Tavalor enjoyed the quiet in his study. It suited him perfectly. He lounged in the high-backed armchair, his face illuminated by the gentle glow of enchanted lamps as his fingers absentmindedly traced the leather bindings of an ancient tome.

  The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the rooms dark wooden panelling. Despite the comfort of his surroundings, he couldn't concentrate on the text in front of him.

  The chiming of Vallenport’s morning bells had distracted him. It reminded him of the mysterious gear wall that he had discovered months ago in the basement but never properly investigated.

  The peculiar mechanical construction nagged at his mind now - a puzzle left unsolved.

  Little Shadow, now the size of a small cat, perched on his shoulder. The shadow creature had grown considerably since hatching, its form still composed entirely of inky darkness but more substantial, with violet eyes that gleamed with intelligence. It seemed to sense Tavalor's restlessness, shifting slightly and brushing against his cheek with its insubstantial form.

  'I suppose we should finally take a proper look at whatever's hiding in the cellar,' Tavalor muttered, closing his book with a decisive snap. Little Shadow chirped in agreement, the sound like rustling autumn leaves.

  The manor was silent as they descended the creaking stairs to the vast cellars below. Their footsteps echoed against stone walls that had stood for centuries, the air growing cooler and heavy with the scent of earth and aged wine.

  Tavalor conjured a small flame in his palm, illuminating their path through the maze of storage rooms and forgotten treasures.

  The utility room at the far end of the cellar complex contained the false wall. Behind which was wall of gears that had caught his attention during his initial exploration of the manor.

  He used his flame to gently melt the false wall. Revealing the wall of gears.

  In the dim light of his conjured flame, the sight was even more impressive than he remembered—an impossibly complex mechanical construction that seemed to breathe with subtle movement.

  Countless brass and copper cogs turned silently, some as small as fingernails, others as large as carriage wheels, all working in perfect harmony. The entire wall was a symphony of motion, a clockwork masterpiece that defied explanation. There were no visible power sources, no obvious purpose to the intricate machine.

  Little Shadow darted excited circles around Tavalor, clearly fascinated by the gleaming metal surfaces. The shadow creature's violet eyes reflected the golden sheen of the gears as it swooped and dived through the air, investigating every corner of the mysterious construction.

  As Tavalor studied the wall more carefully, he began to notice patterns emerging from what had at first appeared to be random complexity.

  The gears weren't haphazardly arranged but formed intricate constellations and symbols that shifted and realigned as he watched. It was as if the wall were calculating something vast and incomprehensible, working through problems beyond mortal understanding.

  Using his [Dragon Sight], Tavalor perceived something: faint trails of magic connecting each component, forming a network that extended beyond the visible wall.

  The magical threads disappeared into the stone surroundings as if the entire construction were merely the surface of something much vaster. The implications were staggering—the gear wall might be connected to a system that extended throughout the entire manor, perhaps even beyond.

  Little Shadow, curious as ever, attempted to slip between two of the larger gears. Tavalor quickly pulled it back with a gentle magical tug.

  'Not so hasty,' he cautioned. 'We don't know what those gears might do to you.'

  The shadow creature reluctantly returned to his shoulder, though its violet gaze remained fixed on the mesmerising wall.

  Curious, Tavalor placed his hand against the central gear—a massive golden wheel etched with draconic runes that reminded him vaguely of the symbols he'd seen in Vallen's dungeon.

  The moment his fingers touched the cool metal, the gear stopped instantly. With it, all others froze in perfect stillness.

  A deep resonant hum filled the cellar, vibrating through the stone floor and walls. Dust rained from the ceiling, settling on Tavalor's shoulders and dissipating through Little Shadow's insubstantial form.

  'Perhaps that wasn't the wisest decision,' Tavalor murmured, but before he could remove his hand, the wall began to reconfigure itself.

  The frozen gears suddenly came to life again, not resuming their previous patterns but moving with new purpose. They retracted and extended, sliding over and under one another with impossible precision. The wall folded in on itself in places while expanding in others, the entire structure reshaping before Tavalor's eyes.

  Within moments, the gears had formed a perfect archway in the centre of the wall, revealing a hollow.

  In the hollow was a blindfolded old man, dressed in a butlers uniform. Clutching a large gold pocket watch in his hand.

  The old man was pale, grey haired and androgynous looking. With slicked back hair and a clean He was still alive. Taking small and shallow breaths.

  The watch was the issue.

  It was still ticking.

  It was also the source of the walls movements. His [Dragon Sight] showing the energy connection between the wall and the watch.

