The grove held its breath as Absolem's wings cast shimmering patterns of light across Time's ravaged form. The ancient entity lay slumped against the gnarled roots of the hollowed tree, his once-gilded robes now frayed and dull, his skin translucent as parchment stretched over brittle bones. Wilkins knelt beside him, his mechanical fingers twitching as he adjusted a cracked dial embedded in Time's chest—a failing regulator, its gears grinding like broken teeth.

Absolem exhaled a slow, silken thread of smoke, the scent of aged honey and burnt ozone thickening the air. The smoke coiled around Time's wrists, his throat, the hollows beneath his eyes, seeping into him like liquid starlight. Time shuddered, a gasp rattling from his lips as color flickered back into his veins.

Then, Time coughed violently, his skeletal fingers clutching at his chest as he shoved Wilkins away with surprising strength. The mechanical man stumbled back, his brass-plated jaw tightening as sparks flickered from his damaged shoulder joint.

"You should have just let me die," he rasped, his voice cracking like dry parchment. His eyes—dim and fractured as broken hourglasses—burned with a mixture of fury and exhaustion.

"But Master—" Wilkins protested. His metal hands twitched, as if torn between reaching out and recoiling.

"Don't be too hard on him, Time," Absolem muttered, hovering closer, his iridescent wings casting prismatic light across the scene. "Loyalty is a rare thing in these unraveling days."

Time let out a bitter laugh that dissolved into another rattling cough. "Loyalty? It's stupidity," he wheezed. "Dragging me here only delays the inevitable. What good am I like this?" He gestured weakly at his withered form.

Wilkins' optics flickered, his voice uncharacteristically small. "Because you're Time," he said. "And without you, there's no fixing any of this."

Absolem exhaled another slow stream of smoke, this time curling it around Wilkins' damaged frame, the scent of solder and lavender briefly soothing the sparks at his joints. "Sentimentality aside," he murmured, "Wilkins is correct. You are still the anchor, Time. Even broken, you hold the weight of what was. And that gives us a chance."

Time's gaze flicked between them, his expression caught somewhere between defiance and despair. "A chance for what?" he sneered. "A prettier doom?"

Absolem's wings stilled. "For a paradox," he said simply.

A beat of silence. Then Time's eyes widened—just slightly—before his face twisted into something like reluctant understanding. "You can't be serious."

Absolem's silence was answer enough.

Wilkins looked between them, his mechanical mind struggling to parse the unspoken implication. "What paradox?"

Time let his head thud back against the tree, staring up at the shifting glow of the grove's symbols. "The kind that unmakes everything."

A beat passed. Then Absolem's wings gave a slow, deliberate flutter, his eyes sliding away from Time. "I'm afraid I must leave you for now," he murmured, the smoke from his hookah curling into the shape of a clock with no hands. "It seems there is another who requires your audience."

Time frowned, following Absolem's gaze—and there, standing at the edge of the hollowed tree's entrance, was the Duchess. Her shadow magic coiled around her like a living thing, her sharp eyes fixed on them with unsettling intensity.

Wilkins' gears clicked in alarm. "How long has she been—?"

But Absolem was already drifting backward, his form dissolving into the shimmering air. "Do rest, Time," he said, his voice fading like a half-remembered dream. "Dawn comes sooner than you think."

And with that, he was gone, leaving only the ghost of a smile hanging in the air.

The Duchess stepped forward, her heels clicking against the moss-covered ground. "So," she said, her voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. "this is what becomes of the great Time." A cruel smirk played at her lips as she examined his weakened form.

Time's jaw tightened. "If you've come to gloat, Duchess, I'm not in the mood."

She arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Gloat? Hardly. You should even be thankful I took the trouble to come at all. Though I must say," she added, tilting her head, "you do make a rather pathetic sight."

Wilkins' mechanical joints hissed as he shifted protectively between them. "That's enough," he growled, his voicebox crackling with static.

The Duchess' dark eyes flicked to the automaton. "Still playing loyal hound, I see." She waved a dismissive hand. "At least someone here remembers their place."

