Adventures at Schreckenstein Castle The Clockwork Under the Roof

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The steps grew narrower the higher he climbed. The tower above him groaned in the wind, as if reaching for something only the sky could see. The air was colder up here, thinner, thick with dust and old metal. The boy felt his fingers tremble slightly, but it wasn't just the cold. It was something else—a tug, a beckoning ticking that seemed to be only in his head. At the top of the stairs stood an iron door. No handle. No lock. Just a circular imprint in the center, with fine grooves, like the back of a pocket watch. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on it. Something clicked. The door breathed. Then it swung slowly open. The space beyond was dark, vast, filled with shadows. Only a round window in the roof let in a pale light, refracting off the metal shapes below. Gears as large as millstones stood motionless in the room, connected by chains, pendulums, and rods. It was a clockwork—but not for minutes and hours. It was larger than time. Deeper. He entered. The floor beneath him consisted of narrow latticework. Beneath them lay more gears, interlocked like the inner workings of a giant. His cat scurried through the door and leaped gracefully onto a beam. It looked around, alert as ever—but even it didn't seem to fully understand where they'd landed. A low humming vibrated in the air. Not like a sound—more like a thought. The boy continued cautiously. Against one wall stood a long table with scattered tools. Small screws, pliers, tiny cogs—and in the center, an open pocket watch. Its hands moved, slowly, counterclockwise. Time was running backward. He picked it up carefully. At that moment, the large clockwork around him began to react. The first cog twitched. A pendulum swung. From the depths came a metallic sigh, as if the mechanism had slept – and now continued to dream. A whisper crept through the beams. "You are not the first." The voice came from nowhere. And yet it was there – calm, old, a little tired. "Not the last." It turned slowly. Everywhere only gears. Shadows. Light. No shape. No trace. But something was awake. Something was watching him. The cat hissed softly and jumped back to the floor. Its ears were laid back, its back slightly bent. But it did not flee. It stayed. Just like him. On a raised platform in the center, he spotted a chair. On it lay a coat, finely folded, with an embroidered emblem: a gear with an eye in it. Beside it, a book – open but empty. Only a sentence was carved in the margin: "Time does not pass – it decides." He swallowed. Then he looked up at the round window. It was fogged up from the inside, but as he approached, a face emerged in it. Pale. With alert eyes. For a moment he thought it was his own—but it was older. Familiar. And sad. Another sound. A clockwork, dull, deep. Then another. And another. Thirteen chimes.