After his conversation with Nazar, Antem found it hard to settle. He returned to his room, where the walls felt too tight, and every tick of the clock was unbearable.
He sat on the bed, pulling out the strange sphere he had discovered a few weeks ago in the ruins of an old mechanism near the clock tower.
The sphere was made of metal, yet it seemed almost alive. Its surface bore thin lines that resembled the outlines of a labyrinth. Upon close examination, they began to glow with a faint blue light, seeming to respond to his touch. But what was it? And why did he feel as if time slowed down while holding it?
Antem traced a finger along one of the lines, and suddenly, a sound echoed in his mind—a deep, resonant tone that rang in the void. A vision flashed before his eyes: the clock tower, but in ruins, its spires scattered, and the pendulum frozen in mid-air.
He recoiled sharply, dropping the sphere from his hands. It fell to the floor but didn’t roll away—instead, it hovered in the air, spinning around its own axis. The blue light intensified, and the room filled with a soft humming sound.
Antem felt something changing. The space around him began to blur, as if the boundaries of reality were dissolving. His heart raced, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sphere.
“What are you?” he whispered, but received no reply.
The world around him began to shift. He was no longer in his room. Before him, the tower reappeared, but now it was much closer. Its mechanisms wheezed and groaned like worn metal, and the pendulum swung so fast that it was barely visible.
“This is not a dream…” Antem murmured.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden feeling. He felt a cold breath on his back. Turning around, he saw a figure in a dark cloak standing in the shadows. Its face was hidden, but he could clearly see its eyes—cold as ice.
“You weren’t supposed to touch that,” a low voice echoed. “It’s not for one like you.”
“What is this sphere?” Antem exclaimed, struggling to mask his fear. “What is it doing to me?”
“It shows the truth,” the figure replied, stepping closer. “But truth is a weapon you cannot wield. Let it go before it’s too late.”
Antem clenched his fists. He could no longer live in this world without answers.
“No,” he said firmly. “If this is the truth, I want to know. Even if it destroys me.”
The dark figure paused and then slowly tilted its head, as if assessing him.
“Then prepare for the consequences,” the voice said, fading into the air along with the figure.
Antem was left alone. The sphere fell to the floor again, now motionless. But he knew: this moment had changed everything.
There was no going back.