Chapter 368
He Who the Ti Caresses
Yuun was sipping wine in silence, woven within the shadowy tendrils of reality. His eyes peered beyond the thin walls and into a tiny corner of the cosmos, landing upon a small world in the middle of nowhere, one woefully lagging behind, slowly clunking forward, awkwardly stumbling upon the universal truths.
He watched them struggle, the weave of ti clouding the imagery the cosmos saw. Though his faith was still lacking, he had just enough inspiration to give it one last attempt. The Last Clockmaker... it was a wasted title, on soone like him. He hated ti--despised it. Thought it useless. It was the greatest thief of them all, the ti. It stole and stole, and it never gave back. Never.
It was cold and uncaring, an unfeeling thing that never lived and never died. It was the permanence of it, Yuun knew. Everyone hated the ti, gods and mortals alike, and because of it... they hated him. And they hated those who ca before him. For they were the Clockmakers, the one of their kind, the ilk that even the One smiled upon.
The ti... the ti took favor with his bloodline, for so reason. It took a liking to one of his ancestors and bled into them the tiny traces. There can only ever be seven, and they can never age, and they can never die... unless by their own will. And by the will of another.
And he was the last--the last of the Clockmakers, the last of his people. There can never be another--he made sure of that. The wisdom of the hourglass would die with him, and the cosmos would tremble at the latching tether of ti. For most of his life, he despised it all--the Ti was what gave his bloodline their strength... but also what dood them.
Few were comfortable living next to an immortal, soone unbothered, soone who could bend the shape of nothing that nobody else could even see... and create miracles. They would trap boys and girls inside an invisible bubbles--and a second later, they would burst out grown n bordering on the strength of a Divine.
But there was a caveat, as always, with things that broke the laws of creation--that ti... had to co from sowhere. It did not exist in so vacuum, in so bubble, waiting to be tapped by his blood. They took ti from others, people and things and all of the in-between.
And they feared... they feared that truth. No one should have command over ti--not even the One. And yet... the Clockmakers they did. They even built a tower that depicted exactly how much ti they would use. A decade. A century. Millions and billions and even trillions of years. Entire worlds were undone by the flick of the Clockmakers finger.
However, no one from his family used the Clock selfishly. They were all humble hermits who had but a crate of wine and old, tattered, brown robes to their na. They wandered the cosmos in search of pure experiences, granting gifts to the potential stars that were dealt a deviled hand in life.
But wars would break out--wars spanning the cosmic years and lengths. And the Clockmakers could swing the tide as easily as flipping a page--they beca a weapon, or, at least, were in demand of becoming a weapon. But a Clockmaker would never undo ti for the reasons of warmongering. The ti... it was a cruel, yet tender thing.
Yuun knew, as did all his forefathers--the ti... was like a child. It was innocent. It knew only good, only curiosity. It never looked back, and it never looked forward, for it existed everywhere, at all tis, at all points. There was no past or present, no future, there was but a dot cycling within itself, into infinity.
Few claid to have stolen Ti, such as the Thief that the Divine introduced to him--but the Ti cannot be stolen. It only gives itself if it wants so. Even the Clockmaker cannot undo such a clause--though they can suggest and impart emotions upon it, the man never decides of the unmanned.
All the magic in all the worlds cannot make ti do. It is a perpetual thing, like a gear with no belts, spinning unto itself with neither energy nor wind. Over and over, over and over, ticking, blinking, creaking into the eternity.
For the Gift they were given, the Clockmakers had to endure that hell--forever listening to that gear spinning. It was never so loud as to cause a disarray, and yet never quite so silent as to be unheard. It was always there, like a hum, a hubbub, pecking away at the back of their minds.
They stood in line, all of them, overburdened by one, simple truth--they were the Clockmakers, but they did not wind up the clocks. They did not control ti, contrary to what most believed. For the simple lie... they were hunted down and slaughtered like animals.
Yuun hated ti nearly as much as he hated the sin of man--but he was bitter, enduring through spite. He wanted to eventually witness it all end--for it would all be undone, one day. The ti... always wins. It persist beyond all other dinsions. All other things end. It stays.