  Tavalor leaned over and touched it.

  He suddenly felt himself sucked into the a different dimension. The internals of the watch.

  He found himself in a vast workshop that defied the external dimensions of his manor. The space stretched further than should have been possible, its boundaries indistinct and somehow fluid, as if reality itself were more suggestion than law here.

  Workbenches lined the walls, covered with devices and constructions of inconceivable complexity. Some resembled clockwork animals frozen mid-motion, others were spheres within spheres within spheres, all turning independently. There were instruments that resembled no tool Tavalor had ever seen, their purposes as inscrutable as their designs were beautiful.

  Most remarkable of all were the blueprints and sketches that hovered in mid-air throughout the workshop. They required no support, suspended by some unknown force, rotating slowly to display their contents from all angles.

  Some depicted star systems in meticulous detail, others showed what appeared to be the internal workings of reality itself—diagrams of forces and energies too fundamental to have names.

  At the centre of this impossible space stood a frail ghostly figure hunched over a desk, his hands moving with impossible speed and precision across what looked like a disassembled pocket watch.

  He was elderly, with wispy white hair that floated around his head as if underwater. A clone of the old man who had been holding the watch. His clothes belonged to no recognisable era—neither modern nor ancient, but somehow timeless, as if fashion itself had bent around him rather than the reverse.

  Most striking of all was the blindfold covering his eyes—an intricate mesh of metallic threads woven so finely they resembled cloth.

  Despite this apparent handicap, his fingers never faltered in their work, manipulating gears so small they would have been invisible to normal sight.

  The figure didn't look up as Tavalor approached, but spoke in a voice that seemed to echo from different corners of the room simultaneously: 'I wondered when you would finally come down, dragon.'

  Tavalor halted, surprised both by the address and the strange acoustics that made it impossible to determine where exactly the voice originated. Little Shadow pressed closer to his neck, clearly unsettled.

  'You know what I am,' Tavalor said. It wasn't a question.

  The blindfolded man set down his tools with deliberate care and turned to face Tavalor. Despite the metal mesh covering his eyes, Tavalor had the distinct impression of being examined thoroughly.

  'I know many things,' the man replied, his thin lips curving into a smile. 'I am The Watchmaker. And this,' he gestured around the workshop, 'is my domain.'

  'Do you have any relation to the watchers? Is there a connection?' Asked Tavalor.

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  The old man laughed, a sound like distant wind chimes. 'I am what they seek. Time is malleable here. I have occupied this space since before this realm existed, and will remain long after it crumbles to dust. Or perhaps I arrived yesterday. Both statements are equally true from certain perspectives.'

  'You arrived from somewhere? From beyond this realm?'

  The old mans eyes sparked with delight. Though it should have been impossible to see with the blindfold on.

  'Are you an artefact spirit?' Tavalor asked.

  The old man tilted his head, thoughtfully. 'In a way. The Watchers have always been chasing the Watchmaker.' he said casually.

  'So what is beyond this realm?' Tavalor asked.

  The Watchmaker replied: 'You should go and see it for yourself.'

  So he hasn't left this place. Or is he not even here at all?

  Little Shadow, its curiosity overcoming caution, floated forward to investigate this strange figure. the Watchmaker reached out without hesitation, his fingers passing through the shadow creature's insubstantial form.

  'Curious creation,' he murmured. 'Not of this reality, yet bound to it through you. A shadow that consumes essence rather than merely blocking light. Fascinating.'

  'What exactly is your purpose here?' Tavalor asked, watching closely as Little Shadow circled the Blind Watchmaker, clearly intrigued by someone who could sense it so accurately.

  'There's a theory that goes, this reality, and all the realms are simply an illusion created by an intricately built watch.'

  'Impossible,' Tavalor replied. 'A watch is too simple.'

  the Watchmaker gestured expansively. 'The mechanisms are both literal and metaphorical representations of the forces that give structure to existence.' His smile turned knowing.

  'So the watchers want the watch? No. The Watchers have always been chasing the Watchmaker.As you said. Why bother with the watch. The watchmaker is obviously a higher level existence. He's got the tools and the technology to build something so sophisticated.'

  The Watchmaker smiled. 'Technology. What an incredible term.'

  Tavalor shrugged. 'So what do you want? To hide from the Watchers? Did something happen?'

  'Yes to all of your questions.'

  The Watchmaker offered Tavalor a tour of the workshop. He showed him remarkable devices whose purposes defied conventional understanding.

