The rain had not stopped since last night.
It came in gentle waves — soft enough to sound like white noise, steady enough to feel eternal. Aryavart City looked washed clean, its towers glistening in the pale morning haze. The streets reflected streaks of light like veins of silver running through glass.
Jay sat by the window, chin resting on his hand, half-watching the world outside. He'd been staring for so long that the coffee on his desk had gone cold.
The thought still lingered, looping endlessly in his head:
Time has found me again.
Every time he whispered it, the air felt heavier — as if the city itself was listening.
---
He got ready for school slower than usual, his movements more deliberate, as if afraid of waking something unseen.
The mirror fogged slightly from the steam of his shower. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw another reflection behind his — tall, cloaked, serene. But when he blinked, it was gone.
He dried his hair and exhaled.
"Too much caffeine. Not enough sleep. Great combo," he muttered.
Still, a quiet unease followed him down the elevator.
---
On the way to school, the streets buzzed with life — holographic billboards shimmered across buildings, showing public messages from the Emperor himself.
> "Harmony is not the absence of difference," said the gentle, recorded voice of Emperor Parikshit, "but the balance between what was and what will be."
Jay stopped mid-step. The voice.
There was something achingly familiar in its tone — calm, reflective, a weight beneath the softness.
His chest tightened.
He couldn't tell if he was remembering the man… or himself.
---
In class, Reina was already waving at him. "You look like you fought a rainstorm and lost."
Jay sat down beside her. "Maybe the storm fought harder."
"You okay? You've been zoning out a lot lately."
He nodded vaguely. "Just thinking. About… the Emperor."
Reina tilted her head. "Still stuck on Parikshit?"
"Yeah. He said something before he disappeared — about time."
She leaned forward, curious. "You really are obsessed with that line. What was it again?"
He recited softly, "Time has found me again."
Reina's eyes flickered — recognition, maybe fear. "That's… strange. I read somewhere that his followers believed he wasn't human. That he was a reincarnation of an ancient being — someone who could speak to the clock of creation."
Jay frowned. "Clock of creation?"
She nodded. "A myth. Supposedly buried beneath Aryavart City — a divine mechanism that measures time for the world. They say when it stops ticking, reality resets."
He forced a laugh. "Sounds like a bad video game plot."
"Maybe," she said, smiling faintly. "But myths start somewhere."
He didn't respond. His mind was already elsewhere.
---
That evening, Jay wandered farther than usual on his way home. The rain had stopped, and the air smelled of wet stone and ionized dust.
He followed a narrow alley that curved down toward the older part of the city — a section most people ignored, where the old metro lines had been sealed decades ago.
Something about it called to him.
The walls were covered in moss and faded glyphs — symbols from before the Great Revolution. He brushed his fingers over one, feeling the rough grooves beneath his touch.
A faint vibration pulsed through the stone. Then, somewhere below, something clicked.
Like a clock.
Jay froze.
He crouched, pressing his ear to the wall. There it was again — tick… tick… tick… — faint but deliberate, rhythmic, impossibly deep.
It felt old. Older than the city. Older than time itself.
He stepped back, heart pounding.
"This… can't be real."
The ticking grew louder, echoing in his chest rather than his ears.
For a moment, the alley shimmered — bricks rippling like liquid, the air bending around him. He saw flashes again: a throne under a tree, golden dust swirling in a slow spiral, a sword lying untouched beside folded robes.
Then it all snapped back. The noise stopped. The world went still.
Jay stumbled backward, gasping. The alley looked normal again. Only the faint smell of ozone lingered.
He stood there for a long time, trembling slightly, rainwater dripping from the rooftops around him.
"What the hell was that…" he whispered.
---
Back in his apartment, Jay dried his clothes and sat in silence. The ticking still echoed faintly in his memory.
He stared at the clock on his wall — ordinary, plastic, battery-powered.
It ticked, steady and simple.
Yet every sound felt too deliberate, too alive.
He spoke aloud, more to himself than anyone,
"Why does it feel like the world's waiting for me to remember something?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Outside, lightning flashed across the horizon — distant, silent. And deep beneath Aryavart City, far below the old metro lines and forgotten ruins, the ancient mechanism shifted again.
A single golden gear turned for the first time in half a century.
And somewhere beyond time itself, a voice — soft and familiar — murmured,
> "You found it, didn't you… Listener King?"
Jay's eyes snapped open.
The ticking stopped.
---
> The past was not gone. It was only sleeping.
And the clock had begun to dream again.