Chapter 3: Chapter 3: The Simple Lesson

The sun hangs low in the western sky, painting the cobblestones of Hafen's market district in shades of amber and gold. The scent of roasted chestnuts mingles with the metallic tang from nearby smithies, while the combined orange shine of the city’s street lamps begins their evening pulse of soft warm light. Ananke walks beside the stranger she’s learnt to call master today, her fingers constantly brushing against the fabric of her new apprentice's robe that they picked up at a tailor.

Allegedly, the order had been made weeks ago already and was ready to take off the rack.

The light purple material is softer than anything she has ever owned, finer than the rough canvas and scavenged cloth that has served as her wardrobe since the war.

The day has been a whirlwind of revelations and lessons. Her mind still struggles to process the enormity of what she has learnt about all in, technically, one day. Chronomancy, the Twelve Hands, the hidden world that operates beneath the surface of everyone’s otherwise ordinary lives. But the robe is real. The weight of it against her shoulders, the way it moves as she walks, the respect she sees in the eyes of shopkeepers who recognise the garment of a magical apprentice, even if they cannot identify its specific school. All of it confirms that this transformation is genuine.

It’s amazing how different people are looking at her, just because of what she’s wearing. Before, in her old clothes, she was as invisible to them as the Humming Man always seems to be.

They think she has money.

They’re wrong about it. But, she won’t lie, some part of her at least likes that they think so. She feels seen and after not being noticed or recognised as being a living person for so long, it feels good in a way she can’t really form into words.

“Where should I meet you tomorrow?” she asks as they approach the familiar territory of her home district. Her voice carries a note of reluctance, and her eyes drift involuntarily toward the narrow alley behind the adventurer's guild. The space between the crates and refuse that has been her home, her shelter, her entire world for so long.

That’s also still very real.

The Humming Man follows her gaze and tilts his head slightly, the wide brim of his hat casting his features in deeper shadow as the light fades. “Not to worry, Apprentice,” he says, his tone carrying that familiar note of gentle amusement. “I have a place for you to bed. Somewhere more suitable for one of your new station.”

Her eyes widen, lighting up with an excitement she cannot contain. The possibility had not even occurred to her. Her throat tightens with emotion she does not know how to express. She feels so grateful all of a sudden.

“I… really?” The words come out smaller than she intends, vulnerable in a way that embarrasses her.

“Really,” he confirms with a nod. “Come. Let me show you.”

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

The house is magnificent.

Ananke flops down on the massive four-poster bed, spreading her arms wide as she sinks into the soft mattress. The room around her is a testament to wealth and taste, from the intricately carved woodwork of the bed frame to the rich tapestries that hang from the walls. An ornate ceiling stretches above her, painted with scenes of celestial bodies in their eternal dance, stars and moons and comets frozen in artistic perfection.

She had no idea her master owned such a place. Not that she even knows who he is to begin with, but still.

The contrast between his modest, quirky, yet travel-worn appearance and this opulent chamber makes her head spin. She lies there quietly, absorbing the reality of her situation, and feels a warm, rare happiness blooming in her chest. It is a feeling so unfamiliar these days that she almost does not recognise it anymore and actually assumes at first that it is budding nausea.

When was the last time she felt safe asleep? When was the last time she could lie down without wondering if she would wake up to rain or snow or someone trying to take what little she had or worse?

Ananke does not even consider removing her new robe as she lies there, having, however, at least had enough of a remaining spark of humanity within her to take off her boots before lying down. The light purple fabric draping her body is too precious, too significant. She wants to fall asleep wearing it, to wake up wearing it, to confirm through the texture against her skin that this is all real and not some elaborate dream born of hunger and desperation.

Her arms wrap around herself. It’s so soft and warm. She doesn’t need a blanket.

Slowly, her heavy eyelids drift closed. The softness of the bed, the warmth of the room, and the security of walls and locked doors all combine to drag her into the deepest sleep she has experienced in a very, very long time.

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

When she wakes, it is still dark, to her surprise. She stretches luxuriously, her muscles relaxed in a way they never are after a night on hard stone or rough wood. The robe is slightly wrinkled but still beautiful. She runs her fingers over the fabric once more before sliding out of bed.

The washroom calls to her, promising hot water and soap, luxuries she can barely imagine. She pushes open the door.

Ananke shrieks and then jumps back with a startled gasp.

“I'm sorry! I didn't know there was someone…“ Her voice trails off as she stares at the strange woman, standing frozen in the washroom.

The figure stands motionless, a towel half-raised to her face, water droplets suspended in the air around her hands. Not moving. Not breathing. Not reacting to Ananke's presence at all.

Ananke's heart pounds as she backs away from the door. She rushes to the nearest window, throwing open the shutters to look out at the marketplace below.

