Ien wrapped his hand in cloth.
The spiral didn't hurt. But it pulsed—softly, like a second heartbeat. He didn't want anyone to see it.
The Archive around him was unchanged. The clerks still filed reports. Students still muttered over scrolls. No one noticed anything strange.
But Ien noticed everything.
Ink patterns on pages shifted when he wasn't looking. Shadows leaned in the wrong direction. Even the way people spoke felt slower, like he was hearing them through a thin layer of glass.
He hadn't slept. He didn't feel tired, either.
Then came the knock.
Three times. Slow. Measured.
Nobody ever visited his room.
He opened the door.
A man stood there—tall, wearing a black coat with clock-shaped buttons. His face was pale and sharp, his eyes silver like polished mirrors. Ien could see his own reflection in them, but the reflection showed only his shadow.
"I believe you've touched the Spiral," the man said calmly.
Ien froze. "Who are you?"
The man stepped inside without waiting. "No time for that. I'm what's left of a Watchman. Someone who no longer belongs to any timeline."
He touched the lantern on the wall. The flame froze in mid-flicker.
Literally froze.
Ien stared at it.
"You've awakened something," the man said. "That mark on your hand—it means you're tethered now. Anchored to a Path that no longer exists."
He pulled out a silver chain and handed it over.
A spiral charm hung from the end. Identical to Ien's mark.
"Keep this with you. When things stop making sense—or when people who died begin asking you questions—they're not hallucinations. They're echoes."
"Echoes of what?" Ien asked.
"Of wrong time. Of collapsed memory."
The man began to fade.
"Wait," Ien said. "Who's coming? Who's watching me?"
The man's last words echoed as his body unraveled into thin air.
"Don't trust anyone who remembers your name in a world where you don't exist."
Then he was gone.
And the lantern flame flickered like nothing had happened.