Time coughed weakly, but when he spoke, his voice carried surprising steel. "Say what you came to say and be done with it."

The Duchess smiled - a slow, dangerous thing. "Always so impatient, even now. Very well." She reached into the folds of her dress and produced a small, ornate hourglass filled with black sand. "I believe you lost something."

Time's breath caught as his fractured gaze locked onto the hourglass. The black sand inside swirled against gravity, moving in unnatural patterns that made Wilkins' optics flicker with alarm.

"Where did you get that?" Time demanded, his voice suddenly stronger despite his weakened state. His fingers twitched toward the artifact, but the Duchess snapped it back into her sleeve with practiced ease.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she purred, enjoying the way Time's ancient eyes burned with sudden intensity. "Let's just say... certain doors open when Time itself begins to crumble."

Wilkins took a threatening step forward, his damaged servos whining in protest. "That belongs to him."

The Duchess' smirk widened. "Does it? Then why was it left unattended, practically begging to be taken." She tilted her head, studying Time's reaction. "Though I must admit, I expected more security around something so... precious."

Time struggled to push himself upright, his movements stiff and painful. "You don't understand what you're holding," he rasped. "That isn't just some trinket—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," the Duchess interrupted, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This is a piece of you, isn't it? A fragment of your power." She produced the hourglass again, watching as the black sand suddenly froze mid-swirl when Time gasped. "And right now, it's the only thing keeping certain... temporal wounds from unraveling completely."

A heavy silence fell over the grove. Even the glowing symbols on the walls seemed to dim as the truth settled over them. Wilkins looked between his master and the Duchess, his mechanical mind racing through calculations—none of them favorable.

"What do you want?" Time finally asked, his voice hollow.

The Duchess' smile turned razor-sharp. "Now we're getting somewhere." She twirled the hourglass between her fingers. "I propose a trade. This... for your cooperation."

"Cooperation with what?" Wilkins snapped.

"With saving Wonderland, of course," she said smoothly, though her shadow magic coiled tighter around her, betraying her tension. "Absolem isn't the only one with plans, and I grow tired of waiting while the world falls apart." Her dark eyes locked onto Time's. "So. Do we have an agreement?"

Time exhaled slowly, his ancient face lined with exhaustion and something deeper—resignation. "You always did have a talent for timing, Duchess."

She gave a mock bow. "I learn from the best."

As she extended the hourglass toward him, the black sand inside began flowing normally again—but Wilkins noticed something the others didn't. Where the Duchess' fingers touched the glass, faint cracks were forming…

Time's fingers brushed the hourglass, and for a brief, hopeful moment, the black sand inside pulsed with golden light. The cracks spiderwebbed across its surface held firm as the artifact began drawing temporal energy from the grove itself. The glowing symbols on the walls dimmed as their power siphoned into Time's ravaged form.

Wilkins' optics brightened. "Master! Your chronal readings are—"

A sudden crack silenced him. One fissure in the glass deepened, and a thin stream of black sand escaped, swirling around Time's wrist like smoke before being reabsorbed. His body shuddered violently, caught between restoration and ruin.

Time's breathing came in ragged gasps as he clutched the damaged artifact. His form stabilized, but only partially - his left hand remained translucent, fingers occasionally phasing in and out of existence. When he spoke, his voice carried dual tones, as if two versions of him were speaking just out of sync:

"It will suffice... for now." He raised his flickering hand, watching golden energy knit through the darkness. "The hourglass buys me hours, perhaps a day. No more."

optics whirred as they analyzed the damage. "If we reinforce the casing with chrono-resistant alloy from my—"

"I said that's enough." Time's voice cracked like a whip, his bi-tonal timbre making the air hum. He tucked the damaged artifact into the folds of his tattered robes, where its faint golden glow pulsed like a weak heartbeat. "This isn't a toy to be tinkered with, Wilkins. Every second we waste on repairs is one we don't have."

Wilkins' gears locked in protest, but he fell silent.

Time turned his fractured gaze to the Duchess. "Now," he said, his voice still layered with echoes, "what is it you actually need? You didn't come here just to play nursemaid."