The scene that greets her is eerily familiar. People stand like statues in mid-stride. A merchant's hand hovers over his scales, coins hanging in the air between his fingers and the waiting pan. A child's ball floats motionless above the crowd, defying gravity.

The entire world has come to a standstill.

It’s still the exact same night as when she fell asleep.

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

“Rest well?” the Humming Man asks as she approaches him by the front door of the house. He stands waiting for her, hands clasped behind his back, his expression carrying its usual hint of concealed amusement.

Ananke stops before him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processes what she has discovered. “This isn't your house, is it?” she asks him dryly, though her tone carries more curiosity than accusation.

“Oh, no, no,” he replies with a cheerful shake of his head. “I can't afford a house. Goodness, no. The wages of a chronomancer are not quite so generous.” He gestures vaguely at the expensive facade behind them. “We have quarters elsewhere. But out on the field, we sometimes have to make do,” he suggests.

“Really?” she asks, annoyed.

“Nobody came to harm. The owners are going to be having a lovely, restful sleep right now. Quite unaware of our temporary borrowing of their hospitality. Although they might, perhaps, wonder why their bed is already warm.”

“And the lady in the washroom?” asks Ananke. “She won’t see some… flash of me there for a moment like a ghost, right?” she asks.

“She will find herself exactly where she was when time resumes, with no memory of the interruption.” He pauses, lifting an eyebrow with mock seriousness. “You did make the bed again, right?”

“Of course I did,” Ananke replies, feeling a flush of both embarrassment and irritation. She is not entirely comfortable with what just happened, even if it was the most comfortable night she has experienced in years.

“Excellent!” He claps his hands together once, the sound sharp in the still air. “Then everything is fine. Nothing has changed in the timeline, and our being well rested will have no lasting consequences to the world at large.”

He raises his hand and snaps his fingers.

Reality crashes back into motion around them. The sounds of the marketplace resume with jarring suddenness, voices and cartwheels and the general bustle of dusk commerce filling the air as shops close and people make their way home. Time flows forward exactly as it had when they parted ways the night before, as if no hours have passed at all. It’s still dark. Yet for both of them, it has been a full night's rest, ten hours of sleep and recovery compressed into a single temporal instant.

Ananke's mind reels at the implications.

“Now then,” the Humming Man says, adjusting his hat and beginning to walk down the street with his characteristic gliding stride. “We have work to do. A life to save, though he will never know it. And perhaps you might even learn something today.”

Ananke falls into step beside him, her mind already turning to the mission ahead. The purple robe flows around her legs as she walks, a tangible reminder of how much her life has changed in the span of a single day that hasn’t even come to pass yet after being several hundred hours into it.

The morning air tastes of possibility and the faint ozone of magic. Whatever lies ahead, she is ready to face it.

“We have a long walk ahead of us. Keep up,” he says and she does her best. But she can’t deny that her eyes wander to the closing stalls of the many merchants as the last fading scents of baked nuts and bread reach her.

Her stomach growls audibly.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

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

The road out of Hafen winds through rolling hills dotted with ancient stone markers, relics of the close past when different powers ruled these lands for a time. The morning mist clings to the hollows between the hills, creating pockets of grey silence that muffle the sound of their footsteps on the packed soil.

“I’ve never been this far outside of the city before,” she notes, almost sounding worried about it as she looks back to the familiar walls.

From this far out, it actually looks pretty small.

“Then just wait until you see how far away you’ll be tomorrow,” replies her master cheerfully.

Somewhere in the distance, a merchant's waggon makes its way toward what its driver believes will be a profitable day of trade.

The Humming Man moves with purpose down a parallel path, his constant, low melody carrying on the still air. Ananke follows, her new robe gathered up slightly to keep the hem from dragging in the damp grass. She’s treating it like a princess would her favourite gown.

“Our assistant in today’s lesson will be a travelling cargoman,” her master explains as they crest a small rise that gives them a view of the main trade road below. “For his master, he’s to carry a load of fine textiles from the southern provinces, bound for the markets in Northmantel. A profitable haul, but not one worth dying for.” He points to a fork in the road ahead where the leftward path that is signed to Northmantel curves around a cluster of large boulders. The road to the right leads to some villages of less renown. “Bandits are waiting there. Five men with crossbows and short swords. They’re deserters from the war who know their trade well,” he explains, looking down at Ananke. “How will you stop him from riding straight into their clutches? That is your task.”

Ananke studies the terrain, her mind already working through the problem. She closes her eyes and thinks, trying to come up with something like last time. “I could… make his anqa throw a shoe? Force him to stop and delay him until the bandits give up?”

“How?” the Humming Man says simply. He tilts his head. “Is your magic that strong yet?”

“I…“ she retorts.

