Ascending the Clocktower

WITH THEIR usual composed grace, Henrietta and Chisato entered the sitting room. Yulia and Zaynab flanked them—one quiet and pursing her lips, her hands overlapping her stomach, while the other was already smiling and releasing her butterflies.

Lucien was the first to straighten his posture upon seeing his fiancée.

“Good morning,” she greeted formally this time, curtsying in unison with her colleagues. “It is good to see you all here.”

Chisato inclined her head toward her old friends. “Thanks for agreeing to meet us this early. Lucien, you look well,” she said with a smile. “Remember we need to see about your treatment later.”

“Definitely,” he replied with a nod. “Sorry for the delay.”

Yulia’s stiff demeanor cracked when her lips curved slightly. “N-Nice seeing you guys again. I-I was wondering when you would be back.”

Sirius nodded. “If you’re here, it seems like we’ll be working together again,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Zaynab replied, “When Sister Chisato mentioned you guys needed some help, I couldn’t wait to volunteer!”

He exchanged looks with both of them. “Oh really? Thanks! It means a lot.”

Yulia smiled, the knots in her stomach coming undone with each passing sentence. “P-Plus I need to tell you about a book series I have been reading lately.”

Zaynab added, “And I’m curious about what you guys will think of the snickerdoodles I baked earlier.”

“Ooh,” Lucien chimed in. “Did you come up with a new recipe, Zaynab?”

She proudly nodded. “I used peanut butter this time, so I hope you’ll try them later!”

While they were exchanging pleasantries, Henrietta’s glance fell on Aisling, who wore a bright smile, but could perceive she was itching to meet the new faces in their company.

“Sisters,” she addressed the elixirists. “This red-haired cutie here is Aisling. She is a fellow companion of our dear brothers.”

Zaynab’s equally bright gaze landed on the Pawn. “Oh! So you’re Aisling. I thought you were new to the apothecary.” She approached closer to her and curtsied. “Zaynab bint Talib, Registered Elixirist. Nice to meet you!”

“Yulia Ivanova,” the silver-haired sister greeted, her tone calm as she also drew closer to curtsy. “Charge Elixirist. I-If you are acquainted with them, then you are also a friend to me.”

Aisling also curtsied with her uniform. “Aisling Ó Ceallaigh. Uh, black Pawn. Nice to meet you all!”

Yulia’s eyes narrowed as she placed a hand on her chin. “So it would seem,” she murmured.

Henrietta gestured gently toward the hall. “We must go now. Master Rysa is waiting for us.”

The group set off together, the sitting room receding behind them as the apothecary’s northern halls opened up ahead. They walked on beneath extensive stone arches, etched with fine, briar-like patterns that caught the light flooding in from narrow stained-glasses.

More sisters moved with practiced ease around them, dresses fluttering softly, crystal spheres drifting at shoulder height beside some to relay instructions between other elixirists. When they strode past Sirius and Lucien, they’d nod towards them with warm smiles. The distant chiming of altar bells echoed faintly, keeping time with the fortress’s heartbeat.

Aisling found herself walking beside Zaynab without realizing it.

“So, Aisling,” she said excitedly, “what are some of your favorite foods?”

“Potatoes,” she answered immediately. “Or really, anything with them in it. But I usually like to eat them in different ways.”

“Oh, nice! Potatoes can go with a lot of dishes. What’ve you made with them?”

“Yeah! Well, I’ve cut them into cubes and pan-fried them.”

“I see! Did you boil it first?”

“Of course!”

A few steps ahead, Yulia walked alongside Sirius in companionable silence for a time.

“Oh, I finished the treatise you lent me,” the Bishop said eventually. “The one on temporal symmetry.”

She glanced at him. “What did you think?”

“It was dense,” he admitted. “But worth it. The author’s theory on recursive mana loops was… unsettling.”

A corner of her mouth twitched. “That is what I liked about it. But lately, I have actually started reading something lighter.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “It is a trilogy native to my homeland in Iyaross about various romances taking place in a small village.”

“Oh, cool. I haven’t read much romance, but it sounds interesting.”

“Yes, I am hooked. Each book follows a different couple, and it is rumored to have a unified ending.”

