Chapter 1T
THE night of the blue stone
Beneath the world of men, beneath the ancient cities, royal palaces, and stone-paved streets, there existed another world hidden deep underground.
No maps carried its name.
No king had spoken of it openly.
Most believed it to be nothing more than an old legend whispered during winter nights.
Only one man knew the truth.
Mr. Gronk.
At the edge of the capital stood his old vintage clock shop, tucked between narrow alleyways where fog lingered even after sunrise. The shop looked forgotten by time itself. Dust-covered windows displayed countless antique clocks — towering grandfather clocks, silver pocket watches, carved wooden timepieces, and delicate golden clocks whose ticking echoed endlessly through the dim halls.
Every clock inside the shop had been handcrafted by Mr. Gronk himself.
No one knew exactly how old he was.
Some believed he had inherited the shop from his grandfather. Others thought he had simply always existed there, quietly repairing clocks while the world outside changed around him.
But the truth was far stranger.
Mr. Gronk was two hundred and forty years old.
And every clock he created carried the same unusual detail.
Five tiny pins hidden within the design.
Customers often questioned him about them, but he never gave a proper answer. He would simply continue polishing the clock glass and say in his calm, distant voice:
“My master instructed me to make them this way.”
No one knew who that master was.
And strangely, two of the five pins never moved further than three.
No matter how carefully the clocks were repaired, those two pins always remained frozen.
It was the month of March when the final academic session of Saint Véroux Academy was nearing its end.
The academy was considered the most prestigious boarding school in the kingdom. Noble families, scholars, inventors, and wealthy merchants from distant regions sent their children there in hopes of securing brilliant futures for them.
The school itself resembled a palace more than an academy — enormous stone towers, iron gates, candlelit corridors, and gardens covered in silver fog during early mornings.
Every year, before the session ended, Saint Véroux held its famous Clock Exhibition.
Clockmakers, collectors, nobles, and historians from across the kingdom gathered to witness rare antique creations displayed inside the academy’s grand exhibition hall.
Among the students of Saint Véroux, however, one boy remained impossible to ignore.
Johaan.
He was the only son of the Duke of Varelles, heir to one of the oldest noble families in the kingdom.
The House of Varelles was admired with both respect and distance. Their estates stretched across cold valleys and forests where winter always seemed colder than elsewhere. Portraits of former dukes filled the palace halls, painted beneath golden candlelight with stern expressions and royal elegance.
Yet none of them resembled Johaan.
Especially because of his hair.
Its strange deep blue shade had existed since birth — unusual enough to become the subject of whispers among servants and uneasy curiosity among nobles.
His mother once called it beautiful.
The Duke never spoke about it at all.
The night before Johaan’s departure for Saint Véroux Academy, a violent storm swept across the capital.
Rain struck the palace windows endlessly while thunder rolled through the dark clouds above the mountains. Wind howled through the corridors of the old estate like distant voices.
Inside his room, Johaan quietly packed his luggage beside the soft glow of candlelight.
Books, letters, and folded uniforms lay scattered across his bed.
Then suddenly—
a faint cry reached the window.
At first he thought it belonged to the storm.
But when he pulled the curtain aside, he found an injured black cat sitting outside in the rain.
Its fur was drenched from the downpour, one paw trembling weakly.
And its eyes carried a strange deep blue glow beneath the flashes of lightning.
Johaan quickly opened the window and lifted the creature inside. He wrapped it gently in cloth before placing a small saucer of milk near the fireplace.
The cat remained silent as it watched him.
Not like an ordinary animal.
There was something strangely human in its gaze.
The storm outside grew louder. Thunder shook the palace walls, causing the candle flames to flicker violently.
Johaan turned instinctively toward the sound.
Only for a second.
But when he looked back again—
the cat had vanished.
In its place rested an old pendant upon the wooden floor.
At its center gleamed a deep blue stone.
Johaan slowly picked it up.
The metal felt cold.
But the stone itself was strangely warm against his skin.
Beneath the storm, the palace room suddenly felt unbearably silent.
Johaan stood before the tall mirror near his wardrobe, holding the strange pendant carefully between his fingers. The blue stone shimmered faintly beneath the candlelight, almost as though something inside it were alive.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then slowly, without understanding why, he placed the pendant around his neck.
The instant the metal touched his skin—
the candles extinguished.
Darkness swallowed the room.
A violent pulse of deep electric blue burst from the pendant, flooding the chamber with unnatural light. The glow spread across the walls, the ceiling, the mirrors — painting the entire room in shimmering blue shadows.
Johaan staggered backward.
The pendant had become unbearably hot against his chest.
Not enough to burn him.
But enough to make breathing difficult.
It felt as though fire itself had been trapped beneath his skin.
