Chapter 17 – TICK

Chapter 17 – TICK

The streets were quiet as Jack made his way through the city, his breath visible in the freezing air. Eventually, he reached the edge of a small, tucked-away park nestled high above the city's bustle—an open space hidden from most people's eyes. From here, the skyline stretched wide beneath a burning horizon, the sun slowly dipping beyond the tall silhouettes of buildings.

"What is this place? It looks really nice," Lune whispered, floating a little ahead of him. Her glowing form shimmered faintly in the evening light, her wide eyes brimming with curiosity.

"Just a spot I found a while ago," Jack replied, stepping onto the frosted grass. "Not many people come here. I like to visit whenever I want to train or clear my head."

He dropped his bag beside a small patch of dry grass and stood tall, facing the fading sunlight. The wind tugged gently at his clothes and ruffled his dark hair, but he hardly flinched. Cold like this didn't faze him anymore—it had long since become a familiar companion.

His eyes narrowed with determination. "The goal is to completely master the first move tonight. I'm not leaving until I get it right."

Lune hovered over and gently landed on the grass beside him. "Good luck, Jack. I believe in you," she said with a warm smile.

Without another word, Jack closed his eyes and took his stance. His body responded instinctively. The movements—etched into muscle memory—returned with ease. But even so, Lune occasionally interjected with small corrections, floating around him to adjust his footing or arm position.

Minutes passed, then blurred into hours. Jack's focus never wavered. Each motion flowed more naturally than the last, as if his limbs were finally beginning to dance to a rhythm he hadn't fully grasped before.

Sweat began to bead across his forehead despite the bitter air. His breath grew heavy, each exhale forming white clouds. With every deliberate swing and stance, his muscles rippled beneath his shirt, working hard under the strain of repetition.

Lune watched in awe, her mouth slightly open.

'My lord…' she thought. 'He looks so… cool when he's training like this. I can't get enough of it.'

A faint blush warmed her cheeks. She imagined Jack a little older, a bit taller, more mature—but the same intensity in his eyes. That image lingered in her head, perfectly overlapping the figure before her.

Time passed unnoticed. Jack's body kept moving, driven by a blend of stubbornness and focus. Until, finally, he brought the final movement to a close and let himself collapse onto the grass, breath heaving and sweat dripping from his chin.

"How long was that?" he asked between pants.

"Three hours and thirty minutes," Lune replied, eyes still locked on him.

"Not bad," Jack said with a small smirk.

'Seven and a half hours of training today,' he thought, glancing up at the starless sky. 'My stamina held up better than I expected. Not bad, especially considering I haven't been doing this daily anymore.'

The cold finally started to bite through his layers, creeping under his clothes and wrapping around his spine. He stood with a groan, grabbing his bag.

"Let's head back," he muttered, beginning the slow walk out of the park.

But then—

TICK.

Jack froze mid-step.

TICK.

He blinked, eyes darting left and right. The sound had come from just beside his ear—like a mechanical click, sharp and precise.

"What is that?" he whispered.

"TICK."

The noise echoed again. Jack's brow furrowed.

"Jack?" Lune called out softly, noticing his strange reaction.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?"

"TICK."

"That noise. A ticking sound. You seriously don't hear it?"

Lune tilted her head and listened carefully. The wind whistled faintly through the trees, and the distant murmur of traffic reached them from below—but no ticking.

"No… I don't hear anything. Are you sure it's not your imagination?"

"It's clear as day," Jack said, his voice lowering, eyes scanning the empty park. "It's coming from really close… right by my ear."

"TICK."

His eyes narrowed. He stopped looking around and slowly turned his gaze upward.

"…Above me," he murmured.

He looked up at the night sky—at The Clock. It hovered there like always, distant and godlike, watching over the world with cold indifference. But now, as he focused on it, the sound became unmistakable.

"It's coming from The Clock," he said aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

"The Clock?" Lune repeated with a puzzled look.

He zeroed in on the seconds hand, searching for movement—but there was none. It stood frozen, as it always did between skips.

TICK.

And yet, the sound was growing quicker. Sharper. Each tick hammering in his mind like a drumbeat.

What is going on? Jack thought, eyes squinting. Nothing looks off. But this sound—it's so real. Too vivid to be a trick. And Lune can't hear it…

"TICK."

His jaw clenched.

"Jack? Are you okay?" Lune's voice was soft but worried.

He didn't answer immediately. He stood still for nearly a full minute, eyes locked onto the floating celestial object. His heart thudded with a heavy sense of unease—an emotion he didn't feel often. But with each mechanical click, it intensified.

"Something is happening…" he said finally, voice grim. "Something very bad."

Lune hovered closer. "…What do you mean?"

"I've never heard The Clock tick before. Not unless it's about to skip."

"..."

"We're leaving. Now," he said, turning around without hesitation.

"O-Okay," Lune replied, stealing one last glance at The Clock before floating after him. 'The Clock is ticking… that shouldn't be possible. Not yet.'

The journey back to Jack's house was nearly silent. He didn't speak. He barely blinked. His gaze kept flicking upward toward the sky every few steps, as if expecting something—dreading it.

When they finally arrived, the house was quiet. The lights were out. Jack guessed his parents had already gone to bed.

He kicked off his shoes and hurried to his room without a word. Sitting at his desk, he turned on his computer and opened the browser, his fingers typing rapidly.

"What are you looking for?" Lune asked, floating in behind him.

"I've got a really bad feeling," Jack muttered. "Something's wrong. Seriously wrong. I need to know I'm just overthinking it."

He searched "The Clock's skip sound" and opened a recorded clip. As the audio played, his eyes widened slightly.

'It's the same. The exact same sound I've been hearing.'

Lune hovered closer. "Is that the sound?"

"Yes. And it's only getting faster." He turned to her, voice tight with concern. "Has this ever happened before?"

She frowned, then slowly shook her head. "Not that I know of. The Clock only ticks once every ten years—right before the skip."

Jack leaned back, rubbing his chin. His mind raced.

'The skip sound… If that's what I'm hearing, then…'

A sudden realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He snapped his eyes to the screen.

"No way…" he muttered.

With hurried motions, he clicked on the news tab. And there—right at the top of the page—was the headline that made his blood run cold.

Jack froze.

Eyes glued to the screen.

Breath caught in his chest.