The end of ti--many spoke of it, though most in jest, but it would co. There would be the end, and then thered be a rebirth. And the ti would saunter on, leaving behind the ashes of what once was.
Looking at the Thief, Yuun pondered--whether to help or not. He was yet to make a choice; make it truly, at least. The man lacked the fire of many who wished to cleave the skies; he spent most of his days just like Yuun, drinking, lazying about, doing nothing. And yet, when it mattered, Yuun had seen, the man was far greater than the sum of his parts. His heart was free of darkness that plagued most; he was free-spirited, unchained, unbridled in his approach to life.
Every fight was the sa, though scales of them danced--though the man struggled, for so reason, Yuun never once thought hed fail and die. And it had nothing to do with knowing the future--future, after all, was rely a different even in present.
That faith was baffling, though not unfounded. There had been those, Yuun recalled, that stirred the sa flas within him, within the cosmos and even the ti itself. The kind that shined brighter than any light ever could... but the kind that always shined the shortest.
Their flas would alight the entirety of creation for the briefest flicker, leaving behind a legend that was never to be believed by anyone, and they would go. One, in particular, bothered Yuun. He hated him, as he hated the ti, and the sin of man.
He had seen the gears of creation, and he had seen beyond them, and he had conquered the cosmos--and one day... he vanished. He wasnt beaten, he wasnt defeated, he wasnt persuaded to turn coat... he simply disappeared, leaving behind the force that stood behind him to be butchered by the armies of the Divines.
Though the records nary speak of him, ntioning him rely in the passing as a foe that the Divine Halls easily conquered, so still rember. Rember the light that could not be touched, not by anyone.
It would be unfair to compare the little Thief with that man--after all, the latter glimpsed at the rods beyond those of the Thief. Though the Thief glimpsed at the ringed gears of the realitys machinations, that was as far as he went. That man... he gazed beyond that. He gazed upon the sight that only the One ever witnessed before. And he thusly disappeared.
Bah, why am I pissing myself off for no reason? he cursed, taking another swig of wine, reclining further back and sighing. His life was a tired one. He was a hermit hiding most of all from himself. He had no dreams, no goals, no loves--only anger and hate that burned through him. All agency he once had... he surrendered to that fire.
It would be nice, he mused, to change, at least for a brief mont. The last of the Clockmakers... should he die, there would never be another to asure ti. To caress it. To compel it. To dispel it. In a way, it would be nearly as satisfying as witnessing it all end. This way, at least, he would get to rest much earlier. He would get to close his eyes and all the whispers in his mind would simply... vanish.
Taking a deep breath, he sat up and tinkering with the reality--just a bit, just a tiny touch. But it would be enough. After all, just a re whisper from him could undo kingdoms and empires and even entire worlds. A tiny tinker... was already enough to give them a lot of ti. Ti, after all, was one thing a sword needed, he knew--for even if the boy was a sword right now, he was a dull one. An old one. One that was in need of repair, in need of sharpening, and in need of polish. And those things cannot be done over night. They require ti. And the ti... the ti was one thing he could give in spades.
I hope he doesnt disappoint , he mumbled.
He hasnt disappointed , yet, a familiar, feminine voice spoke. She was always there, in the back of his head, mingling with the other voices. She rarely spoke recently, and though he would never admit it... it was slightly lonely without her to pester him.
Your standard is utter crap, though, he said.
I am severely offended! My standard is pretty high, you know? For instance, in my eyes, you arent even handso! Thats how high of a standard for handso n I have!
Haah, the more I hear you talk, the more Im starting to regret ever agreeing to anything...
Alright, Ill shut up. Let know if you need anything. Keep hidden for now; I also might not be able to contact you for so ti. Im about to do so shit.
I dont wanna know. Bye.
Bye bye~~
With one voice gone, countless remained. But... it was lonely again. Just a tiny bit, though. Nothing he couldnt handle. For he could handle everything.
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