“Will you help me, master?” Kian asked, his voice steady.

Elias turned to Kian, pride shining in his eyes. “You have become more than an apprentice. You are now a master of time.”

“Good evening, master Elias,” Kian whispered, his voice trembling like a newborn chick. “I’ve come to ask if I may learn the art of making clocks.”

Elias placed a weathered hand on Kian’s shoulder. “You have learned well, my boy. The time has come for you to step beyond the shadows of these walls.”

In the narrow alleys of the old city of Vardel, where the cobblestones still remembered the echo of horse hooves, there stood a shop that seemed to be made of time itself. Its windows were filled with brass gears, polished pendulums, and tiny clocks that ticked in harmonious discord. Above the door, a faded sign read “Elias the Clockmaker” in curling gold letters.