Part 10: Lyn’s First Discovery Inside the Clocktower

The clocktower's massive oak doors groaned as Lyn pushed them open, sending echoes into the hollow, freezing darkness beyond. A cold, stale wind greeted her, carrying the scent of rusted metal and forgotten memories.

She slipped inside, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft thud. The world outside vanished, and for a moment, Lyn stood there, adjusting her eyes to the gloom. The interior was a cavern of broken machinery: ancient gears the size of carriages, chains draped like sleeping serpents, staircases spiraling into darkness. The grand clock above her head was silent, its hands frozen in endless hesitation at 11:58.

Lyn took a cautious step forward, the wooden floor creaking underfoot. Her pocket watch, still clutched tightly, seemed to pulse against her palm, almost like a heartbeat.

And then she saw it — a faint, rhythmic flicker on the far wall.

A soft golden glow, almost imperceptible.

She moved closer, weaving her way through the debris.

There, etched into the wall behind a tangle of shattered gears, was a series of symbols—they shimmered faintly in the dark, as if alive. Clock hands, broken hourglasses, stars caught mid-fall. And at the center, the outline of an eye, encircled by a ring of numbers.

Lyn traced it with her fingers.

The wall was warm under her touch.

Below the eye, small writing in Du Hao’s unmistakable script read:

"Turn back the moment that never was.

Only the missing beat can set you free."

She stared, heart pounding. A riddle.

Turn back the moment that never was?

The missing beat?

It hit her then—the pocket watch. She quickly pulled it out and listened carefully.

Tick. Tick. Tick. ... Silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick. ... Silence.

A beat missing every third second.

Swallowing her fear, she synchronized her steps with the missing beat, dancing through the maze of gears and levers, matching the rhythm of the broken time.

Every missed tick guided her deeper into the heart of the tower.

At the center, she found a staircase spiraling downward, hidden behind a cracked pillar.

At its base, there was a door — iron, ancient, and covered with gears spinning in unnatural, silent patterns.

She reached out, hesitated, then pressed the center gear with the tip of her fingers.

With a slow, bone-deep groan, the door began to swing inward, revealing a staircase plunging even deeper into darkness... and the distant, unmistakable sound of a heartbeat — mechanical yet human.

Du Hao was close.

So was something else.

Something... watching.

Lyn squared her shoulders, tightened her grip on the pocket watch, and stepped into the depths of the clocktower — where time itself was no longer her ally.

To be continued…