“Really?” His eyebrows raised. “That’s different. Let me know the title so I can check it out. I also have a few recs if you’re interested.”

“Please!” she insisted, although her expression was still flat. But there was an upbeat charm beneath those sharp violet eyes.

Lucien, meanwhile, had fallen into step with Chisato. “How’ve things been in Pallethorpe?”

She huffed softly. “Everyone’s well, including your parents. And your sister’s wedding went smoothly too.”

Lucien cracked a smile. “Ah, well, good for her. The guy sounded like a pretty good match.”

She nodded. “I also told them about you and Sister Henrietta… They didn’t really seem to care.”

He clenched his jaw, his face defaulting to a flat expression. “That’s expected,” he exhaled. “Thanks for telling them for me.”

The hall widened as the seven approached the clocktower’s antechamber, the air subtly changing—cooler, sharper, threaded with a deeper, more resonant hum. Massive doors stood open, revealing the tower’s interior. Waiting just inside was a woman clad in white. Her uniform was unmistakably distinct from the apothecary sisters’: a long, structured dress of white fabric, trimmed with pale silver stitching in geometric, clocklike motifs. A fitted mantle rested over her shoulders, and a veil over her dark brown hair fell neatly from a simple headpiece, framing her face without obscuring it. At her chest hung a small, circular sigil etched with interlocking gears, one of which had a gold crown-like symbol—the mark of the Rexordo Voxarion. Contrary to the militant Crownswards, another faction belonging to this organization—the Clocksworns—tended on the clocktowers across the world.

The company was silent when Henrietta approached her first, her eyes unwavering from her icy blue gaze, as a layer of tension filled the space between them. Yet, as practically divergent the Elixirium was to the Rexarion, a filler of coordination and mutual respect still existed.

“Greetings, Clocksworn Dahlia,” the senior elixirist addressed, curtsying. “Master Rysa is expecting us.”

She glanced behind her to the other elixirists who gestured at the same time as Henrietta, and then to the trio behind them. A flicker of reluctance crossed her eyes, but she relented and inclined her head. “Yes, welcome, Sister. Please follow me and do not touch anything.” Her voice was even, measured, carrying the calm authority of someone well-versed in diplomacy amid strain.

The interior of the clocktower rose around them in a sweeping spiral of stone and brass. Gears—some massive, some delicately small—turned within recessed walls, their motion smooth and precise. Light filtered down from high above, fractured through rotating mechanisms into shifting patterns that crawled slowly along the steps.

As they climbed, doors opened unto tiered rooms: quiet studies, mana calibration chambers, spaces where other clocksworns moved silently about their duties. None lingered, but each acknowledged Clocksworn Dahlia with a subtle bow.

At a landing partway up, she raised her right Rook-marked hand. “Guided ascent,” she simply uttered.

The air shimmered in light green whisps, and the sensation of movement changed—not faster, but lighter, as if the tower itself had decided to carry them the rest of the way.

They emerged into a high, circular chamber bathed in morning light—the Clocksoath’s Studio.

Wide windows and open archways revealed the entirety of the fortress below—the ordered geometry of Rudbeckia Apothecary’s grounds, the distant fields stretching toward the horizon. A balcony wrapped around the tower and burgundy banners stirred gently in the breeze. The room itself bore signs of both work and lounge: a desk crowded with scrolls and instruments, a sofa with two armchairs on either side, a lamp desk and gramophone, and a bookshelf behind the desk with a grandsovereign clock beside it.

One floor above, visible through an open aperture in the ceiling, lay the Clockskeep—the heart of the tower. Each wall was a clockface, their hands moving in perfect synchrony, while a large tourbillon turned. Sunlight shined radiantly upon its blessed and sophisticated metalwork responsible for providing mana throughout the apothecary.

Dahlia bowed to the group. “Clocksoath Rysa will see you shortly.”

The elixirists, including Aisling, curtsied again, while Sirius and Lucien returned the respectful gesture with a bow.

They could feel the resentment this clocksworn harbored for them as she briefly glanced into their eyes when striding past them. Whether it was because of their forsaken nature or the fact that they challenged the crownswards in the past, they’d never know. And they’d never ask. But they knew the Rexarion’s grudge about them was still lingering.