It isn’t. She doesn’t have any magic, does she? Other than the fact that she can see him do what he does, she can’t really do anything special. An anqa weighs as much as five full-grown men. She couldn’t get in its way even if she wanted to. Her confused eyes look back toward her master.

“Very well. I will help you in the meantime,” he offers. “As part of our lesson. You tell me what you think will work, and I shall make it happen.”

She sighs in relief. That makes this solvable.

Ananke looks, watching the approaching waggon from afar. “Make it lose a shoe,” she suggests. If the anqa loses its shoe, it might not like the harsh roads anymore, and the cargoman will have to turn around and go back to Hafen.

“Done,” replies her master.

The anqa’s gait shifts slightly, and he guides its step toward a loose stone. The animal stumbles briefly, the shoe flies off. But the waggon continues on its deadly course. Both the man and his beast seem unbothered.

They watch as the cargoman rides past them with a friendly wave.

There is a soft snap of fingers, and suddenly the cargoman rides backwards, his carriage returning down the way it came in reverse as time unspools itself. “Let’s try again,” her master says patiently.

“Okay. I got it,” remarks Ananke. “Startle the bird. Scare it,” she suggests.

A moment later, a large flock of wild doves explodes up from the ground, having been meticulously hand-placed there one by one while time was frozen, stolen from their nests.

The massive creature shies, shrieking loudly in surprise as it stumbles and lashes out in fear at the burst of doves. The cargoman cries out, almost falling, until the two of them settle again, seeing that there was no real danger.

As he passes them by, the cargoman laughs sheepishly and waves to them in a friendly manner.

That didn’t work. She’s going at this wrong. The anqa is the wrong angle of attack.

Again, the snap of fingers. Again, the cargoman rewinds and travels backward to his starting position.

“The wheel,” she mutters. “If I can weaken the wheel…“ she says, looking back at her master, who sets to work.

Moments later, the wheel of the carriage creaks ominously and then collapses. The cargoman lets out a surprised cry, flying off the carriage and striking his head on a rock. Ananke lets out a sharp yelp, clasping her hands over her mouth as a red spray shoots into the air.

Snap.

Everything undoes itself again. The hurt man lives and returns to his seat, which reverses back down the road once more.

This goes on for a long, long time in many different variations.

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

“This isn't working!” Ananke's voice carries an edge of panic. Sweat beads on her forehead despite the cool morning air. She’s starting to get nervous, looking at her master. What if their initial meeting was just a fluke? What if this was a mistake and he sees it? He’ll change his mind about her. He’ll make her go back to the alleyway. Her heart is racing in her chest. She’s going to throw up.

The Humming Man's expression and tone doesn't change. “Try again,” he says calmly.

“I've tried everything!” Her voice cracks slightly. “The anqa, the wheels, the cargo, the road. Nothing works! What if I can't do this?” she asks, the fear that has been building with each failure spills out in a rush as she asks the question.

“Apprentice.” His voice is gentle but firm as he lifts a hand. “Breathe. Think. What other approaches might we consider?”

Ananke wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, frustrated tears threatening to fall. “Why don't we just… deal with the bandits directly? Remove the problem at its source?” she asks in her frustration.

They’re the problem, right? They’re trying to fix the cargoman, but the cargoman isn’t the issue. The cargoman is the victim. The bandits are the issue.

“How would you suggest we do that?” he asks her, tilting his head.

She opens her mouth to answer, then stops. “We could… we could-” The words stick in her throat.

Kill them. That's what she was about to say.

But the thought makes her stomach turn a little. “I can't. I mean, they're planning to kill him, but I can't just- I've never…“ She shakes her head and falls silent.

“Neither have I,” the Humming Man says quietly. “Nor would I ask you to.” He looks at her. “We’re not after justice,” he explains to her. “We want order. These are different things.”

Ananke nods and turns her attention back to the approaching waggon, trying to come up with something. “What if we go back further?” she asks, not sure how his powers work, exactly. Can he do that? She looks at her master. “Back to before he even left home? I could write him a note, tell him not to leave, and warn him about the danger.”

“And how do you know he would listen to a mysterious note?” asks the Humming Man. “How do you know he wouldn't become paranoid and take an even more dangerous route instead? Perhaps he would hire guards who would fight the bandits and die in the process?” He plays with the brim of his hat. “You might cause more deaths in the end than just his by doing so.”

She grabs her head in frustration, her fingers tangling in her hair. “Then I don't know. There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong,” she argues.

“The possibilities are endless,” her master explains plainly nodding once. “There are infinite timelines, infinite ways events could unfold. Each change creates new consequences, new problems to solve.”

Snap.

Again they watch the waggon approach. Nothing she has come up with works. A knot bulges in her guts as she watches the cargoman come closer and closer in the distance.

