Clockwork Kiss

Confrontation

I pulled away from Torian, sweeping everything into the box. I had to make sure Valerius and his agents didn’t get ahold of what we’d found. Torian’s hand wrapped around my arm, gentle but firm. “It is too late, Anya. You must hide.” He pulled me away, shoving me behind a shelf as the doors opened.

Two hooded figures, just like the one I’d seen in the ballroom entered. Torian drew his sword completely. The blade hummed, radiating a protective blue light. My heart hammered in my chest, the sound deafening. Torian’s voice as he taunted the agents and his low, rumbling chuckle sounded far away. It was like being submerged under water trying to listen to someone above.

I clasped my hand over my mouth, trying not to make a sound. Trying not to give way to the fact I was here.

Torian moved with an astonishing speed and grace. His sword clashed against a dark, metallic staff one of the figures wielded. The sound was a ringing shriek that reverberated through the quiet room.

“Valerius sends his shadows?” Torian taunted, his voice low and rumbling. “You waste your master’s resources.”

The fight was a blur of cold magic and steel. The archives, built for silence, became a deadly echo chamber. The first agent went down quickly, disabled by a precise cut from Torian’s blade. The second agent was different though. This one moved like liquid shadow, weaving around Torian’s defenses. The agent didn’t seem to aim to injure, instead they moved to restrain.

Suddenly, the floor beneath Torian’s boots flashed with a dull purple light. He roared in frustration as his arms locked to his sides, pinned by invisible, magical bonds. His sword hit the stone floor with a clatter, the light of the blade going dim. The second agent hadn’t been fighting, they had been setting a complex, magical snare.

The agent pulled out a coil of black, enchanted rope, and worked swiftly to secure an immobile Torian. “You speak too much, Lord Drakemoor,” they hissed, voice muffled beneath their hood. Torian struggled against the magical bonds, sweat forming on his sharp features. The magic was too strong though, he was utterly helpless.

My mind raced. I had protected the Temporal Lore, but I had no way of knowing how to navigate this world without Torian. I turned my back to the shelf and closed my eyes, unable to watch his capture. If I moved otherwise, I would reveal myself and the precious information I now protected.

The agent was still speaking, “Where did the mortal go with the key?”

“May the Ancient Darkness claim you,” he spat.

A cackle that made my blood run cold filled the room. Then, “Oh, you’ll speak soon enough.”

I turned back at the last second, peering around the corner as Torian was being carried away. We locked eyes and he sent me a silent plea: Run!

Torian disappeared, out of the smoke and dust of the ruined archive doors.

I waited until the last possible moment, until the sound of labored steps disappeared, fading into the distance. Then I collapsed onto the cold stone floor. I closed my eyes, pressing my hands to my face as I willed myself to keep it together.

I was alone, stranded in a magical realm I had no business being in, holding the lore that could save it. And the only person who knew my name was now a prisoner of the enemy.

The image of Torian’s terrified plea to run was seared into the back of my eyelids. Run. Run where? I knew nothing of this realm, and the enemy knew I existed. Plus, I had no idea where the key back to my home was.

Suddenly, the cold exhaustion of the floor seemed to melt away. The silence of the archives was replaced by the roaring of a fire and the sharp metallic strike of metal against metal.

I felt a dizzying shift, and I fell back, lying on the stone as a blinding white light flashed behind my eyes. I was no longer Anya, the curator. I was standing in a forge carved of ice, wearing rough leathers that smelled of pine. Before me was a figure standing over an anvil. A figure with my own hair and face, but with lavender eyes and long, sharp ears. Her features were also, somehow sharper, stronger, hardened by a millennia of solitude. She worked on a small, wooden figure.

“It is the only way to shield the heart of Aethelgard,” a voice echoed in my mind. Deep and booming, like Torian’s and yet somehow rougher. “The Temporal Key must be housed in a mortal shell and protected. You must seal it in the strongest clockwork and hide it in a world forgotten by magic. Guard it, guard it always Child of the Gates.”

The me that wasn’t me nodded her head as she carefully placed a shimmering core of pure light inside the nutcracker. Then she snapped the dark blue wooden cap closed. The pocket watch was attached by a delicate silver chain. I saw a man’s hand reach out, carefully tilting the guardian’s chin up. “Keep my family safe, keep this realm safe. Please.”

The vision dissolved as quickly as it came and I sat up again, sucking in air in a sharp painful breath. I knew two things with absolute certainty: I was the bloodline of the guardian and the nutcracker’s purpose was not to open a door, but to shield the key.