  Here was a kaleidoscope that revealed glimpses of parallel worlds when peered through, each turn of its cylinder showing new possibilities and divergent realities.

  There stood a pendulum that beat in perfect synchronicity with Tavalor's heart, though the Watchmaker claimed it had never been calibrated for him specifically.

  Strangest of all was a small music box, unassuming in its plainwood case. When the Watchmaker opened it, it played a melody that Tavalor recognised with a shock that left him momentarily speechless—it was a tune from his life as Thomas, before he had become a dragon. A folk song he had heard once at a festival in his hometown, so distant in time and space that it might as well have been a dream.

  Tavalor put in his [System space] immediately.

  'Time, space, reality—all constructs, all malleable,' the Watchmaker explained, closing the music box gently.

  During their conversation, Tavalor noticed something troubling—the Watchmaker often paused mid-sentence, his hands twitching as if making minute adjustments to invisible machinery. These moments coincided with subtle tremors in the workshop, causing Little Shadow to flinch and hide behind Tavalor's shoulder.

  'What's happening?' Tavalor asked after a particularly strong tremor caused a nearby shelf of delicate instruments to rattle ominously.

  the Watchmaker sighed, his aged face suddenly showing weariness beyond mere physical fatigue. 'My protection mechanisms are failing,' he admitted. 'They have been since the meteor struck.'

  'The meteor?' Tavalor asked, though he already suspected the answer.

  'The meteor that brought you here,' the Watchmaker confirmed. 'It was not merely chance. It was a desperate measure, a counterweight to restore balance.'

  Tavalor frowned. 'You speak as if someone planned my arrival.'

  'Not planned, precisely,' the Watchmaker corrected, his fingers continuously making small, precise movements as if adjusting invisible dials. 'Let us say the universe has its own methods of self-correction. Forces align to maintain equilibrium. Your presence here was... necessary.'

  A particularly violent tremble shook the workshop, causing a shelf of delicate instruments to crash to the floor. the Watchmaker winced as if in physical pain.

  'Perhaps I should demonstrate what I mean,' he said, reaching up to his blindfold. 'I warn you—what you are about to see cannot be unseen.'

  Before Tavalor could object, the Watchmaker removed the metallic mesh. Where Tavalor had expected to find empty sockets or perhaps damaged eyes, there were instead two orbs of swirling golden light, pulsing with energies too complex to comprehend.

  The moment the Watchmaker opened his eyes, the walls of the workshop seemed to dissolve, revealing what lay beyond—a vast expanse of interconnected gears and mechanisms extending infinitely in all directions. It was a cosmic watchwork of unfathomable complexity, each component somehow connected to every other in patterns that defied logic yet conveyed a sense of sublime order.

  'This is what the Watchers cannot see, and what I can never unsee,' the Watchmaker whispered. 'The blind watchmaker paradox made flesh—I am the mechanism yet cannot comprehend its purpose.'

  The vision was overwhelming. Tavalor felt vertigo wash over him, a sensation he had never experienced before, even when flying at his highest.

  The cosmos unfolded before him like an infinite clockwork model, each gear representing not merely physical reality but possibility, probability, potential.

  'Enough,' Tavalor gasped, turning away.

  The Watchmaker replaced his blindfold, and the workshop solidified around them once more. 'Now perhaps you understand,' he said softly. 'And why I cannot simply allow myself to be captured.'

  So he's linked to a higher realm? And this is a lower realm. The Watchers were probably sent to find clues, or even to find this artefact.

  'Why reveal yourself to me now?' Tavalor asked

  'Your confrontation with the Watcher in the dungeon created dangerous imbalances,' the Watchmaker explained gravely. 'And the destruction of Miragos tipped the scales further. The machine tilts, dragon. You were summoned as a counterweight, but your actions may be tipping the scales too far in the other direction.'

  Another tremor shook the workshop, stronger than the previous ones. Tools clattered to the floor, and a distant grinding sound suggested gears stripped of their teeth.

  'I cannot leave this place—I am bound to the mechanisms until they or I fail completely,' the Watchmaker continued once the shaking subsided. 'But perhaps there is another solution.'

  He straightened his aged frame, fixing Tavalor with his blindfolded gaze. 'I propose a mutually beneficial arrangement. I will serve as your butler, maintaining the manor. In exchange, you will hide my main body in the place where you put the music box.'

  My system space? Can the system not be detected by the watchers? Is this dangerous?To let a random artefact in my [system space]?

  'Can you bind yourself to me?' Tavalor asked.

