Chapter 6: Chapter 6: The Next One Over

The vast tower stretches endlessly above and below her, a dizzying spiral of activity that makes her stomach lurch when she peers over the ornate stone railing.

Ananke has no idea where she is supposed to go.

Her master had mentioned ‘their floor’ with casual familiarity, but she doesn't have the first clue which level that might be among the hundreds visible in both directions. Some of the floors rotate slowly around the central axis, their movement creating a hypnotic pattern that makes her grip the railing tighter because she feels like she’s about to fall over it at any moment.

What is this place?

Who could have built something so impossibly vast and complex? The architecture defies her understanding, with bridges that span the central void at impossible angles and staircases that seem to curve back on themselves. Water continues to flow upward through the heart of the structure, its blue radiance casting shifting patterns.

The panic about the ‘discrepancy’ seems to have calmed somewhat, though the workers moving past her in all directions still carry an air of urgency. Their faces are tense, their movements quick and purposeful as they navigate the tower's maze-like structure with practised efficiency.

“Excuse me, pardon me,” Ananke says, stepping into the path of someone carrying a massive stack of folders that towers above his head. He's a smaller man, balding, with wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. “I'm a little lost,” she begins sheepishly.

“You're the new one, right?” the man asks, peering around the side of his paper mountain. She blinks in surprise. The Minuteman nods his head downward. “Head down one floor, take the bridge across and up three floors, then you'll need to walk the ring and take walkway seven down two floors.”

She tries desperately to keep the directions straight in her head. “I… uh, pardon?” she asks, already losing track of the complex route.

He sighs. “Come on, follow me.”

“I'm very sorry. Thank you very much,” she says, hurrying to keep pace behind him. “So, what do you all do here? If you don't mind me asking.” She notices him struggling with his burden and reaches over, grabbing the top half of his stack. “Oh. Wait. Let me help.”

The worker nods gratefully as they begin descending a spiralling staircase. “When you all mess with time, it isn't always clean and simple. It's a messy business. We just try to make sense of it all,” he explains, his voice echoing slightly in the stone corridor. “For future records and so we can keep track of any unusual changes that we hadn't expected. Sometimes you all ‘fix’ things and we end up needing a dozen more fixes down the line to keep it all going.”

“Ah,” Ananke replies. That makes… sense? Maybe.

She looks down at the tower of paperwork in her arms, then back at him. “But why? Does anyone ever actually read this stuff later, or does it just go into some archive somewhere?”

“Does anyone read this stuff…“ he mutters in disbelief, giving her a sideways look as they continue walking.

Ananke doesn't get a solid answer to her question. Her eyes wander down to the documents in her hands again, scanning the various forms and reports. There, just below her chin, she sees a drawing. It's rather ominous, depicting a skull that seems to be melting downward into an hourglass filled with dark liquid.

Next to it are printed the simple words ‘Witching Hour’.

There’s that phrase again.

“Hey, what's the Witching Hour?” she asks curiously.

The man immediately stumbles and falters, his carefully balanced stack of papers flying wildly out of his hands in all directions. Documents scatter like startled birds, spinning through the air in a chaos of white and ink.

Before Ananke can even react, distortions begin popping all around her. She has no idea why it's happening, but suddenly a dozen copies of herself burst out of temporal folds, grabbing and catching papers before they can fall or fly away. The spectacle is both miraculous and absurd as one copy dramatically leaps off the balcony ledge, snatching a wayward sheet of paper and hurling it back their way. “Remember me!” the copy shouts in theatrical jest before vanishing back into whatever time she came from.

Ananke catches the paper ball as the Minuteman and everyone else in the vicinity stop dead, watching in confusion at the display. She quickly sets about organising the papers back into their proper order, uncrumpling the thrown document and flattening it out on top of the stack the man is holding. She looks around to find several dozen people staring at her in various states of shock and bewilderment. “Sorry,” she apologises with a shy wave, though she's not entirely sure what she's apologising for.

She picks up her share of the papers again. Gradually, people return to their normal activities, though many continue to shoot glances in her direction.

The man guiding her clears his throat nervously. “They're a rogue organisation,” he explains quietly and directly, his voice staying carefully controlled. He glances around himself somewhat anxiously as others pass by. There's unmistakable paranoia in his eyes. He gestures for her to follow him with a subtle nod. “And don't talk so loudly about that. If anyone gets the wrong idea about your questions, you could get both of us in serious trouble.”

Ananke doesn't understand the implications. “Can't you tell me anything more?” she asks as they make their way up a different staircase.

He seems uncertain, but after studying her face for a moment, something in his expression softens. “Listen, Ananke. You seem like a nice girl, not like some of the other Ticks,” he says, his eyes continuing to monitor their surroundings as they walk. Once they've moved clear of other passersby, he continues. “Just keep your head down and do the work, okay? There are people out there in the world who do what we do, but their methods and motivations aren't exactly sanctioned by the Twelve.”

