The forest still whispered the Conductor’s echo.

The air was thick with aftermath, yet lighter than before. The Palindrome Tone moved gently now, like breath restored after strain. It hummed in the bark, the roots, the soil beneath their boots. The Mechanic heard it not as sound, but as a pulse that kept time with his heart.

They followed the dirt path where the forest opened just enough to frame a view ahead. Between branches heavy with dew and mist, a clocktower rose. Bronze and brass caught the weak sunlight in fractured reflections. Its gears turned slowly against the horizon, marking a rhythm older than the city below.

The team approached in silence. Jynx trotted ahead, paws soft against the ground, her tail flicking with curiosity. Echo walked beside the Mechanic, head tilted upward toward the tower’s distant spire. Rivet hopped at a steady pace behind them, every click against the path perfectly timed, a small metronome guiding them forward.

The Mechanic stopped at the edge of the clearing.

There it was. The tower stood like a monument to time itself. Vines wrapped its base, but its design was unmistakably Clockwright. A masterpiece both functional and philosophical. It was not built to tell time. It was built to remember it.

“Axis was once alive here,” the Mechanic said quietly. “They must have come here to listen.”

Echo’s eyes dimmed and brightened as if to agree. The Palindrome Tone resonated faintly inside his core.

They crossed through an open gate of wrought iron. Its hinges sighed at their passing. Inside the courtyard, lanterns flickered with a slow amber rhythm. The walls of the tower were lined with carved plates of brass, their engravings darkened with age. Pillars stood tall and narrow, each topped with a dimly glowing sconce. The light reflected along the polished floor, leading the eye forward to the grand clock face that filled the far wall. Its glow was pale and circular, breathing faintly like the moon behind a veil.

The Mechanic stepped closer. His reflection appeared warped in the clock’s glass, surrounded by gearwork and the faint pulse of the Tone. Something above called to him. A pull, not from sound but from resonance. His eyes traced upward along the wall and found a brass elevator caged in glass, surrounded by spiraling gears and rails that climbed toward the unseen top of the tower.

“How do we reach it?” he murmured.

Rivet tilted his head. Then, without hesitation, he bounded toward the far corner of the hall. He landed beside a small, half-hidden control panel built into the base of a pillar. With careful precision, he tapped a rhythm across its brass surface. The panel clicked, lights flickered, and deep within the tower, gears began to move.

The elevator came to life. Pistons rose from their slumber. Cables tightened and whirred. The glass carriage descended slowly, a soft hiss of steam marking its rhythm. When it reached the floor, the doors opened with mechanical grace.

Jynx was the first to step inside, inspecting the corners as if ensuring it was safe. Echo followed, his reflection multiplying endlessly in the glass. Rivet hopped in, settling like a conductor taking position for the next movement. The Mechanic entered last. The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise.

Outside the glass walls, the tower’s gears turned in layered harmony. Teeth interlocked, chains rotated, and shafts spun in rhythm. The Palindrome Tone hummed through every motion, harmonizing with the ascent. The Mechanic watched the reflection of his face against the glass… for a moment, the image flickered. He saw another version of himself staring back. Not broken. Not questioning. Just becoming.

When the elevator reached the top, it settled with a soft hiss of pressure. The doors opened to reveal a grand hallway, lined with the same brass and shadowed light as below. But here, the air felt different. Lighter. Sacred.

Plaques covered the walls. Intricate design plans etched in relief. The Mechanic stepped closer and traced the lines with his finger. The blueprints depicted flying machines: blimps and airships powered by steam and magnetized gears. Some were sketched mid-flight above floating landscapes, others surrounded by symbols of the Tone.

Jynx leapt onto a nearby pedestal, sniffing at a faint glow emanating from the far end of the hall. Echo followed the light, his steps soundless. Rivet croaked softly and turned his gaze toward the same point. At the center stood a pedestal of polished stone, supporting an ornate box. The lid was gilded and inscribed with script unlike any language known to the Mechanic. The symbols pulsed faintly with the same rhythm as the Tone.

The Mechanic approached with reverence. He placed a hand on the lid and felt a vibration travel up his arm… subtle, warm, familiar. He lifted the lid slowly.

Inside rested a compass, golden and alive with quiet light. Its face shimmered like liquid metal. The needle did not point north; it turned in smooth, deliberate motion, aligning itself toward Echo’s core, then Rivet, then Jynx, before finally settling, unwavering, toward the Mechanic’s chest.

He exhaled. “It points… to truth.”

The compass spun once more, faster this time, then stopped. The glow from its rim expanded until the hall itself seemed to breathe with it. The Palindrome Tone synchronized perfectly. An octave higher, clear and serene. The Mechanic felt something shift inside him, a weight he had carried since the Conductor’s distortion. Gone. The doubt had lived beneath his ribs like rust. Now it was dissolving. He felt clarity. Not the absence of confusion, but the presence of direction.

Rivet croaked once, satisfied. Jynx tilted her head as if approving. Echo’s core pulsed violet in rhythm with the compass. The Mechanic smiled faintly. “You’re right. It doesn’t tell us where to go. It tells us how to move.”

He slipped the compass into his jacket pocket, its glow dimming to a soft pulse. Behind him, a distant clank reverberated through the walls. The gears above began to turn again, and ahead, a pair of massive French doors creaked open. Warm light poured into the hallway.

The team stepped forward together. They walked past walls adorned with more intricate mechanisms. Rotating gears nested like arteries, each turning in careful sync with the Tone. Pillars stretched upward, etched with the language of the Clockwrights. Every lamp glowed like a candle in stained glass. The air was alive with motion, yet peaceful.

“This tower isn’t just architecture,” the Mechanic said quietly. “It’s a body. Every piece of it moves to one rhythm.”

Echo nodded. Jynx purred softly. Rivet hopped onto the nearest gear and let it carry him upward in a slow, circular ride before landing gracefully on the floor ahead.

They reached the opening at the end of the hall. It was vast. A chamber so large it could house creation itself. In its center, a platform extended outward, lined with suspended chains and docking rails. The far wall was made entirely of glass. Beyond it, clouds drifted in golden light. The Mechanic moved closer until he could see it. The horizon revealed the continuation of Axis, a floating city suspended among the clouds.

Jynx leapt onto the railing and gazed outward, her goggles catching the glow of the skyline. Rivet landed beside her, croaking softly, his reflection tiny against the expanse. Echo stepped beside the Mechanic, his core shining like a second sun.

The Mechanic looked to his companions, and they met his gaze with the same understanding. No one spoke, but the meaning was shared in full: they were meant to build. The clues had been there all along. The blueprints etched into the brass plaques, the vast empty chamber waiting like a heartbeat paused between beats, the open sky calling through the glass.

Jynx’s tail flicked once, decisive. Echo’s violet core pulsed brighter, reflecting against the polished floor. Rivet hopped forward, his small metallic croak steady and sure, marking time for the moment’s resolve. The Mechanic placed a hand over his jacket pocket where the Gilded Compass rested. It hummed with quiet intent, as if agreeing. They had direction now… not north, not destination, but purpose.

Beyond the balcony, the sky stretched wide and unbroken. The floating city of Axis glimmered through the clouds, its towers rising like brass constellations. Steam drifted from distant spires, catching the sunlight in ribbons of gold. They stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on the city above, and in that shared stillness came certainty. They would build the vessel that carried them there. They would rise.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of oil, rain, and promise. Somewhere deep within the tower, gears began to stir, answering the decision already made. The compass glowed once in the Mechanic’s pocket, a single pulse of affirmation.

And together, with purpose renewed, they began to plan their ascent.