He gripped the edge of the table, trying desperately to steady himself while the blue light continued growing brighter and brighter.
And then—
he heard it.
Weeping.
Soft at first.
A woman’s voice.
Crying somewhere nearby.
No…
not nearby.
Inside the pendant.
The sound was filled with pain so deep it barely sounded human anymore, as though the voice belonged to someone imprisoned for centuries in endless darkness.
The cries slowly turned desperate.
Then violent.
The palace windows began trembling.
SCRATCH.
Something invisible clawed against the glass from outside.
SCRATCH.
The doors shook heavily against their hinges.
The candle holders crashed onto the floor.
Books fell violently from the shelves one after another as if an unseen force had swept through the room.
The wooden floorboards cracked beneath Johaan’s feet.
The mirror before him rippled strangely, its reflection distorting like water.
And through the woman’s endless weeping, Johaan thought he heard faint words hidden between the cries.
“Set me free…”
The pendant burned brighter.
The storm outside roared louder.
And somewhere deep beneath the earth, hidden below kingdoms and cities forgotten by time—
ancient clocks began ticking once again.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun—
everything stopped.
The violent trembling faded from the walls.
The scratching upon the windows disappeared into the storm.
The blue light slowly dissolved into darkness until only the weak glow of a single candle remained alive in the room.
Books lay scattered across the floor.
The curtains swayed gently in the cold wind.
And in the middle of the room, Johaan collapsed unconscious beside the shattered remains of a chair.
Minutes later, soft footsteps approached the corridor outside.
The door opened quietly.
Johaan’s grandmother entered carrying a silver tray with a warm glass of milk, just as she had done since his childhood whenever storms frightened him.
“Johaan?” she called softly.
No answer came.
The moment her eyes found him lying motionless on the floor, the tray slipped from her hands.
The glass shattered instantly, milk spreading across the wooden floor in pale streams between broken pieces of crystal.
“Johaan!”
She rushed toward him in panic, falling to her knees beside his unconscious body. With trembling hands, she carefully lifted his head onto her lap, brushing the strands of blue hair away from his forehead.
Then she saw it.
The pendant.
Resting against his chest.
For a moment, the old woman froze completely.
The color drained from her face.
Not from confusion.
From recognition.
Her fingers trembled violently as she stared at the deep blue stone glowing faintly against the darkness of the room.
A look of fear entered her eyes unlike anything Johaan had ever seen before.
Not ordinary fear.
The kind born from memories buried for far too long.
The storm outside continued in silence while she whispered, almost breathlessly:
“No… it cannot be…”
Several minutes passed before Johaan finally opened his eyes.
The storm had quieted outside, leaving only the distant sound of rain against the palace windows. His head felt unbearably heavy, and for a moment he could not remember why he was lying upon the floor.
Then he saw his grandmother beside him.
Relief softened her frightened expression the moment she realized he was awake.
“Grandmother…” Johaan whispered weakly.
She helped him sit upright near the fireplace. Her hands still trembled slightly as she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.
Neither of them spoke for some time.
The room remained in terrible disarray — broken glass scattered across the floor, books lying open like fallen birds, cracks stretching faintly through the wooden boards.
Yet the pendant around Johaan’s neck had become completely silent.
As though nothing had happened.
His grandmother stared at it for a long moment before finally gathering the courage to speak.
“Listen to me carefully, Johaan.”
Her voice was low. Serious.
Far more serious than he had ever heard before.
She gently held his shoulder, her eyes filled not only with fear, but with sorrow.
“The place you are going…” she said slowly, “…is not safe for you, my child.”
Johaan frowned slightly.
“Saint Véroux?”
She nodded.
“You must be very careful while staying there.”
The fire crackled softly between them.
Outside, thunder echoed faintly beyond the mountains.
“There are things hidden within that academy,” she continued quietly. “Things far older than the kingdom itself.”
Her gaze drifted unconsciously toward the pendant.
“And some doors were never meant to be opened again.”
“What do you mean?” Johaan asked quietly. “What kind of things are hidden there?”
His grandmother said nothing.
Johaan slowly stood despite the weakness still lingering in his body.
“Why do I need to be careful?” he continued. “What is this pendant? And how do you know about it?”
For a brief moment, it seemed as though she might finally answer.
But instead, the old woman gently raised her trembling hand and placed it against Johaan’s cheek.
She looked at him not as the future heir of a duke’s family—
but as a child she feared losing.
Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
Then she stepped away from him.
At tThe night he doorway, she paused.
Without turning back toward him, she spoke softly:
“You will understand everything when the correct time comes.”
And then she left.
The door closed quietly behind her.
Johaan remained standing alone in the ruined room, the strange pendant resting heavily against his chest while somewhere far beneath the sleeping kingdom…
something continued to awaken.
