The City in the Clock Housee

More about The City in the Clock Housee

The sun sank like a flaming crystal behind the peaks. Mist streamed through the valleys as if the clouds themselves were trying to touch the ground. Amidst the mountains, however, something sat enthroned that didn't belong there—yet older than stone and star. A clock, as large as a fortress, was set into the rock. Its lid stood open, and inside revealed a breathtaking sight: a city. Towers of golden stone rose, adorned with bridges, domes, and winding staircases. Lights burned in countless windows, as if night itself had fled within their walls. Streets lined with statues led to palaces whose gates stood wide open, and high above it all stretched a dome of glass and bronze, suffused with blue starlight that didn't come from the sky. Legends called it the Clock House—a city that existed only as long as the clock remained open. Some said it was a prison for forgotten kings, others, a sanctuary for those fallen from time. But few had ever seen it, and even fewer had left it alive. That evening, a stranger stood at the edge of the open clock. His gaze wandered over the stairs that led down and over the gates that seemed to call to him. The wind carried the echo of voices—conversations, laughter, music. A city full of life, hidden in a shell that should never have existed. He entered. The ground was warm beneath his feet, as if the city itself breathed. People—or beings that resembled people—walked past him without acknowledging him. They wore robes of silk, helmets of brass, and their eyes shone like little moons. Each step echoed through the streets, and yet he felt invisible, as if he were only a shadow in their world. He stopped in front of the largest palace. Above the gate was a clock, its hands running backward. From within came singing, a chorus of voices no human had learned. He followed the sound and entered. Inside, a hall of pure glass awaited him. A throne hovered in the center, and upon it sat not a figure, but a flame that transformed into ever new forms: now a woman, now an old man, now a child. When it spoke, the hall trembled. "You have entered, stranger. But do you know what kind of place this is?" He shook his head. "This is the city of possibilities," the voice continued. "Every tower you see is a life unlived. Every square, every song, every breath belongs to a story that has not been written. We preserve it until someone comes who can carry it." The flame rose, reaching toward him, and in its fire he saw images: himself, but different. A king, a beggar, a traitor, a hero. Lives he had never lived and yet could lead. "Choose," the voice commanded. His heart pounded. He understood that he couldn't leave the city without accepting one of the options.