“Tazien!” Varek’s voice, a raw, strangled sound, cut through the fading light. He was at my side in an instant, his metal-gloved hand already under my shoulder, hauling me up with surprising strength. The heavy brass rolling frame, now a monstrosity of wires and gleaming brass conduits, slid to a halt beside us. “No time for melodrama, Morlas. Up.” His usual stoicism had shattered, replaced by a frantic energy that made his normally deliberate movements appear savage. He hoisted me into his arms, a feat that would have been impossible for him a few weeks ago, but the surge of his fury seemed to lend him impossible strength. My head lolled against his chest, the rhythmic thump of his heart a frantic pulse against my ear. He didn't waste a second. He wrestled the stabilizer rig onto his lap, securing the delicate wiring with one hand while holding me precariously with the other. “Rolo!” he bellowed, his voice carrying surprising force for someone so often quiet. “Now!” A guttural roar erupted from the street below. The distant wail of Warden sirens, growing closer by the second, was suddenly swallowed by a cacophony of shouts, breaking glass, and the frantic clatter of metal. “They’re here, Varek!” Rolo’s high-pitched voice sliced through the din, sounding less anxious and more... utterly unhinged. “The fishmongers have overturned a coal cart! The bakers are throwing stale bread! It’s beautiful!” I managed a weak, sarcastic cough. “My compliments to the chef for staging such a… lively diversion.” “Save your commentary,” Varek growled, his jaw tight. He launched his carriage, now a formidable, rolling weapon, towards the back alley door. The wheels, modified for speed and uneven terrain, churned against the grimy cobblestones, propelled by the compact steam engine he’d installed. The alley was a chaotic swirl of shadowy figures and shouting. We were a blur against the backdrop of a city tearing itself apart. The Ember-Clock tower loomed ahead, a colossal, soot-stained monolith, its intricate brass gears and enormous, glowing dials a beacon in the smog-choked sky. “Almost there,” Varek muttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn’t look at me, but his grip on me tightened, as if afraid I’d fade at any moment. Which, to be fair, was a valid concern. The chronometer digits on my arm flickered, a frantic `00:01:30:00`, then `00:01:29:00`, each second a stinging lash of dwindling life. We burst into the tower’s base, the scent of hot brass and ozone thick in the air. The enclosed mechanisms hummed, a deep, resonant thrum that vibrated through my bones. Varek didn’t hesitate. He launched the wheelchair onto a service ramp, the ancient gears grinding protests as we ascended. Higher and higher, past colossal cogs and enormous pendulums that swung with hypnotic menace, until we reached the main clock room. A vast, circular chamber, dominated by the colossal core mechanism – a swirling vortex of glowing chronal energy and polished brass. “Well, well, well. Look what the temporal cat dragged in.” The voice, smooth as polished obsidian, yet laced with a chilling madness, made Varek freeze. Jolvan. He stood by the primary console, impeccably dressed despite the riots, a smug, predatory grin twisting his features. A heavy wrench was clutched in his hand. His eyes, usually calculating, now held a terrifying, glassy sheen. “My ruined reputation. My lost fortune. All because of you, Tazien. But this… this little device will fix everything. A full rewind. Back to before you decided to play hero.” He gestured to the stabilizer rig strapped to Varek’s lap. “Hand it over, Orellen. Or your little pet dissolves right before your very eyes.” Varek’s face, already pale with exertion, hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The brass rig, still clutched firmly in his lap, glowed with a faint, phosphor light. “You want it?” His voice was a low growl. “Come and get it, you sniveling coward.” Jolvan snarled, lunging forward, the wrench raised like a club. He was faster than I expected, driven by maniacal rage. But Varek was faster. He slammed his foot down on a hidden pedal. The brass frame, a heavy, steam-powered battering ram, surged forward. Jolvan barely had time to register the attack before the reinforced front plate of the chair connected with his midsection with sickening force. A guttural grunt escaped him as he was lifted clean off his feet. “This,” Varek snarled, his eyes burning with an inferno of long-suppressed rage, “is for everything.” He didn't stop. He pushed, the chair’s engine roaring, and Jolvan, still impaled on the front of the device, was carried backward, towards the edge of the platform, towards the gaping maw of the grinding gears below. Jolvan screamed, a high-pitched shriek of terror, clawing at the brass, but Varek’s grip on the controls was absolute. With a final, brutal shove, he tipped the chair. Jolvan slid off, his scream abruptly cut short as he plummeted into the churning, hungry machinery. The sickening crunch of bone and the shower of crimson mist that erupted from the gears were horrifying, yet all I felt was a cold, hard satisfaction. Varek didn't even glance down. He slammed the iron wheels to a halt, then, with frantic speed, began connecting the stabilizer harness to the tower's heart. Wires sparked, steam hissed, and the air crackled with raw chronal energy. The massive gears began to whine, the core vortex of light pulsing with renewed intensity. My arm felt like it was on fire. `00:00:10:00`. The digits blurred. `00:00:05:00`. “Varek…” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. The world was fading, not just my vision, but my very sense of self. My fingers tingled, an odd, ethereal coldness spreading through them. `00:00:01:00`. The runes flashed, then winked out. Zero. A searing, tearing sensation ripped through me. I gasped, a soundless cry. My hands, the very hands that had cooked for him, cleaned for him, fought for him, began to shimmer. They were still there, yet not there, translucent, glowing with an internal, violet light. They were crumbling into nothingness, like smoke caught in a howling rift. “No!” Varek screamed. He dropped the last wire, his expression wild with terror, his devotion laid bare like an open wound. He reached for me, his large, calloused hands closing around my face, but his fingers slipped through my now ethereal cheek. He pulled me closer, his forehead pressed against mine, his voice a ragged roar that tore through the thrum of the tower, the wail of the sirens, the very fabric of time itself. “You owe me a lifetime, Tazien, you don't get to run away this time!”

The Ember-Clock Ascent