“Why is this man so special?!” she finally snaps, her composure cracking. “Out of everyone in the world, why does this one person matter so much?!” she asks, raising her voice, as she doesn’t know what else to do with her increasing insecurity and frustrations with herself.

What she really wants to ask is why are they putting in so much effort to save this stranger and if anybody could have done the same for her family.

And if they could have, why didn’t they?

But she can’t formulate that so exactly. Her stomach is too twisted.

“I can't say,” her master replies with his usual calm a moment later. “That's not for us to know, Apprentice. There are aberrations in time and it is simply our task to placate them,” explains the Humming Man. “But if you want to ask me who specifically decides that some events need to be… adjusted and others do not, then even I don’t know,” he says simply. “You’ll need to enquire with a priest,” he remarks to her, almost consolingly, with a shrug of his shoulders.

They stand facing each other, master and student at an impasse. The morning sun climbs higher, and still the waggon approaches, and still Ananke cannot find the key to saving its driver.

“Would you like the answer?” the Humming Man asks finally, seeing that she’s well and truly stuck.

Ananke's jaw tightens with stubborn pride. She turns back to study the scene one more time, hoping to see some clockwork manipulation of events she could maybe apply. Some perfect temporal adjustment that will solve everything. The waggon draws closer to the ambush point, and desperation claws at her chest.

She wants to prove herself so badly right now.

But she can’t.

Her hands are as empty as her head right now. She looks back at her master and nods once, surrendering. Then the Humming Man lifts his hand once more, not to manipulate time, but to hail the approaching cargoman.

“Excuse me! Pardon me, sir!” he calls out cheerfully.

The waggon slows to a stop, and the cargoman peers down at them with curious, friendly eyes. “Aye? What can I do for you folks?”

The Humming Man gestures toward Ananke. “I’m quite afraid that my young apprentice has fallen and hurt her leg. I'm terribly sorry, but could we please trouble you for a ride down the way to Kogelsmark, by any chance?” he asks.

His elbow nudges her pointedly. Ananke's eyes widen with sudden understanding, and she immediately leans against her master, lifting one foot and wincing dramatically.

“Please, sir,” she says, putting on her most pitiful begging voice, the one she perfected during years of asking for coins as she looks up at the cargoman. “I can't walk that far anymore, and I so desperately need to get there.”

What really sells the act, though, is that her eyes are already red and full of tears.

Although some part of her can’t help but wonder if this whole thing, including her getting so upset, was planned from the start.

The travelling cargoman looks down the fork in the road ahead, then back at them. His weathered face creases with genuine concern. “Of course, lass! Can't leave a hurt young thing on the road. I have a daughter your age, you know,” he says. “I’d die to the hounds before letting her walk these roads after the war.” He jumps off and helps them climb onto the waggon. “Kogelsmark's a bit out of my way, but not by much. The roads all meet up again down the valley.”

As they settle into the back of the waggon among the bolts of fine cloth, Ananke realises what has happened. The road to the left leads to the bandits and was the path the cargoman was always going to take. But the unimportant village of Kogelsmark lies to the right. It's a slightly longer way, but the roads do indeed converge again further on before leading to the ultimate destination the cargoman is hoping to reach. The bandits will wait in vain for a carriage that will never come, and the cargoman will reach his destination safely, if a little delayed.

She had never needed any time magic at all to solve this problem.

The waggon rocks gently as they simply go right at the fork in the road, instead of left, and Ananke sits in contemplative silence, understanding dawning slowly in her mind. Her master hums softly beside her, that tuneless melody that somehow manages to sound smug.

“Sometimes,” he says without looking at her, “the most elegant solution is also the simplest one. Magic is a tool, Apprentice, but it should not be the only tool in your kit. The mundane world offers its own opportunities for those clever enough to see them.”

Ananke nods, her cheeks burning with embarrassment in equal measure to the tiny glow of enlightenment in her eyes. She was in so deep that she couldn’t see the forest for the trees. A simple request for help, offered at the right moment in the right way, could change everything.

“You did well,” he praises.

She doesn’t really believe that, in all honesty. But something about hearing praise makes her happy and tempers the awkwardness of her fumble. Looking away from him back down the road, Ananke smiles ever so slightly.

“Ah, here,” says a voice from the front. The cargoman reaches back, handing them a very familiar apple that her master passes on to her.

Ananke takes it, staring in surprise. “This is…“

“Some lad threw it away, said he didn’t care for apples and I thought it was a shame to see it go to waste,” shrugs the cargoman. “It’s yours. My wife disallows me from eating past sunset. Says it’s bad for my health.”

Ananke looks at the piece of fruit that is following her like a ghost, her eyes turning to her ever-scheming master and then to the cargoman. “Thank you,” says Ananke to both of them, biting into it.

It’s delicious.

…But it’s still not worth four whole obols.