled backward, falling onto the floor. The shard clattered beside him, lifeless again.
He gasped for air, his hands trembling. The workshop looked the same — except now, the clock's cloth covering had burned slightly at the edges.
Beneath it, something faint glowed once, then faded.
Vyom whispered, "The Devil… beneath my heart?"
---
Outside, the drizzle turned to a downpour.
He wandered aimlessly through the street, trying to calm his head. The puddles rippled strangely — each reflection showing slightly delayed movement, as though time lagged.
A child ran past him, splashing water — but the droplets froze midair for a moment before falling. No one noticed but him.
He stopped near the old bus stand. The rusted metal clock above it was stopped — or maybe not. It kept twitching, trying to move but unable to choose a second.
tick—
—tick—
—tock—
Vyom closed his eyes. "Please… stop…"
And it did.
The entire street froze.
The wind, the rain, even the sound of the river nearby — everything paused. The air became weightless, crystalline.
Vyom stood in the middle of it, trembling.
Then, faint footsteps echoed behind him.
He turned sharply.
A figure stood under a black umbrella — tall, graceful, wearing a coat stitched with faint silver threads that moved on their own. His face was calm, but his eyes — sharp gray — seemed to pierce through reality.
He wasn't frozen like the others. He moved easily through the halted world.
"You…" Vyom whispered. "Are you the one who sent the letter?"
The man smiled faintly. "Yes. You may call me Nareus."
Vyom's pulse quickened. "What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything, Vyom. I'm here to make sure you survive."
"Survive what?"
Nareus tilted his head slightly. "Time doesn't like anomalies. You've disturbed its equilibrium. The cracks you made are spreading — and soon, the world will notice."
"I didn't do anything!" Vyom shouted, voice breaking.
"Oh, you did," Nareus said softly. "You stopped time. You reversed it. And in doing so, you awakened the seal placed on you years ago."
Vyom's eyes widened. "Seal?"
"The Devil's Veil," Nareus said, tone grim. "Your curse and your inheritance. When you reach eighteen, the one beneath your heart will awaken. Until then, you must not — under any circumstance — break the pendulum again."
Vyom took a step back. "What happens if I do?"
Nareus looked up. The frozen rain began to tremble, glowing faintly red.
"The Devil remembers the sound of his own clock."
Vyom swallowed hard. "You're saying I'm… connected to him?"
Nareus smiled sadly. "You're his echo."
Before Vyom could ask more, the frozen world began to fracture — tiny cracks spreading through the air like shattering glass.
Nareus stepped closer, his presence warping the rain. "Tomorrow, go to school. Pretend. Breathe. Stay normal. The world must not see your cracks yet."
He placed something in Vyom's hand — a small, silver pendant shaped like a half-broken clock.
"When this breaks," Nareus said, "run. Don't look back."
And then he was gone.
The world resumed — sound rushing back like a flood. Vyom stumbled as cars honked, people moved, rain fell again. No one had seen anything.
He opened his hand. The pendant was real — cold, faintly pulsing.
He looked up at the sky. The storm clouds were gone now, replaced by a pale morning sun. Everything looked calm again.
But deep inside, he could feel it — the pulse beneath his chest, the faint ticking not in his ears but inside his heart.
tick… tock… tick… tock…
He clutched the pendant tightly. "Tomorrow… school."
He tried to smile, though the echo in his head whispered otherwise.
"School won't save you from the hours that are coming."
The voice was faint — familiar. His reflection's.
Vyom turned toward a nearby puddle, but the reflection there wasn't his.
It was the Devil's eyes — half-awake, smiling faintly from beneath the glass.
---
End of Chapter 10 — Echoes Beneath Glass