Kalo Renn was a clockmaker who couldn't fix the one thing that mattered most—the Hourglass floating behind him.
No one else could see it.
It hovered like a ghost over his shoulder: a glass vessel made of starlit sand, cracked through the center, leaking grains upward instead of down. Every so often, a spark of silver light hissed through the cracks, like a dying star gasping for one last breath.
It meant one thing:
Kalo wasn't supposed to exist.
He learned to ignore it… or at least pretend to.
Tick.Tock.Tick—
The workshop's walls buzzed with clocks of all shapes—copper gears, bronze pendulums, humming crystal timers imported from the Dawn Sector. Time behaved differently in each district, but in the workshop, it all sounded normal.
At least until the bells rang wrong.
DONG.
The bell of Meridian's Midday Tower rang first.Then the Evening Bell rang too early.Then the Dawn Bell rang out of order—as if it were rewinding itself.
Kalo froze, a gear in his hand.
Clocks didn't scare him.Time did.
He stepped outside the shop.
Meridian stretched across floating platforms suspended in a pale-blue rift. Bridges arched between districts that glowed with different tempos: the fast-blur Dawn Sector, the slow-ripple Sunset Ward, the quiet void of Midnight District where time occasionally froze for a heartbeat.
But this—this was wrong.
Above the plaza, people walked normally, but their Hourglasses shimmered into view—not faintly like usual, but bright, burning with constellations. Even children's Hourglasses spun too fast, throwing trails of silver dust.
Kalo rubbed his eyes.
Hourglasses weren't supposed to be visible this clearly.Not unless—
A ripple of distortion brushed the air.
People didn't react.But Kalo's skin prickled.
Then he saw her.
A girl standing on the opposite side of the plaza, wearing a dark coat stitched with patterns that shifted like ink in water. Her hair was white, not from age, but like frost under starlight.
And behind her—
Nothing.
No Hourglass.No constellation glow.No tether of time.
For a second, Kalo thought she was an illusion.Then her eyes met his.
She frowned.
Kalo's cracked Hourglass pulsed violently. The sand inside reversed directions, spilled upward, then downward, then scattered in a burst of light.
Time stuttered.
Birds hanging mid-flight froze.Merchants flickered in and out, repeating half a motion.Some people walked forward while their shadows walked backward.
The girl walked toward him through the distortion like she was immune to all of it.
Her boots didn't even echo.
Kalo backed up until he hit the workshop door.
"What…" He swallowed. "What are you?"
She stopped right in front of him.
Up close, her eyes were colorless—more like reflections of possible futures than real irises.
"I'm here because of your Hourglass," she said softly.
Kalo's throat tightened. "Wh—what about it?"
She lifted one finger and lightly tapped the cracked glass floating behind him.
It rang like a bell.
"You were never meant to be born."
Kalo's blood ran cold.
Before he could speak, she leaned closer.
"And I'm the one who broke your Hourglass."
A gust of distorted wind blew through the plaza.Every Hourglass flickered.Kalo's began to fracture further—
And the girl whispered:
"Run."
The world shattered like glass.