The river had always been calm.
Jay remembered walking past it dozens of times before—
a long, patient stretch of water threading through the city like a vein. People jogged along its banks. Kids leaned over the railings to watch fish dart beneath the surface. At night, the water reflected the city lights like a broken constellation.
Today, it felt wrong.
Jay stood at the railing with Reina beside him, both of them staring down into the dark current below. The government drones hovered farther upstream, their red sensors blinking in slow, deliberate patterns.
"They closed the lower bridges," Reina said quietly. "Officially, it's 'routine maintenance.'"
Jay huffed softly. "It's never routine when they say it is."
The air near the river was colder than it should have been. Jay rubbed his arms, feeling a faint vibration travel up through the metal railing and into his palms.
Tick.
He stiffened.
Reina noticed immediately. "You felt it too."
Jay nodded. "It's coming from the water."
---
They leaned forward together.
At first, Jay saw nothing—
just the slow movement of the river, dark and reflective. But as his eyes adjusted, something else became visible beneath the surface.
Not light.
Absence.
A circular patch where reflections refused to settle. Where ripples bent inward instead of spreading out. The water there didn't flow forward — it hesitated.
Jay's breath slowed.
At the center of the distortion, faint lines glimmered. Curved. Precise.
Clockwork.
Reina sucked in a sharp breath. "That's… not debris."
"No," Jay whispered. "It's a mark."
The ticking grew louder. Not in his ears—inside his chest. Each pulse lined up perfectly with his heartbeat.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Jay closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
The clock was clearer now.
Not a physical object, not fully. More like an imprint pressed into reality itself—
a memory the river couldn't wash away. No hands. No numbers. Just a vast circular outline etched into the flow of time beneath the water.
Reina gripped the railing. "Jay… that thing feels old."
He nodded slowly. "Older than the city."
---
A ripple passed through the water.
The river stilled.
For a heartbeat, everything froze-
the current, the wind, even the hum of the drones above. The world held its breath.
Jay felt the pull then.
Not forceful.
Not violent.
An invitation.
His mind filled with fragmented images: stone steps descending underground, a chamber humming with restrained power, water dripping onto golden metal. A place sealed, forgotten, deliberately hidden.
Reina's voice broke through his thoughts. "Jay—don't."
He realized he'd leaned forward too far.
He stepped back quickly, heart pounding. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking."
Reina exhaled shakily. "That's what scares me. It feels like something wants you to stop thinking."
Jay stared back into the river, jaw tight. "I don't think it wants control."
"Then what?"
He hesitated.
Then answered honestly. "Recognition."
---
A low hum rolled through the air.
The drones above shifted formation, descending slightly. One of them projected a translucent barrier over the water, sealing off the distorted area.
A calm, authoritative voice echoed across the riverbank:
> "This area is now restricted under Aryavart Temporal Safety Protocol."
"Please step away from the water."
Reina grabbed Jay's sleeve. "We should go."
Jay nodded, though his eyes lingered on the river for a moment longer.
Just before they turned away, the water rippled again.
And for a split second—
he saw it.
Not a reflection.
A memory.
A man standing waist-deep in the river, white robes soaked, hands pressed against a massive golden mechanism embedded beneath the current. His expression was calm. Resolute.
Accepting.
Jay staggered back, breath catching.
Reina steadied him. "Jay?"
He swallowed hard. "I've been there before."
Her voice was barely audible. "In a dream?"
"No," he said quietly. "At the end."
---
They walked away from the river in silence.
Behind them, the drones continued to hover. The barrier shimmered. The city pretended nothing was wrong.
But Jay knew better now.
The fractures weren't random.
They weren't spreading aimlessly.
They were forming a path.
And the river was one of its anchors.
As they reached the street corner, Jay glanced back one last time.
The water flowed normally again.
No distortion.
No clock.
Just a quiet river pretending it had never remembered him.
Jay clenched his fists in his pockets.
Time wasn't chasing him anymore.
It was guiding him.
And somewhere ahead—beneath stone, water, and forgotten history—
something was waiting for him to decide whether he would listen.