Others? Is he talking about chronomancers?

Ignoring the somewhat insulting, if not creative, nickname he used for their trade, she had thought there were only ever twelve of them, including herself. She vaguely recalls her master mentioning something about this topic, but only in passing.

“Wait, you know my name?” she asks, blinking in surprise as she catches that suddenly.

“Oh, everyone here knows it now,” he replies matter-of-factly. “That's what happens when you almost destroy the world. We all received copies of your file.”

Her immediate reaction is that she wants to ask about that, morbidly curious about having ‘a file’ and somewhat embarrassed about what it might contain. But before she can formulate the question, he stops and nods ahead. “This is your floor. See you around.”

Ananke blinks and hands him back his portion of the paperwork. “Thank you very much!” she says with genuine gratitude. “I really appreciate your help.” For some reason, he seems surprised by her sincerity and simply nods quietly before returning to his duties. “Wait, what's your name?” she calls after him.

“Marshal,” the worker replies without turning back, though he sounds puzzled that she would bother to ask.

Ananke smiles as she watches him disappear into the crowd. What a kind man. She turns her attention to her surroundings, thinking aloud as she tries to retrace the directions. “Down one floor, up three floors,” she begins, counting on her fingers. Then she blinks in confusion. “Wait, isn't this…“ She looks around, but Marshal has vanished into the bustling crowd. “- the same floor that we started on?” she mutters, having worked through the mathematics in her head.

She turns around and freezes.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

There's a door directly beside her with her name engraved on a small metal plate attached to the wood. She steps toward it tentatively and opens it with careful fingers, her breath catching as her eyes widen in amazement at what lies beyond the threshold.

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

Ananke lies on what is probably the softest bed she's ever experienced in her life. Even the regal bed she had ‘stolen’ weeks ago doesn’t compare. The pillowy mattress yields so completely to her weight that after an hour of blissful rest, she has sunk so deeply into it that her head is level with the still-raised corners as if it were swallowing her whole. But she doesn't mind this peculiar circumstance at all, because her face is pressed into a book that makes her heart sing with recognition.

It's not even a complicated text. The tome is meant for children, designed to teach reading to the young with simple words and cheerful illustrations.

This is her book.

She remembers when her mother had saved for months to afford this particular book, working extra hours and skipping meals to gather the necessary coins. Every evening after that, they would sit together by candlelight as her mother patiently guided her through each page, teaching her to sound out letters and recognise words.

Ananke had thought it was lost forever in the war, destroyed in the blasts that took everything she loved.

A part of her is overwhelmed with happiness to see it again. It's like encountering an old friend she had mourned as dead, suddenly returned to life. The familiar illustrations, the well-worn pages, even the slight tear in the corner where she had accidentally caught it on a nail.

Everything is exactly as she remembers.

It seems impossible for the book to be here, yet it sits in her hands along with a vast collection of other items from her past. The room itself is a marvel, a small, beautiful and airily cosy space that radiates a sort of witchy, pastel, ethereal atmosphere. The four-poster bed sits at the centre, surrounded by a wall lined with full bookshelves and a writing table positioned to catch the best light. The opposite wall is confusingly open, featuring several large archway windows that look out onto the central tower, letting in a breeze. This view should be impossible given where the door is located, but the view is undeniably real. Lightly billowing dark curtains hang open, framing the sight of the upward-flowing water column and distant workers moving about their business, filling the air with a gentle buzz of living activity that feels present but comfortably distant.

Ananke lets out a quiet sniffle as she wipes her eye and continues reading the simple book again from cover to cover, as she has done several times now already. When she finishes, she closes it and clutches it tightly against her chest, feeling the solid reality of its presence.

There are other treasures here too, scattered throughout the room. None are as precious as the book, but each one carries its own weight of memory. She spots a pair of small shoes that had fallen into the city river when she was seven. She had nearly drowned as she tried to retrieve them. Oddly enough, they’re boy’s shoes.

But she supposes that doesn’t really matter for the age they’re sized for.

There's a hairpin she had broken by accident, the one her mother had promised to fix but never had the chance to before it was lost in the chaos of their daily struggles. It’s yellow. She doesn’t know why she chose it back then, since she doesn’t really care for the colour.

She opens the book again, pressing her nose into the binding and inhaling deeply. The scent of old paper and faded ink fills her nostrils.

Looking at the first page, just next to the inside of the cover, she can’t help but let out a quiet laugh as she reads the note scrawled inside the book. ‘For Saris, my favorite of them all.’

Ananke has no idea who Saris is. The writing has always been here in the book. She just always assumed her mother had bought it used. That would make sense. She doesn’t remember them having a lot of means, and books are expensive.

It’s still very nostalgic, though.

Lying there in the impossibly soft bed, she closes her eyes and simply breathes in that nostalgic smell. The warmth spreading through her chest is something she doesn't quite know how to process, a feeling so foreign and wonderful that it almost frightens her. For the first time in longer than she can remember, Ananke feels completely safe.