  I can.

  Little Shadow, who had been investigating the workshop's corners during this conversation, suddenly chirped in alarm. It hovered near a particular contraption—a brass sphere etched with familiar symbols. Tavalor recognised them from the book he had found in Edran's secret compartment.

  'Yes,' the Watchmaker confirmed, following the sound of Little Shadow's chirp with uncanny accuracy. 'Your predecessor discovered me too. His madness came not from what he found, but from his attempts to control it. Some truths are not meant for mortal minds to grasp, let alone command.'

  Edran was [C-Class] and he was trying to deal with forces beyond [S-Class]. It was no wonder he was driven mad.

  Tavalor considered the offer carefully. Having a butler would be convenient. But the binding was a risk. He wasn't sure whether there were any negative consequences.

  However, he was already the enemies to the Watchers. And having the Watch seemed like a ticket to a higher realm. Somewhere new to go after he ran out of places to visit.

  He queried his system for the first time in a long time.

  ===System ===

  Binding is permanent and irrevocable.

  ===========

  So the Watchmaker could never leave. Tavalor smiled internally. This was probably a trap on the side of the artefact.

  But the permanent binding was something that he probably didn't foresee. The system was beyond its scope after all. It was another higher realm artefact as well.

  'Very well,' Tavalor said at last. 'I accept your proposal.'

  They shook hands to seal the pact, but as their palms met, something extraordinary happened. The artefact spirit'sexpression briefly flickered, like a candle flame in a draft, revealing a horrified look—a change from the confident look earlier.

  The moment passed so quickly Tavalor could not be certain of what he had seen. The Watchmaker’s form solidified again, the aged watchmaker smiling benignly as if nothing unusual had occurred.

  ===System ===

  Binding has been confirmed.

  Artefact: [Corner of Chronos Watch] has been

  permanently bound to the user.

  Control is bound to the user.

  ===========

  Tavalor smiled at him after the notification. Lets see what tricks you can play now.

  After leaving the internal space of the watch, the sleeping man woke up. Tavalor moved the body of the pocket watch into his [system space] and noticed a look of relief cross his Butler's face.

  They ascended the stairs back to the manor proper, the gear wall seamlessly rearranging itself behind them to conceal the nook once more. The wall changing from gears to stone.

  By the time they reached the main floor, the Watchmaker had somehow updated his attire without Tavalor noticing the transition. Gone were the outdated garments that they body was wearing, replaced by impeccable modern butler attire—a perfectly tailored black suit with subtle silver embroidery at the cuffs. The patterns matching Tavalor’s.

  'I shall begin my duties immediately,' the Butler said, straightening a cuff with practised precision. 'The manor has been somewhat... neglected in certain aspects. With your permission, I shall correct these oversights.'

  As they passed a glass cabinet in the hallway, Tavalor caught a glimpse of the Butler's reflection. What he saw there was not the elderly figure walking beside him, but a young man with Tavalor's own face a fearful and angry expression on his face. He turned sharply, but the Butler appeared entirely normal—the aged butler, nothing more.

  'Is something troubling you, master?' the Butler inquired, his tone perfectly respectful.

  'No,' Tavalor replied slowly. 'Nothing at all.'

  That evening, Emberfist arrived for their regular training session. To Tavalor's surprise, she showed no reaction to the Butler's presence, speaking to the butler as if he had always been part of the household.

  'Your usual refreshments, Miss Emberfist?' the Butler asked, bowing slightly.

  'Yes, thank you,' she replied absently, already focused on preparing for their sparring match.

  When they were alone in the garden, Tavalor questioned her. 'When did you meet my butler?'

  Emberfist looked confused. 'What do you mean? the Butler has been here since you moved in, hasn't he?'

  'Right,' Tavalor said slowly. 'Of course.'

  Later, when Emberfist had departed and the manor had grown quiet, Tavalor confronted the Butler in the study. The butler was straightening a picture frame with meticulous care, though it had appeared perfectly level before he touched it.

  'You've altered reality,' Tavalor accused. 'Emberfist believes you've always been here.'

  The Butler turned, his expression serene. 'Reality adapts to necessity, master. As do we all.'

  'Is that what you are?' Tavalor pressed. 'A necessity?'

  'In a manner of speaking,' the Butler replied enigmatically. 'Would you prefer I had to explain my sudden appearance to every visitor? It seemed more... elegant this way.'

  High above them, Little Shadow watched from the shadows of the ceiling beams, its violet eyes fixed on the Butler with wary attention.