Nanma's Watch

The door to the workshop creaked open, letting in a thin sliver of light. The familiar scent of oil and wood hit Nanma as she stepped inside. Kal was hunched over the bench, hands moving deftly over the tools in front of him, like time itself didn’t matter.

Nanma smiled, the watch dangling loosely from her wrist as she walked up to him. “Word is you’re staying only today.”

Kal turned slowly, the lines on his face shifting in the dim light. “The north calls,” he said in that steady way of his. “The Wandering Council waits.”

She moved closer, watching him as he returned to his work, his focus deep but calm. “And what does the Wandering Council think of time these days?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Kal’s eyes flickered briefly to the watch in her hand, a faint smile touching his lips. “Time is like the wind,” he said. “It comes, it goes. We catch what we can.”

Nanma chuckled softly, reaching out to hug him. The gesture was brief, but familiar. “You gave me this once, remember?” She lifted her wrist to show him the watch. “Said I should keep it safe. That it is one of its kind. But now it slips.”

Kal took the watch gently from her hand, inspecting it with the same care he gave everything. His fingers moved over the clasp. “Everything slips, eventually.”

Nanma hit his shoulder lightly, her laugh almost a whisper. “Stop being cryptic. Not with me, at least”

Kal smiled, but didn’t say anything. He was focused on the watch, his hands moving slowly, as though he were fixing something far more important than a clasp.

Nanma leaned against the table, her eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the world seemed to hum in perfect rhythm. Trains moved lazily along the tracks, people passed quietly in the streets, their movements part of the conclave’s unbroken cycle. “Four hundred years after the old world crumbled”, she thought, “and still, the clock ticks”.

“We’ve built this world on rhythms,” she said, more to herself than to Kal. “Each conclave scattered like seeds, each growing in its own way. Here, we move to a different beat. You’ve seen them all, Kal. Tell me again… how do they differ?”

Kal paused, his hands stilling over the watch. “They don’t,” he said finally. “Not in the way that matters.”

Nanma’s brow furrowed. “Is that so? You’ve stopped believing we’ve learned anything?”

Kal met her gaze, the depth of his knowing eyes catching her off guard. “Every conclave has its rules. This one controls life. The Mothers of State”—he tapped the watch’s metal, the sound soft but sharp—“carry the future in their bodies. Chosen. Honored. Protected. But even they, especially you…” He handed the watch back to her. “…feel the weight of things slipping.”

Nanma wrapped her fingers around the watch, staring at it. The clasp was tighter now, but it still felt loose, like it didn’t quite fit anymore. “Sometimes I don’t feel it at all,” she admitted. “But it’s there. Always.”

Kal’s hands went back to the tools in front of him, his voice low but firm. “The truth isn’t in the rules, Nanma. It’s in the spaces between them.”

Nanma glanced at him, her smile fading into something more serious. She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “I said stop.”

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the glass ever so slightly. The conclave, so carefully controlled, felt too quiet, too still. Nanma could almost hear the clockwork of their world ticking in the background. Every birth, every decision, measured and weighed. Only the Mothers of State, like her, were allowed to bring life into this world. It was the highest honor. The most desired duty.

And yet, the weight of that role pressed on her in ways she didn’t know how to explain.

“They say the old world fell because it couldn’t control itself,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Too many lives. Too much chaos. We control everything now. Every birth. Every path. But still…”

Kal watched her in that quiet way of his, his silence somehow heavier than words. She felt his gaze but couldn’t meet it.

“I know you question it all too,” she said softly, her tone carrying a quiet accusation.

Kal chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. “I don’t question, Nanma. I listen. I see. You’ve always been the one with the questions.”

“And you’ve never given me answers.”

Kal’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with the kind of wisdom that was both frustrating and reassuring. “Answers are like time. You chase them, and they slip through your fingers. What remains is what you do with the time you have.”

Nanma looked down at the watch again, feeling its weight differently now. It didn’t feel as heavy as before. Or maybe she had just grown used to it.

“It doesn’t feel as heavy,” she whispered.

Kal glanced toward the window, watching as the trains passed slowly through the distance. “That’s because it isn’t.”

They stood in the soft quiet of the workshop for a while, the hum of life outside muted and distant. The world they lived in, the world they’d built, was small. Controlled. Less than a billion people left, each conclave tending to its own, each carefully avoiding the mistakes of the past.

But Nanma could feel something shifting, something unsaid.

“When you leave tomorrow,” she began, not looking at him, “what will you tell the council?”

Kal’s gaze drifted, as though he could already see the northern conclave on the horizon. “I’ll tell them what they need to hear.”

“And what is that?”

Kal turned to her, his expression softer now, almost sad. “That time moves, even when we try to hold it still.”

Nanma sighed, letting the weight of his words settle over her like a blanket. “Seriously, still cryptic?”

“Not cryptic,” Kal corrected. “Just… patient.”

“Silly,” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you do it, Kal. You live outside all of this. The noise. The worry.”

Kal didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, tapping the watch on her wrist lightly, the movement almost affectionate. “Because I don’t hold on. I let it slip.”

Nanma looked down at the watch, the band now secure but still hanging loosely around her wrist. She ran her fingers over it, feeling its smooth surface, its lightness. “Maybe I should, too.”

Kal’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, something deep and unspoken passing between them. Then, with a small nod, he turned back to his work.

“The council awaits,” he said simply.

Nanma stood there for a moment, watching him, before stepping back toward the door. “Stay safe, Kal.”

“I always do.”

As she left the workshop, the watch swayed lightly on her wrist with each step.