| The Broken Pendulum

༺ The Fractured City XI ༻

The city was caught between night and dawn.

A faint glow crept over the skyline, painting the shattered glass and metal structures with streaks of pale gold. The air was sharp with the chill of the fading night, and the silence of the hour made every movement feel heavier, more deliberate.

Rowan and the envoy lunged at each other.

The first clash was instant—Rowan's keris met the envoy's kusarigama with a metallic screech. Sparks flared in the dim light as the weapons clashed, their movements fast, precise. The envoy's chain lashed out, slicing the air where Rowan had been moments before. Rowan ducked, stepping forward in a blur, his keris aiming for the envoy's side. But the envoy twisted, parrying with the sickle end of his weapon, forcing Rowan back.

The battle was eerily silent—only the rhythmic clang of steel and the faint echoes of their footsteps on the wooden floor filled the empty space. Both fighters breathed in calculated, controlled motions. There was no shouting, no wasted movements—only the grim efficiency of two combatants who knew that a single mistake meant death.

The fight spilled toward the edge of the second floor. The envoy swung the chain again, and this time, Rowan miscalculated. The metal links wrapped around his wrist, locking his arm in place. A powerful yank sent him staggering forward, and in an instant, the envoy's knee struck his ribs with bone-cracking force. Rowan gritted his teeth through the pain, twisting his wrist free as his keris scraped against the envoy's mask.

Then—disaster.

The sudden shift in momentum sent both of them tumbling backward. The rotted wooden railing behind them shattered under their combined weight. Rowan and the envoy plummeted down the stairwell, limbs colliding against the stone steps as they crashed to the ground floor in a violent heap. Their weapons skittered away, lost in the darkness.

For a brief moment, both lay motionless, the only sound the faint creaking of the old wooden beams above.

Rowan moved first, his body screaming in protest. He barely had time to register the pain before the envoy was already on him. The fight resumed—barehanded.

The envoy struck first. A brutal jab toward Rowan's face. Rowan barely dodged, countering with a sharp elbow to the envoy's ribs. The envoy staggered, but only for a second. His hand shot forward, fingers curling around Rowan's throat. Rowan gasped, his vision tilting as he was slammed against the floor.

Rowan's instincts took over. He twisted, breaking the envoy's grip, and drove a knee into the assassin's gut. The envoy staggered back, and Rowan surged forward, slamming his fist into the envoy's jaw. The impact sent the masked figure reeling—but not down.

They both stood, panting, bruised, bleeding.

Their weapons lay just out of reach.

A single glance passed between them, an unspoken agreement. The fight wasn't over.

With the last reserves of their strength, they dove for their weapons. Rowan's fingers closed around the hilt of his keris the moment the envoy's hand grasped the chain of the kusarigama. The envoy swung first, the sickle slicing through the air, but Rowan sidestepped—just barely. The blade grazed his shoulder, but he ignored the pain.

Rowan lunged, his keris flashing in the dim light. The blade sank into the envoy's side. The assassin let out a breathless gasp, stumbling backward, his grip on the weapon faltering. Blood seeped through the fabric of his black uniform, staining the floor in thick, dark pools.

The envoy tried to stand, his breathing ragged. But his body refused.

Step by step, he stumbled back, each motion weaker than the last. His foot caught on the edge of the broken window. For a moment, time seemed to pause.

Then the glass shattered.

The envoy tumbled backward, vanishing into the morning light.

Rowan lay on the cold stone floor, too wounded to move, listening. A sickening, wet crunch echoed from outside.

The reinforcements arrived moments later, their heavy boots pounding against the floors. Rowan heard distant voices, orders being shouted. Someone was checking his wounds, but he barely registered it. His vision blurred, his body heavy.

Outside, the officers gathered around the envoy's corpse. His body hung limp, impaled on the jagged metal of the fence below. Blood dripped down the spikes, pooling on the cracked pavement beneath. One of the officers reached into the envoy's coat, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

They did not open it.

Later…

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air. Rowan sat on a bench in the medical room of The Chained Insurrection's headquarters, his body covered in fresh bandages. The pain lingered in his limbs, but it was dulled, distant.

A soft knock came from the door.

"Can we come in?" Viktor's voice.

Rowan gave a tired nod.

The door creaked open, and Viktor stepped in, followed by the old man. Elyssa wasn't with them.

"She's out investigating," Viktor explained, crossing his arms. His face was unreadable, but Rowan could see the tension in his posture.

The old man sat down beside Rowan, adjusting his coat with a sigh. "I never gave you my name."

Rowan turned to him. "What is your name?"

A pause. Then, the old man answered, "I am Elias."

Rowan studied him carefully.

"Why did the organization kidnap you?" Rowan asked. "I won't pry into your secrets, but I need to know."

Elias exhaled slowly. "I will tell you in the near future."

Before Rowan could press further, the door swung open again. Elyssa entered, holding a piece of folded paper. She was composed, but there was something uneasy in her expression.

"The now-perished envoy had this on him," she said, holding up the note. "We don't know what's inside yet."

Viktor took it from her, staring at the folded parchment in his gloved hands.

"For now, you guys should rest," Elyssa added, her gaze flickering to Rowan. "You look like hell."

Rowan let out a small, exhausted laugh but didn't argue.

Later, in his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the pocket watch on the nightstand. The shattered glass reflected the dim light, the hands still moving in their unnatural, reversed motion.

The gift from the Owl.

Rowan closed his eyes, his mind replaying the events of the night. The envoy's movements. The eerie silence of their fight. The look of inevitability before he fell. The note, still unread.

What had the Owl truly meant to send?

For now, Rowan didn't have the answer.

Eventually, sleep took him.

And the clock from the gift continued to turn.