Testimony of Chronal Dust

Seraphina's fingers brushed against the cool glass of the Time Dust jar, feeling the weight of its significance. The watchmaker had led her into his workshop, a place filled with ticking clocks and strange, half-finished timepieces. Each clock seemed to run on a different rhythm, its ticks and tocks not in sync with any other, creating an unsettling feeling as though time itself had been shattered. The air was thick with the scent of metal and old paper, and the walls were adorned with maps of forgotten histories, each map showing moments in time that had long since passed.

In the center of the room, the watchmaker stood still, his face partially obscured by the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. He had an agelessness to him, as though he existed beyond the boundaries of time itself. His gaze, however, was sharp—keen and piercing, as if he could see through her very soul.

"This," the watchmaker said, holding the jar carefully, "contains the essence of time's passage—the Chronal Dust. Each grain represents a moment, a breath, a heartbeat. The moments of death, in particular, carry the weight of everything. Every time a life ends, a grain of dust is formed, a silent witness to that moment. These moments are preserved, recorded, but the most fascinating part is that they can be viewed."

Seraphina stood there, caught between awe and disbelief. She had fought, bled, and struggled to understand the forces that shaped her life, but this—this was something different. Something far more elusive.

"You're telling me," she began cautiously, "that you can see the moments when people die? You can see their final breaths?"

The watchmaker nodded, his lips curling into an unreadable smile. "Not just the deaths, Seraphina. The dust contains all things—love, betrayal, hope, despair. But death leaves behind the most profound trace. The truth of a life is often revealed at the end. That's why I use the dust—to understand the full story. And you, Seraphina, have a unique connection to it."

Seraphina felt a shiver crawl up her spine. "What do you mean by that? What does it have to do with me?"

The watchmaker reached out slowly, opening the jar with a quiet twist. As soon as the lid was removed, a soft, golden mist floated into the air. The particles moved like tiny stars, swirling around as if alive. Seraphina could feel the pull of it, a magnetic force drawing her closer to the jar. There was something deeply familiar about it, something that resonated with her on an unconscious level.

"Let me show you," the watchmaker whispered.

He lifted the jar closer to her face, and the dust began to settle into intricate patterns. She blinked, and suddenly, the air around her shifted. Images flickered to life, forming from the golden dust like a mirage. She saw herself—each version of herself—across different moments, different times. She saw her younger self running through fields, her older self standing on a battlefield, her face hardened by years of pain. She saw the final moments of each life. Each death left behind a trail of dust that was unique, a record of her passing.

But then, the images grew darker. The last version of herself was missing. A void where her death should have been.

"What is this?" Seraphina asked, her voice shaking as she pointed at the empty space in the swirling dust. "Where is my death? Why can't I see it?"

The watchmaker didn't answer immediately. He studied the patterns with a quiet intensity, his brow furrowed. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Your death is missing from the records, Seraphina. It doesn't exist. Or, rather, it has been erased. Perhaps it's a sign that your death is yet to come, or it's a product of something more sinister. A force that wants to deny you your rightful end."

Seraphina's heart began to race. She had never felt more vulnerable, more exposed. "What does it mean? Why can't I see it?"

The watchmaker's gaze grew distant, almost sorrowful. "Some moments in time are too powerful to be recorded, some destinies are too important to be left behind. Your death, Seraphina, is more than just a moment—it is a crossroads, a key to understanding something far greater."

The room seemed to grow colder as the weight of his words settled over her. The dust swirled more erratically now, as if protesting the absence of her final moment. Seraphina couldn't shake the feeling that her fate was not just uncertain—it was being hidden from her.

"What if I don't want to face it?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. "What if I don't want to know?"

The watchmaker looked at her, his eyes softening. "You don't have to face it yet, Seraphina. But one thing is certain: you cannot escape time. And time will always find a way to collect its due."

The dust continued to swirl around them, its light growing dimmer with every passing second. Seraphina felt a strange peace settle over her, as if she had been given the truth, but not the full understanding. The missing piece—her death—was out of reach. But it was there, waiting, and it would find her when the time was right.