Chapter 12: Chapter 12

The afternoon light filters through Ananke's bedroom windows in the Crux, casting warm patterns across the collected treasures from her past that line the shelves. She sits cross-legged on a bench out on the inner balconies, examining the pair of thick leather gloves that Larry has placed in her hands. The material is well-worn but sturdy, darkened by years of use and marked with small scorch marks along the fingertips.

“What are these?” Ananke asks, turning the gloves over to study their construction. They're heavier than they appear, reinforced with additional layers of protection around the palms and fingers.

“They're from a fire juggling act. Very thick, very durable,” Larry explains, perched casually on the windowsill with her legs dangling over the edge. Her colourful makeup catches the light as she grins with obvious satisfaction. “I quite enjoyed your little trick with the coin back in Skrosocivo. But next time, wear these.” She gestures toward Ananke's hands with a knowing look.

Ananke glances down at her fingers, flexing them slowly. After weeks, she had finally been able to remove the bandages that wrapped her hands like white cocoons. Her fingers and palm have healed completely, but a noticeable burn scar remains where she held the spinning coin, a permanent reminder of the moment. The mark forms an intricate pattern across her palm. It still hurts when she flexes it.

“Thanks, Larry,” Ananke says with genuine gratitude, slipping the thick protective gloves into her baggy robe pocket. She lowers her voice. “Hey, can you tell me what that Witching Hour woman was talking about back then?” She looks directly at Larry, her expression serious. “Master and the others are keeping me completely out of the loop.”

Larry raises her hands in a gesture of helpless surrender. “No can do,” she replies with what sounds like genuine regret. “I've been explicitly warned not to discuss that topic with you. Direct orders from the top.”

Ananke sighs with frustration, feeling the familiar weight of being excluded from important information. “Can you at least tell me what ‘Chronostasis’ really means?” she asks as Larry begins moving away from her, walking backward toward the railing overlooking the Crux's central column. “What did that woman want me for specifically?”

Larry steps up onto the railing’s ledge with the casual grace of someone who has spent years performing death-defying acts. “It's in the name, isn't it?” she asks with characteristic evasiveness, not giving Ananke the clear response she desperately wants. With a theatrical flourish, she jumps backward and vanishes into thin air, leaving only a faint shimmer of temporal distortion.

Ananke sighs deeply and looks back down.

Chronostasis. Chrono-stasis. Pause time. But how is that something special that a rogue chronomancer would want her for specifically? All chronomancers can pause time to some degree. That's fundamental to their abilities, not some unique talent worth pursuing across multiple timelines. There must be another meaning to the word, some deeper significance she doesn't understand yet.

She thinks back to the woman's words on the ship, the way she had spoken, and the obsessive focus she had on herself.

The Witching Hour clearly wants something from her, something related to her unprecedented abilities. But what exactly could she offer that they couldn't accomplish themselves with their forbidden techniques?

The questions pile up in her mind, each one leading to three more.

image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]

It is later.

Her private chamber has been transformed into what can only be described as a comfortable little party. Dozens of copies of herself fill the space, each one engaged in different activities with casual familiarity. Some sit cross-legged on her bed, reading books from her shelves. Others have arranged themselves in small circles on the floor, playing card games with animated gestures. A few lean against the windows, chatting quietly among themselves while watching the Crux's eternal activity through the glass.

She has absolutely no idea how this happened. They were all just here when she came back from her trip to the magical academy and now she’s joined in on the fun, making small talk.

“So can you tell me what's going to happen next?” Ananke asks, approaching a copy of herself who sits apart from the others, reading what appears to be a journal with intense concentration. This duplicate has a slightly different bearing, more confident, with small details that suggest she's from further in the future.

“Obviously not,” the future copy replies without looking up from her reading. “If I told you specific events, then you'd act differently and wouldn't end up in the same timeline where I originated. The whole causal chain would collapse.” She turns a page with deliberate care. “Basic temporal mechanics, really.”

The door to her room opens without warning. “Apprentice,” the Humming Man begins as he steps through the threshold.

“Yes, Master?” twenty voices respond in perfect unison, dozens of heads turning to look at him simultaneously. The Humming Man freezes in place like a prey animal suddenly aware it's being stalked by a pack of wolves. His eyes scan the room cautiously, taking in the sight of multiple versions of his student existing in the same space.

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“…My current apprentice,” he clarifies with careful emphasis.

“Oh,” most of the copies say in understanding, immediately losing interest and returning to their various activities with disappointed shrugs.

“Yes, Master?” the original Ananke asks again, stepping forward from the crowd of herself to address him properly.

“I worry this might be unhealthy for your social development,” he muses, his gaze fixed on the temporal chaos behind her. The concern in his voice is genuine, though tinged with bewilderment at the unprecedented situation.

