The town of Ashmere lay beneath an amber sky, the setting sun casting long shadows over cobbled streets. It was a place untouched by time—where the scent of rain lingered on wooden rooftops, where old lanterns flickered outside quiet homes, and where the distant hum of crickets was a lullaby for the night. The town square, with its rusting clock tower, stood like a guardian of forgotten moments, its hands forever moving forward, unaware of the boy who would soon slip between its ticking seconds.

Elias was ten the first time it happened. He sat on the worn steps of his family’s bookstore, the scent of aged paper and ink curling through the air. His father, a quiet man with spectacles always perched on the bridge of his nose, stacked books inside, humming an old tune. The evening was calm, save for the occasional murmur of townsfolk finishing their day.

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And then—time bent.

It was subtle at first, like a ripple in water. The world seemed to exhale, the air thickening as if holding its breath. Elias blinked. A cat darted across the street, knocking over a metal pail. The sound of clattering echoed against the buildings. And yet—he had already seen it. A second before it happened.

His breath hitched. He turned his head sharply toward the alley. A tall man in a brown coat was about to step onto the street. Elias had seen him drop his pocket watch. And then it happened—just as he had glimpsed it. The watch slipped from the man’s grasp, bouncing once on the cobblestones before rolling to a stop at Elias’s feet.

His fingers trembled as he picked it up.

“Strange,” the man muttered, bending down. “It’s as if you knew I would drop it.”

Elias didn’t respond. He only stared at the watch, its golden hands ticking forward—just as the clock tower loomed above, whispering a truth Elias did not yet understand.

Time had just spoken to him. And for the first time, he had listened.