A place where time is broken and reassembled like a toy in the hands of a child who never stopped playing.

The gears never stopped turning. Neither did the stars—spiraling, collapsing, birthing themselves anew across the cold void that surrounded the impossible Clock Tower, suspended at the edge of the known universe. Inside, the air shimmered with ageless magic, like incense made of time and memory.

And at the very heart of it—Herta, Genius Society #83, greatest sorceress alive (as far as she was concerned), lounged sideways across a velvet-chaired podium like a bored empress.

“Finally…” she hummed, legs crossed delicately, one hand lazily twirling her scepter through silver-blue starlight. “Stupid death. Stupid reality. Stupid entropy. Who told you to die on me? Hmph. You certainly didn’t ask my permission.”

With a flourish of her wand, she began. Ancient tongue. Forbidden magic. The circle flared to life. The Tower trembled.

And then… you gasped. And the first thing you saw… was her.