Sleep takes her.

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

A knock on the door wakes her from slumber that could have lasted minutes or hours. Time feels like a bottled fluid in this place, disconnected from the normal rhythms of day and night. “Yes?” she asks, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Come in.”

Her master steps into the room, his familiar silhouette framed by the doorway. “I see you've found yourself at home,” he remarks, his gaze sweeping the space before settling on her with something that might be satisfaction.

Ananke sits fully upright, her bare feet finding the floor. “What is all this?” she asks, gesturing at the collection of trinkets and memories surrounding her.

The Humming Man claps his hands together once. “Tradition, Apprentice,” he replies with characteristic simplicity. He thinks about his words for a moment, looking around the space. “Despite the difficulties regarding your initiation, there is still a proper way we do things here.” His tone carries a slight upward inflection that suggests considerable effort was required to make this happen. “When a new member joins the Twelve, everyone is tasked with going back to study our newest addition.” He points at her and she nods in understanding. “We each bring back a symbolic token from their past to demonstrate that we've endeavoured to learn about them. It's a gesture of welcome, meant to show that despite our… differences of opinion, we remain committed to the cohesion of our order.” He walks around the room with careful steps, picking up the broken hairpin and examining it.

She nods, feeling happy but also slightly disturbed by the realisation that she was observed in the past without ever knowing it. “Wait. You stole my hairpin?!” she abruptly asks accusingly, walking toward him as understanding dawns in her.

This is probably why it went missing back then. Someone travelled back in time, entered her family's modest home, and took it for this very moment years later.

He glances over his shoulder with calm surprise. “What? No, no, goodness no,” he replies evenly. “The rules of our little game are quite clear. We must never take anything that will be missed by anyone, nor anything that will favourably impact someone's life in the present. Only things that are already 'gone,' mundane objects with no lasting consequence. I brought the book,” he explains, nodding toward the children's tome resting on the bed. He carefully replaces the hairpin on its shelf, setting it next to a silver five-obol coin she had never ended up spending. “I retrieved it from an old commode beneath some rubble -”

Ananke has approached silently and grabbed the fringe of his robe with her hand, not having bridged any further gap than that. “…Apprentice?” he asks, his voice carrying quiet confusion.

The moment stretches on in silence for a little before Ananke releases him just as quickly as she had grabbed him. “Thank you,” she says quietly, rubbing her arm with embarrassment.

He studies her for a moment, then nods with understanding. “Of course,” he replies in his usual, evenly chipper tone. “Frankly, I wasn't certain you would appreciate the gesture, but I remembered your love of reading from our time in Hafen. Although, I had the hardest time finding you in the past,” he notes with curiosity. “It was as if you didn’t have a house at all. Your threads were very… unclear,” he muses.

“…It was very small,” says Ananke quietly, trying to remember it. But it’s a blur.

The implications hit her like a revelation.

She knows chronomancers can manipulate time to some extent, but this proves beyond a doubt that they can reach back much further, much deeper into the past. Years. The other members of the Twelve were present in her history, before the war, during the conflict, and possibly even after it ended. They witnessed her childhood, her family, and her life before everything changed.

The spark of possibility that lights up her eyes is unmistakable.

“No,” her master says before she can even voice the very obvious question. He knows exactly what she's thinking. She wants to go back, to see her family again, to save them from their fate. With this level of temporal power, surely it would be possible? “I know you won't understand this yet, Ananke, but there are some things you cannot change. Some things you must not change.” His words cut through her rising hope with surgical precision. “Let the dead rest.”

“How is it different from anyone else we save?” she asks, struggling to comprehend the distinction.

“Because we were not sanctioned to intervene in that particular tragedy,” he explains with painful clarity. “We do not break the ordained natural order of the world to satisfy our personal desires. I understand the temptation, truly I do, but that path leads nowhere good. It never ends well for those who try.”

She wants to argue vehemently against this pronouncement. He's telling her that her family's fate was decided by some invisible bureaucratic force she has no access to or understanding of. But despite the crushing disappointment, her heart has softened considerably toward her master after witnessing all he's done for her. That trust and gratitude quench most of the rising flames in her core for now.

Ananke simply nods once in quiet acceptance. “I understand, Master.”

He sighs with what sounds like relief mixed with regret. “I know that isn't entirely true, but thank you for trusting me.” He glances down at her legs. “I see your injury has recovered completely. Miraculous.”

Ananke blushes deeply. “Ah, I…“ She rubs the back of her head sheepishly as she realises her lie has been revealed. “Sorry.”

He turns toward the door, placing a gentle hand on her upper back to guide her. “Come along, Apprentice. It's time to begin your formal education.”

She actually wants to ask about his meeting with Larry, curious about how their tea date went, but decides it would be unwise to push her luck any further at this delicate moment. “Yes, Master,” she replies, following him out and into the tower and into the first of many moments of what will become her new life.