Jay went for a walk that night.
Not because he needed fresh air.
Not because something pulled him.
Just because his room felt a little too still.
The streets were calmer than usual, washed clean by an earlier rain. Reflections of streetlights stretched across the pavement like thin ribbons of gold. People passed by in ones and twos, their conversations low and unimportant in the best way.
Jay walked without a destination.
He liked that.
At some point, he found himself near the river again.
He stopped at the railing, resting his forearms against the cool metal, watching the water move. It flowed easily now—no hesitation, no warped reflections, no hollow circles carved into the current.
Just a river doing what rivers had always done.
Jay smiled faintly.
"So this is what it looks like," he murmured, "when nothing's waiting."
The thought didn't scare him.
It settled.
---
He thought about everything that had happened.
The dreams.
The Clock Tree.
The mechanism beneath the city.
The name Parikshit, heavy with history and expectation.
And then he thought about smaller things.
Instant coffee.
Reina's dry comments.
Yukimin's messages that arrived at the worst possible times.
His mother's voice when she thought he was tired.
His father's quiet way of checking in without prying.
None of those things asked anything of him.
They were just there.
Jay realized then that time had never demanded an answer from him.
Not really.
It had nudged.
It had waited.
It had listened.
But the question—
the real one—
had always been his.
---
"What do you want to keep?"
The words surfaced gently, not as a voice but as a thought that felt like it belonged.
Jay closed his eyes.
He pictured two paths—not dramatically, not as branching roads glowing with fate. Just possibilities.
One where he carried everything forward.
Every memory. Every responsibility. Every echo of who he used to be.
And another where he didn't.
Where he let the past rest without erasing it.
Where history stayed history.
Where time moved on without circling him like an unfinished sentence.
Neither felt wrong.
That surprised him.
For a long time, Jay had assumed choosing one meant betraying the other.
Now he understood that wasn't true.
He could respect what came before without becoming it.
---
A breeze passed over the river, cool and unremarkable.
Jay opened his eyes and looked at the water again.
"You know," he said quietly, unsure who he was talking to, "I think you already got your answer."
The river didn't respond.
And that was okay.
He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head.
"I'm not carrying the crown," he continued. "I'm not fixing the world. I'm not rewinding anything."
His chest felt lighter with each word.
"I'll remember enough," he said. "Just… not everything."
The clock on a nearby building chimed the hour.
Once.
Clear.
Ordinary.
Jay didn't flinch.
---
On his way back, he took a different street—one lined with small houses and dim porch lights. Somewhere, a family was arguing gently about dinner. Somewhere else, a window glowed with someone studying too late.
Life, unfolding without him at the center of it.
And he felt something close to gratitude.
When he reached his apartment, he paused before going inside and looked up at the sky.
No stars visible tonight. Just clouds drifting lazily across the dark.
Jay thought about how, once, he might have searched for meaning in that.
Tonight, he just thought it looked peaceful.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, as if making a promise, "I'll keep going."
No vows.
No declarations.
Just that.
---
He went inside, locked the door, and turned off the lights.
As he lay in bed, listening to the faint sounds of the city settling into sleep, Jay noticed something else.
The absence of ticking.
Not silence—
just the lack of attention.
Time wasn't watching.
It wasn't waiting.
It was simply moving.
Jay closed his eyes and let sleep come naturally, without dreams pulling at him, without memories asking to be replayed.
Somewhere beneath Aryavart, the ancient mechanism rested—complete, undisturbed.
And above it, in a small apartment with a bad coffee habit and unfinished homework, Jay Arkwell slept like someone who had already answered the question that mattered most.q