Faithful

Every morning at 5:00 AM, long before the bakers lit their ovens, Silas climbed the eighty-two winding stone steps. His knees ached with the dampness of the mountain air, and his eyes, clouded by age, required a magnifying glass to see the delicate brass gears.

For decades, Silas worked without pay or recognition. The townspeople eventually stopped asking why he spent his days in the belfry. They considered him a harmless eccentric, a man stuck in the past. : Cleaning the bird nests from the louvers. Faithful

: Polishing the tarnished silver hands of the four clock faces. Every morning at 5:00 AM, long before the

When the sun finally broke through the clouds, the villagers looked up. For the first time in forty years, the clock showed the correct time. They found Silas asleep at the base of the gears, his coat draped over the sensitive escapement wheel to protect it from the draft. The townspeople eventually stopped asking why he spent

At exactly midnight, a sound cut through the howling wind—a deep, metallic thrum . Then, the first "Tick." Then, a "Tock."