Morning carved the fog into ribbons. The town square bustled beneath the stalled clock face, market stalls shivering with penny flags and frying batter. Nari clenched a folder of schematics to her chest, cheeks still pink from the night’s miracle. (If they hear Aro sing, maybe they’ll forgive me for the accidents… the misfires… the time I flooded the guild hall with steam.) Keita marched beside her, chewing on a skewer of soy-glazed fish. “You ready to get booed?” he grinned. “Because I brought earplugs.” She huffed. “I brought proof.” On the makeshift stage, Nari connected a set of humming cables to Aro’s chest port. He watched the crowd, hands folded with careful, almost ritual calm. “Nari,” Aro said, voice a little stronger, “if they fear me… you can turn me off.” She flinched. “Don’t say that.” A pause stretched. Keita stepped forward, lifting a metal coil into the sunlight. “This resonator picks up the harbor’s frequency. He’s not a monster—he’s a mirror.” The mayor scoffed, folding his arms. “And if the mirror cracks?” Sweat gathered at Nari’s temple. “Then I fix it,” she whispered. “I always do…” Aro sang—not words, but a tide-song, a cathedral of bells in slow bloom. The market hushed; fishmongers lowered knives, children leaned on crates, even the mayor’s scowl faltered. Then the clock hand lurched, slamming forward. A gust of copper-scented wind rippled banners. One by one, the town’s pocket watches clicked open on their own. Nari’s eyes widened as her blueprint pages fluttered—covered in diagrams she hadn’t drawn, lines spiraling toward a symbol she didn’t recognize. Keita grabbed her wrist. “Nari… your plans just rewrote themselves.”

By dusk, the harbor sang back in earnest. The old lighthouse thrummed, beams slicing violet across the rising tide. Nari spread the newly changed schematics on the pier, heart pounding. (It isn’t sabotage—it’s a map.) “The harbor’s engine,” she breathed, eyes shining. “It’s under the clock. The city runs on more than gears… it runs on memory.” Keita knelt beside her, jaw tight. “If we start it, we can’t control what it remembers.” He glanced at Aro, who stood facing the water, wind tugging at silk-thin ribbons of light leaking from his chest grille. “What do you want, Aro?” Aro turned, his voice steady for the first time. “To stop being a secret.” He stepped to the edge, fingers splayed. “To give your town the song it lost.” Nari’s hands shook as she fit the final regulator into place on his chest. “If this goes wrong, they’ll blame you… and me.” He reached up, surprisingly gentle, touching grease-stained threads on her glove. “Then let them blame me alone.” She swallowed hard. “Idiot,” she whispered, a tear slipping free. “We started this together.” The pier vibrated as the clock struck—not time, but a chord. Waves rose, forming a corridor of water that reflected old scenes: lovers dancing on the quay, workers cheering at launch, a child tossing a paper boat. The town’s lights aligned in a spiral that matched Nari’s pages. Keita, breath caught, flicked his compass open; its needle spun, then settled, pointing straight at Aro. “It’s choosing you,” he said. Aro stepped into the waterlight, body dissolving into a thousand glints that rose and arced toward the clocktower. He looked back once, lips shaping a silent thank you. Nari reached out—fingers inches from his—and the harbor answered with a final, gentle chime. The clock resumed its steady tick… and Aro’s voice lingered, everywhere at once.