Chapter Eight: The Clock Tower

After feeling the hardness at her back, Lily slowly lowered her arms and legs until she was lying completely flat. Only then did she confirm that she was indeed on a strange, invisible platform with some elasticity. Using her hands for support, she gradually sat up. The first thing that caught her eye was the astonishingly large sky, where three moons hung bright and full.

Such a scene could never be found on Blue Star. Lily’s mouth dropped open in awe.

“This is too beautiful…” Lily stood up, wanting to get closer to those three moons in the sky.

But almost immediately, something caught the edge of her vision—an odd detail she couldn’t ignore. She turned her head to the left to see what it was and, at the sight, was so startled she stumbled back two steps and plopped down once again on the strange, transparent yet springy surface.

Not far before her, a vast, indescribable clock face loomed. Its design was reminiscent of the landmark in Dunlun City—Big Ben—yet it seemed even more ancient, carrying with it a sense of age and even decay that surpassed the centuries-old clock tower.

The dial was a creamy white, marked with symbols Lily couldn't decipher. They looked like blocky characters from the Summer Kingdom—why block characters again?

Even the hands of the clock were odd… No, calling them “hands” wasn’t quite right. Squinting, Lily realized with a shock that they were actually formed by rows of wooden horses—no fewer than seven, no more than twelve—arranged to mimic hour, minute, and second hands.

She couldn’t say how she knew, but she was certain: the horses, so lively and spirited, their manes flying as if galloping, were made of wood. The thought herself struck her as inexplicably bizarre.

Each time the “minute” or “second” hand met the “hour” hand, the wooden horses would rearrange themselves, swiftly splitting up and regrouping without ever disrupting the passage of time, creating new hands with a dazzling precision.

Surrounding the dial was an immense, intricately decorated clock tower. Lily hardly knew how to describe its architecture. Compared to Big Ben, it lacked many familiar features, but it reminded her of the illustrations she’d seen as a child—towers like the Yellow Crane Tower and the Wild Goose Pagoda from the Summer Kingdom.

Tracing the tower’s structure with her eyes, Lily suddenly looked up. She had nearly forgotten she was suspended high above the ground, standing on a transparent, mysterious platform—she really didn’t dare to look down.

Yet, none of this stopped her from marveling at the spectacle before her. Who in the world could create such an awe-inspiring wonder?

There was nothing like this in the human world as far as she knew. Such a structure could not have been built by human hands, Lily decided.

“Could gods truly exist?” The idea was hard for her to accept.

Because of the orphanage’s unique environment, children were given theological lessons alongside reading and writing, and taught from the Scriptures. But theology was Lily’s least favorite subject—she simply didn’t believe in gods.

Lost in thought, she kept her gaze on the majestic, breathtaking clock tower, wanting to stand once more. She couldn’t just sit here forever; she needed to figure out where she was.

But as soon as she got to her feet, a deep, ancient bell sounded, echoing all around her, as if traveling from antiquity to the present.

At the same instant, a terrible, wrenching pain seized her chest—it felt as though her heart and lungs were being violently twisted together.

She lost her balance and fell again onto the transparent ground, clutching her chest as her face turned from red to ashen. No sound escaped her lips, her legs thrashed weakly, and then everything faded to black.

Far beyond the horizon, out of her sight, a star suddenly appeared in this world, trailing a long comet tail as it leapt through space toward Lily. It passed through her clasped hands, emerged from her back, circled around, and finally settled upon the back of Lily’s hand, where it slowly faded away.

Silence fell—so utter that the drop of a pin would echo.

Suddenly, Lily’s eyes flew open. She gasped for breath, her eyes bloodshot and her mind a blank slate.

“What… what just happened to me?” Her memory was fragmented.

A dull ache in her chest helped her piece things together—a deep, ancient bell… Had she heard it?

Then… then she’d felt something rip through her chest…

A shiver ran through Lily; she didn’t dare dwell on it any longer. The memory was too unpleasant to revisit.

Taking a deep breath, Lily tried once more to sit up. Until now, she hadn’t managed to move a single step by her own will on this platform—this world was far too unfriendly.

Suddenly, a trumpet call tore through the silence, catching Lily’s attention. Instinctively she looked around for the source, only to realize that her surroundings had changed.

The ancient, majestic clock tower had vanished. In its place was what appeared to be a battlefield.

Lily recognized it as a battlefield because, in the distance, two armies faced each other—one in armor of vivid red, the other in a blue deeper than the sky itself. Even the horses were armored and draped in matching colors.

“If only Stephenson were here, he’d tell me exactly what shades of red and blue those are,” Lily thought.

At the head of each army, a general rode forward—one in red, one in blue—both astride tall steeds. In perfect unison, they drew their swords, raised them high, and swept them forward, their movements so identical it was as if the two were mirror images.

The sight filled Lily with a strange sense of discord, but before she could pinpoint the reason, the soldiers on both sides charged. In an instant, the red and blue waves crashed together, merging into a single, indistinguishable mass.