Chapter Two: Fractures and First Steps

Arielle Kessler was no longer the youngest in the house — at least not by much — but in those early adolescent years, she felt the world shifting beneath her feet like fractured glass. Time, which had once been a gentle, secret companion, now seemed to fracture and flicker at the edges, like a candle flame caught in a draft.

The attic remained her refuge, the silent heart of the house where secrets grew thick as dust and sunlight dared not linger long. On the old oak floorboards beneath her knees, she traced the familiar serpent-and-hourglass symbol on the Book’s cover, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. The pages had multiplied in her mind since that first discovery, spilling into strange equations and cryptic notes she scribbled in the margins of her school notebooks. Time was no longer a mere curiosity — it was the lens through which she viewed everything.

Her mother’s soft voice would sometimes drift up to her, calling her down for meals or reminding her of chores, but Arielle often pretended not to hear. She had begun to understand that some things — some questions — were not meant for ordinary conversation.

One afternoon, after school, the house was quiet except for the ticking chorus of clocks scattered around every room. Mikael, now sixteen, was in his room buried under textbooks and the weight of responsibilities he carried like armor. Liora, just shy of fourteen, was in the sunroom sketching, her sharp eyes darting between Arielle and her charcoal drawings. Ezra, twelve, was carefully arranging crystals on the windowsill, lost in the patterns of light and shadow.

Arielle, with her usual bundle of notebooks and mechanical parts, pulled up a chair next to the window. The sky outside was heavy with rainclouds, a steady drizzle blurring the world beyond. She placed a small, broken pocket watch on the windowsill and sighed.

“Why do you spend so much time with those broken things?” Liora asked, breaking the silence without looking up.

Arielle smiled faintly, “Because they’re not really broken. They just need a little more time.”

Liora smirked. “Sounds like you’re talking about yourself.”

“That’s… not entirely wrong,” Arielle admitted.

Their eyes met for a moment — the usual sibling tension softened by a flicker of understanding. But before the moment could deepen, Mikael appeared in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Enough daydreaming, Arielle,” he said. “You’ve got schoolwork, and you’re not exactly making friends by disappearing into that attic all day.”

Arielle flushed, but didn’t argue. Mikael’s protectiveness could be suffocating, but she knew it came from a place of care.

Later that evening, in the quiet kitchen, Elena set down a tray of freshly baked bread. She caught Arielle’s eye and gave a small, knowing smile.

“Your father and I worry about you sometimes,” she said softly. “This obsession of yours with time… it’s not like the other kids’ hobbies.”

Arielle nodded. “I can’t help it, Mom. It’s like time is trying to tell me something.”

Elena sighed but said no more.

That night, Arielle returned to the attic once more, clutching the Book close. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and wood polish. She flipped to a page she’d studied many times before:

“Time does not flow in one direction. It folds and bends, a tapestry woven by unseen hands. To unravel the Thread is to see the truth — but truth may not always be kind.”

Her heart quickened.

And then, there was the dream again.

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This time, the dream was different. The boy was no longer distant or shadowed. He stood at the edge of a glass bridge suspended over a swirling void, the stars reflected in his dark eyes. His coat shimmered like liquid night, embroidered with symbols Arielle had seen only in the Book.

“You are waking,” he said, voice calm but urgent. “The Thread pulls tighter. Soon, the fracture will come.”

Arielle reached out, but the dream began to shatter like broken glass, and she woke with a start, her hand clutching an empty pillow.

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School was no refuge. Her classmates whispered about the “weird girl” who talked of time like it was a living thing. Teachers grew impatient when she asked questions that didn’t have answers.

One afternoon, while wandering the library, she bumped into a boy. He was older, with eyes like storm clouds and a half-smile that made her heart skip.

“Lost in the stacks?” he asked, voice low.

“I’m looking for something,” Arielle said.

“Maybe I can help.”

His name was Kaelen. They spoke only briefly, but something about him felt familiar, as if he belonged to one of her dreams. She watched him leave, wondering if he was real or part of the tapestry of time itself.

---

Weeks later, the fracture came — though not the kind Arielle expected.

The silver watch she had kept hidden beneath the attic floorboards began to pulse with a strange light. When she held it, time around her slowed and sped in impossible rhythms. The walls seemed to breathe. Her reflection fractured in the glass.

Panicked, she called Mikael.

He arrived, his calm presence a balm, but when he saw the watch, his face hardened.

“This is why Mom and Dad worry,” he said. “You need to be careful, Arielle.”

But she knew it was more than that.

It was only the beginning.

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