The path to school was quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel beneath two pairs of shoes. Ethan walked beside his younger sister, Anna, as the morning light spilled lazily through the village rooftops. Chimneys puffed faint trails of smoke, and the smell of fresh bread and pinewood drifted through the air. The town was just waking up, but something about its rhythm already felt alive. Almost too alive.
"People say this place is special," Ethan thought, watching the townsfolk open their shop doors, pull their carts along, greet each other with familiar nods. Every few feet, a wooden sign or metal fixture held a clock—hanging from windows, nailed to fences, ticking in perfect time.
Ethan's thoughts drifted.
What was it Grandma once said when we first moved here?
"This village is full of mysteries," she had whispered to him one evening, voice low and certain.
Back then, he hadn't thought much of it. But lately... lately, it lingered.
"Hey!" Anna's voice cut into his memory.
He turned.
"Let's race to Mr. Reaves' shop! First one there wins, loser buys the ice cream!"
"Wait, what? Anna, my foot—"
But she was already off, legs pumping like a wind-up toy, laughing as she ran. Her backpack bounced with every step. Ethan sighed and raised a hand lazily after her.
"—was injured..."
He limped forward, still feeling the dull sting from stepping on broken glass that morning. Ahead, Anna had already reached the clockmaker's shop and was waiting by the front, arms crossed, victorious.
"You're so slow, Grandpa!" she shouted with a wide grin.
Ethan smirked, brushing sweat from his brow. "Yeah, yeah... keep running your mouth. Just wait for me—"
But he never finished the sentence.
A jolt of pain burst through his skull, sudden and violent. He staggered, blinking, as the world around him shifted.
The light dimmed.
Colors dulled.
Time seemed to slow.
In an instant, the village ahead twisted into something else. The cobblestone path darkened, soaked in crimson. Walls bled shadows. The air felt thick and cold, as if soaked in fog. And Anna—his bright, cheerful sister—stood frozen at the door of the shop, behind her an overwhelming light. Unnatural. Blinding.
Then—
Darkness.
Pain.
His knees buckled. He fell.
"Brother!! Ethan?!"
Anna's voice pierced through the noise. She ran to him as he collapsed onto the stone path, breathing hard, one hand clutching his head.
"I'm... okay," Ethan managed, his voice thin. "Just need... air..."
"You're not okay!" Anna said, tears almost forming at the corners of her eyes. "You're pale, and you're shaking—"
A shadow loomed behind her.
"What's going on here?" a calm, familiar voice asked. Mr. Reaves, the old clockmaker, had stepped out from his shop, brow furrowed.
"Uncle Reaves! Please help! My brother... something's wrong!"
The man didn't hesitate. He knelt down, checking Ethan's forehead, and saw the tremble in his limbs. "Alright, easy now. Let's get you off the ground."
Ethan felt Mr. Reaves hook an arm around his back, lifting him gently and helping him into the shop. The light inside was warm, filled with the soft clicking of dozens—maybe hundreds—of clocks lining the walls. Brass, wood, glass... old and new, ticking in uneven harmony.
Ethan sat on a wooden chair, blinking against the dizziness. Anna hovered by his side.
"Brother... you're still sweating," she said quietly. "And your hands are still shaking."
He glanced down. His fingers trembled. He quickly clenched them into fists and tucked them beneath his sleeves.
"I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Just... a weird headache, that's all."
Mr. Reaves returned from a backroom with a bottle of water. "That wasn't just a headache, Ethan."
He handed over the bottle. "Drink. Slowly. Breathe. Steady yourself."
Ethan obeyed. The water was cool. Grounding. His heartbeat began to settle.
"I... I don't know what just happened," Ethan said, rubbing his temple. "But I'm okay now. I should probably get to school—don't want Anna worrying more than she already is."
"You sure about that?" Mr. Reaves asked, watching him closely. "You look like you just saw a ghost... or worse. If you're still feeling off, don't be stubborn. Go home and rest."
Anna nodded beside him. "Yeah! I'll tell the teacher for you!"
Ethan hesitated—but something inside him said no.
Keep going.
"I appreciate it. But I'll be fine," he said. "Really."
Mr. Reaves studied him for a moment longer. Then, as if remembering something, he stepped behind the counter and pulled out a small, wrapped package.
"Before you go," he said, "Happy late birthday."
Ethan blinked. "But my birthday was weeks ago—"
"I know," the man said with a chuckle. "I meant to give this to you, but things got busy."
He handed Ethan a silver pocket watch. Simple. Elegant. The hands showed 6:47.
"This belonged to someone I trusted," Mr. Reaves said softly. "Now, I want you to have it. Wear it. Watch the time carefully."
Ethan opened the chain and clipped it to his belt. "Thank you... really."
"No need for thanks," the old man said. "Just stay safe. Both of you."
Ethan and Anna left the shop, stepping back into the sunlight. The strange feeling still clung to him, like the last breath of a dream. He glanced at Anna, who was watching him with quiet concern.
"I'm okay," he assured her.
She didn't answer, but nodded. And together, they walked on.
As they passed the village edge, a sign stood crookedly near a broken lamppost:
Welcome to Verwen Hollow – Where Time Lives.
Ethan stared at the name for a moment.
Verwen Hollow.
Even the name felt like something whispered.
The school loomed ahead—a large, split building with two wings: one for younger children, the other for high school students.
Anna looked up at him again. "You sure you're okay?"
Ethan smiled. "You ask me that one more time and I'll start to think you're the big sister."
"Hmph. If you pass out again, I'm dragging you home myself."
"Fair enough."
The bell rang—its sound shrill and distant.
"Go on, Anna," he said, ruffling her hair. "I'll see you after school."
She waved and ran toward her side of the building.
Ethan watched her go, then turned and walked through the opposite doors.
Behind him, the village kept ticking.
End of Chapter 2