Eleanor’s steps echoed off the cobblestone streets as she made her way toward the heart of the city, where the air seemed to hum with secrets and whispers. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows that danced on the narrow alleyways and hidden corners. Her destination was an antiquarian shop reputed to be a trove of ancient knowledge and forgotten relics. The shop, nestled between a bakery and a bookstore, was a narrow, cluttered space that looked as though it had defied the ravages of time. Its facade, with its faded sign and peeling paint, hinted at the treasures within. A bell jangled softly as Eleanor pushed the door open, and she stepped inside, greeted by a wave of musty parchment and the scent of old wood. The shop was dimly lit, with shafts of sunlight piercing through dusty windows to illuminate rows of shelves overflowing with trinkets from every conceivable corner of the world. The walls were lined with shelves that bowed under the weight of ancient books, peculiar artifacts, and intricate curios. An old grandfather clock stood sentinel in one corner, its ticking a steady reminder of time’s passage. As Eleanor’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed a thin layer of dust covering many of the items, suggesting that the shop was seldom visited but well-loved. A soft rustling behind a velvet curtain caught her attention, and an elderly man emerged, his eyes sharp and curious beneath bushy eyebrows. His clothes were an eclectic mix of worn fabric and faded patterns, giving him an air of faded grandeur. His gaze was steady and knowing, as though he had seen more than his fair share of the world’s mysteries. “Good afternoon, Detective,” he said, his voice a dry rasp that reminded Eleanor of the crinkling of old parchment. “How may I assist you?” Eleanor was momentarily taken aback by his directness. “How did you know I’m a detective?” The old man’s smile was thin, almost secretive, as he studied her. “You carry the air of someone seeking answers. That, and the badge on your coat.” Eleanor glanced down, realizing she had absentmindedly pinned her badge to her lapel out of habit. She smiled at her own oversight. “I suppose that would give it away. I’m here because of this.” She carefully handed the pocket watch to him. The man took the watch with an air of reverence, as though he were handling a precious relic. He turned it over in his hands, examining every detail with a meticulousness that was almost ritualistic. His eyes narrowed as he read the inscription on the back. “Tempus Clavis Est,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is no ordinary timepiece, Detective. It’s a relic from a time long past, and it carries with it a heavy burden.” Eleanor’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?” “This watch,” the man continued, “is a Chronomancer’s tool. An artifact used by...