Story from the Aether Library Serenya Gearlight and the Desert of the Forgotten

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The workshop smelled of molten brass and old parchment. Gears turned in the dim light, powered by invisible mechanisms that pounded like a distant heart. Serenya Gearlight sat at the long tabletop, her pointed hat with its inlaid chronometers tilting slightly as she gazed at the floating chrono-mirror before her. The mirror glowed a soft gold, and within its round frame of polished copper, time itself pulsed like a living flame. Sparks of dust danced around the edges as if someone had scattered starlight into the air. Serenya moved her fingertips over the floating control rods, and the image inside the lens began to form: an endless desert beneath a sky of liquid blue. In the midst of this golden void stood two figures. One was a wanderer in long, sand-colored robes, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The other seemed as if the desert wind had fashioned her from sand—every feature of her face crumbled slightly, renewed in the next breath. Serenya knew this place only from tales of the Aether Guild: the Desert of the Forgotten, where every lost memory lives on as a grain of sand until a seeker reclaims it. Many had tried to cross it, but few returned—and never with the same soul they set out with. She leaned closer to the chronomirror. "Show me what they seek," she whispered. The golden surface in the mirror flickered, and for a moment, she saw the wanderer kneeling, his hands buried in the sand. He pulled out a small object—a broken pocket watch, its hands still. Serenya felt the faint nudge of realization. This watch did not belong to the desert. It was of her own time. "That's impossible," she murmured, but the mirror didn't argue. Instead, he intensified the image, and she recognized fine engravings on the clock face: the Gearlight family crest. A faint creaking sound echoed through the workshop, as if the mirror itself had groaned under the weight of truth. Serenya knew she could no longer remain a spectator. There was only one way to learn the clock's origin: she had to step through the mirror. She placed both hands on the warm copper rim. A maelstrom of light and warmth enveloped her, and the workshop blurred. When the glare subsided, she stood ankle-deep in the hot desert sand. The wind sang among the dunes, and every gust brought the whisper of countless voices. The wanderer turned, and Serenya saw eyes reflecting the endless gold. "You're late," he said, his voice both strange and familiar. "I'm just in time," she replied, closing her finger around the pocket watch. Behind them, the sand figure began to dissolve, grain by grain, as if rising into the sky. The mirror of reality flickered briefly, and Serenya knew she had only a few moments before the way back disappeared. With one last look at the desert, she flipped open the clock's cover. Inside, something ticked—very quietly, like a heartbeat just waiting for someone to hear it again.