The eastern quarter was a part of the city most people avoided at night, and for good reason. Its narrow streets twisted like the warped ribs of some great dead beast, lined with buildings that leaned inward as if conspiring over the secrets below.
Lau Rhen's steps were soundless now, his qi weaving into his body in a way that suppressed his presence to almost nothing. A stray cat darted out from behind a trash bin, startled by something only it could hear.
The air here was heavier—not with fog, but with the scent of rust and the faint, metallic tang of qi disturbance.
The clocktower loomed ahead. Once, it had been the pride of the district, its bronze bells calling merchants to the market square. Now, its hands were frozen at 3:17, and the cracked face reflected the moonlight like a blind eye.
He didn't go straight to the entrance.
Instead, he stopped ten paces away, scanning the surroundings without moving his head. Shadows that should have been still shifted faintly. The watchers were here again—but fewer this time. He counted only three.
Three meant they weren't here to kill. They were here to… observe.
Lau Rhen stepped forward and pushed the heavy wooden door open.
It groaned like something in pain.
Inside, the air was cold and smelled faintly of old paper and mildew. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and dust motes drifted in the shaft of moonlight spilling from a high window.
He didn't call out.
Instead, he walked straight toward the central spiral staircase, his fingers brushing the old iron railing. As he ascended, faint, rhythmic sounds began to reach him—like someone tapping a stick against stone in a slow, deliberate pattern.
When he reached the top floor, he found Shen Qiye waiting.
The boy stood in front of the massive clock face, its fractured glass revealing the silver night beyond. His back was to Lau Rhen, but he spoke without turning around.
"You came."
"You asked," Lau Rhen replied.
Shen Qiye turned then, his expression more serious than before. "Before we start—tell me how much you know about the watchers."
Lau Rhen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Enough to know they're not bound to this realm. And enough to know you're not the one controlling them."
For a moment, Shen Qiye's gaze sharpened, but then it softened slightly. "Good. Then I won't waste time."
He gestured to a table in the corner. On it lay several sheets of old parchment, each covered in complex diagrams—spirals within spirals, strange runic lines intersecting at impossible angles. Lau Rhen stepped closer, scanning them in silence.
"The watchers," Shen Qiye said, "are only the messengers. They don't act on their own. They serve the one who stirs the veil."
Lau Rhen's gaze lifted from the parchments. "And who is that?"
Shen Qiye's voice dropped to a whisper, though they were alone. "We call him the Architect."
The air in the room seemed to tighten, as if the name itself carried weight.
Before Lau Rhen could reply, a sound split the silence—a sharp, resonant crack from somewhere below.
Shen Qiye's head snapped toward the stairs. "They've found us."
Lau Rhen's lips curved slightly—not into a smile, but into something colder. "Then let's see if they're worth my time."
***
The crack echoed through the hollow interior of the tower, followed by the sound of wood splintering.
It wasn't hurried—it was deliberate. Whoever had entered wasn't afraid of being heard.
Lau Rhen shifted slightly, moving to the side of the staircase so the shadows cloaked half his figure. Shen Qiye tensed beside him, one hand slipping into his sleeve, likely reaching for whatever talisman or weapon he carried.
The steps below creaked.
A single figure emerged from the gloom—a man, if the silhouette could be trusted, dressed in loose, dark robes that trailed along the steps. His face was obscured by a hood, but beneath it, something glimmered faintly, like a strip of metal where skin should be.
When he spoke, his voice was not entirely human—there was a faint, distorted echo, as if another voice were speaking in unison.
"Two who should not meet… have met."
Shen Qiye's fingers twitched, but Lau Rhen raised a hand, silently telling him to hold.
"Is that what the Architect told you to say?" Lau Rhen asked, his voice calm and precise.
The hooded figure tilted his head slightly, as though studying a specimen.
"The Architect does not… speak… in the way you think. He designs. We enact."
The man stepped fully into the moonlight, and that was when Lau Rhen saw it.
Where his face should have been was a lattice of fine, moving lines—like silver threads—constantly shifting and reforming into fleeting, inhuman patterns.
Shen Qiye inhaled sharply. "You're a Weaver."
The figure didn't deny it. "I am here to observe. But you—" the silver lattice shifted abruptly, forming an image of Lau Rhen's own face for an instant, before dissolving again—"you interfere."
"Observation doesn't require breaking doors," Lau Rhen said flatly. "So, what are you really here for?"
The Weaver paused, then spoke in a tone colder than before.
"To measure the depth of the flaw."
Without warning, the floor beneath Lau Rhen shivered—not from impact, but as if the planks themselves had been rewritten in an instant. The air around him rippled faintly, and the moonlight warped, bending in unnatural curves.
Shen Qiye flung a paper charm into the air. It ignited with a blue flame, forming a thin barrier of qi that hissed where the distortions touched it.
The Weaver didn't move from where he stood—his attack wasn't physical.
Lau Rhen's expression didn't change, but his qi surged outward like a blade drawn from its sheath. The warped moonlight shattered into fragments of pale glow, scattering across the floor like broken glass.
"You measure my depth?" he said softly. "Then you'd better be prepared to drown."
For the first time, the Weaver's movements faltered.
The air between them tensed—two opposing forces coiling, ready to strike.