“I'm attending the academy just like you wanted,” she replies defensively. “I even made a friend there, you know?” The memory of the priestess Petersilie brings a small smile to her face, one of the few bright spots in her complicated existence.

He sighs with what sounds like relief. “I'm genuinely glad to hear that. I fear that you might end up like Larry if I do not intervene early this time.”

“Although I don't particularly appreciate the academy being located where it is,” she says, her tone growing more serious. “You know that Arkonia is…“ She stops herself before finishing the accusation.

“I know,” he replies, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “That is, in part, precisely why I chose to send you there.” He leans down slightly, looking directly into her eyes. “If I asked you to save someone from Arkonia, would you be able to do it?”

“I… of course,” Ananke replies, though uncertainty colours her voice.

“Excellent,” the Humming Man says, clapping his hand on her shoulder with approval. “You're a remarkable creature, Ananke. Sometimes a little too stubborn for your own good, but I appreciate that you're willing to work with us, to temper your claws a little for everyone's benefit.” She offers him a weak smile, still processing his praise. “I have a specific task for you today.”

“We have a new assignment?” she asks, her entire demeanour brightening with excitement.

“You do,” he replies with emphasis on the singular pronoun. “Chronomancer Murkan has requested your assistance specifically for his next mission.”

“Chronomancer who?” Ananke asks, shaking her head in confusion. The name means nothing to her.

“One of the Twelve. A good man, though somewhat rough around the edges.” The Humming Man's description carries diplomatic understatement. “He's been away for several months on an extended assignment and has returned with particular interest in meeting our newest member.” He studies her reaction carefully. “You'll be investigating a haunted house. Can you believe it?”

“A what?” Ananke asks, her eyes widening with surprise and growing unease.

“You're not afraid of ghosts, are you?” he asks with gentle teasing. She shakes her head quietly, though her expression suggests she's not entirely convinced of her own bravery. “Excellent! Then gather your things quickly. He's waiting for you at the departure carriage right now.” At that exact moment, one of her copies approaches and hands her an already-packed travel bag. “Ah, thank you, Ananke,” he says, nodding to the duplicate before returning his attention to the original.

“Master, may I have sweets a week from now?” asks the copy. “Please?”

The Humming Man looks at her again. “Have you completed all of your chores and assignments the past seven days?” he asks. She nods. “Very well. Go ahead and remind me a week from now that I did promise.”

“Thank you, Master!” says the copy excitedly, vanishing with a pop back into time.

The real Ananke accepts the bag and pauses thoughtfully. “Are ghosts actually real, Master?” she asks with genuine concern.

“Why, of course they are,” he replies as if the question itself is absurd. A second later, he tips his wide-brimmed hat in farewell. “Safe journey. I'll see you soon.” He vanishes instantly, leaving only the faint shimmer of temporal displacement.

Ananke stares at the empty space where he stood, then turns back to address her assembled copies. “Hey, everyone. Ghosts aren't actually real, right?” she asks hopefully.

Most of them respond with noncommittal shrugs. The copy from the future makes an exaggerated zipping motion across her mouth, clearly refusing to provide any hints about what's to come.

The real Ananke sighs deeply and heads toward the door, her packed bag in hand and her mind already racing with questions about what kind of supernatural horrors she might encounter.

image [https://i.imgur.com/pUoDcs0.png]

The tower is empty tonight. But Ananke thinks she can hear something.

Confused, she stops and listens.

Was that a voice?

She looks around herself. There doesn’t seem to be anyone working right now. But she could have sworn she heard someone calling out. Ananke waits for a moment, listening. After a moment, she turns her head, looking at a metal pipe on the wall. She steps toward it and puts her ear to it, listening.

What is that?

Ananke narrows her eyes, listening. There’s some sort of… voice? No. Well, maybe? She’s not sure. It’s very faint. As morbid as it sounds, it almost sounds like screaming.

The central chamber’s massive mechanism lurches, a loud rattling filling the tower.

By the time it fades, the sound is gone. The pipe is quiet.

“What was that?” she mutters, rubbing her head. Was that some kind of steam hissing out somewhere or something? Ananke looks back at the large central mechanism. She has no idea what that thing even does.

She moves along.

At the departure platform, she encounters nobody waiting for her. There’s only an empty carriage. She climbs into the suspended thing, the entire vehicle groaning and swaying under her.

Ananke steps in cautiously, bracing herself for the lurching sensation as the suspended transport releases and begins its descent toward the world far below. The carriage rocks alarmingly as it descends down toward the world, toward a distant mountain city known for being at the forefront of industrial and technological developments in the nation, Vestenberg.