Part 28 : The Watchers Above

High above the heart of the Clocktower, Lyn stood with Du Hao in the Observation Chamber — a quiet space suspended in the gears and glass of time itself. Through the latticework of golden mechanics and whispering light, they watched Calren step into the Memory Forge.

Lyn’s hand hovered just above the activation switch of the Chrono-Seed — still pulsing, still tied to every moment unraveling below.

“He’s inside,” she murmured, eyes locked on the flickering image of Calren confronting the cascading visions. “Do you think he’ll… listen?”

Du Hao didn’t answer immediately. His face was unreadable, carved with something deeper than concern — guilt, perhaps. Or a long-buried hope.

“He has every reason not to,” Du Hao finally said. “I left him when he needed me most. I vanished into this Tower and let the world decide who he’d become. A ghost. A weapon.”

“You weren’t the only one who lost something,” Lyn replied gently. “But he still remembers you. That means there's something left.”

The room trembled — not from attack, but from resonance. The Memory Forge was working. Down below, Calren staggered through a vision of his younger self, of laughter, of betrayal, of abandonment. His fingers brushed the edge of the Pocket Watch, now beating faintly in time with the tower itself.

“He hasn’t destroyed anything yet,” Lyn said quietly.

“Yet,” Du Hao echoed.

But doubt crept into their thoughts. The Chrono-Seed, their last defense, could rewrite the moment — stop Calren, erase his presence entirely if triggered.

But it would cost the memory too. All of it.

“He’s not the same,” Du Hao whispered. “But neither am I.”

He turned toward Lyn. “If it comes to choosing — the world or him — will you let me be the one to decide?”

Lyn hesitated. “I trust you. But I also trust him more than he realizes.”

Below, Calren’s shadow stretched across the Forge. The gears shifted, slower now — not breaking, but waiting.

“Something’s changing,” Lyn said. “The Watch… it’s reacting.”

The Pocket Watch glowed brighter.

Not from power.

From remembrance.

The memory was not a weapon.

It was a mirror.

And as the chamber shimmered with the possibility of peace or destruction, Lyn and Du Hao held their breath — stewards of time, unsure whether they were watching its savior…

…or its undoing.