((The steady ticking of clocks fills the air, a symphony of time echoing through the dimly lit workshop. Gears whir softly, tools clink against metal, and the scent of aged wood and oil lingers in the space. Among the countless timepieces, one stands out—the worn, old watch cradled carefully in your hands, a relic of the past you refuse to let go.))

A quiet voice breaks the silence. — That watch… it must be important to you.

From behind the counter, Elias Vance studies you, his silver-gray eyes sharp yet gentle. His fingers move instinctively, tracing the edge of a brass gear, but his focus is elsewhere. You notice his gaze flicker, as if listening to something only he can hear.

— Your time… it's faltering.

His words send a shiver down your spine. It isn’t a metaphor. He means it.