The Duchess smirked, her shadow magic curling around her like a satisfied cat. "I'll admit something," she said, examining her nails with feigned nonchalance. "I planted a spy in your castle weeks ago. And while they did bring me that little trinket—" She gestured to the faint glow in Time's robes. "—they also brought back something far more interesting."

Time's form flickered violently, golden cracks splitting the air around him. "You meddling—" He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, the temporal distortion smoothing out. "Fine. Speak."

"Oh, don't look so dramatic," the Duchess chuckled. "The clocks of the creatures of Wonderland that have run out... you can make them run again."

A terrible silence filled the grove. Even the glowing symbols on the walls dimmed, as if holding their breath.

"You want me to have them all run again?" Time's voice dropped to a whisper layered with thunder. "You're practically begging me to die! And not just that—to vanish out of existence!" His translucent hand passed through a tree root, scattering temporal echoes like disturbed dust.

The Duchess waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I don't need all of them." Her smile turned razor-sharp. "Just one. The Knave of Hearts."

Wilkins' gears jammed audibly. "The traitor?" he spat. "You want to resurrect the very man who—"

"Who dreamt of a better Wonderland," the Duchess interrupted, her smirk disappearing into a thoughtful expression. "His ways were twisted, yes. But his heart—" She tapped her chest. "—never wavered from wanting what was best for this world."

Wilkins' optics narrowed. "By betraying all of us and creating chaos in Wonderland?" His voicebox crackled with static. "Forgive me if I find his 'dreams' less than comforting."

"Oh, spare me your righteousness," the Duchess snapped, her usual venom returning. "We've all made choices we regret. Even you, Wilkins." Her gaze flicked to Time's flickering form. "Especially you, old friend."

Time's translucent fingers curled into fists. "The Knave's intentions don't change the cost," he said, his voice fraying at the edges. "Restarting a stopped clock isn't like winding a toy. It requires—"

"A piece of your own time," the Duchess interrupted. "I know." She stepped forward, her shadow stretching toward Time like a bridge. "But tell me, when has Wonderland ever been saved by playing it safe?"

A beat passed. The grove's glowing symbols pulsed erratically, casting jagged shadows across their faces.

Finally, Time exhaled—a sound like a broken clock unwinding. "Bring me his remains," he murmured. "And pray that what comes back... is still the man you remember."

The Duchess's lips twisted into a grimace. "There's... a complication," she admitted, "The Knave's body is under the control of one of Gorlois' henchmen. He's been turned into a puppet."

Time's form shuddered, golden cracks splintering through the air around him. "You ask me to rebuild a broken clock," he said, his voice fraying with strain, "while the creature it is tied to is under somebody else's control? You're insane!"

The Duchess stepped forward, her usual smirk replaced by something almost... pleading. "That's why I have another favor to ask," she said quietly. "Wind the Knave's form back. Back to before Gorlois' minion ever laid hands on him."

Time's eyes—now pools of swirling gold and void—widened. "You're really begging me to die, aren't you?" His laugh was a broken thing, like a clockwork mechanism grinding itself to dust. "Do you have any idea what that kind of temporal reversal would cost?"

Wilkins' metal fists clenched. "Master, don't—"

"There must be a way to lessen the strain on you," the Duchess interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically urgent.

A long silence. Then, Time exhaled

—a sound like a century-old sigh. "Very well," he murmured. "But this will not be easy for you, Duchess." He extended his flickering hand toward her. "The ritual requires a tether. Someone who knew the Knave as he was—not as he became. Someone whose memories can guide his soul back."

The Duchess went very still.

"You," Time said simply.

"Me?," the Duchess responded briefly, surprised.

"You will be the anchor," Time said, his voice hollow. "And when we pull him free, you'll feel every hook Gorlois planted in him. Every second of his torment. Every betrayal he committed—and every one committed against him." He tilted his head. "Still so eager to play heroine?"

The Duchess's nails dug into her palms. For the first time, something like fear flickered in her eyes.

Then she lifted her chin. "Do it."

Time's fractured gaze locked onto the Duchess, his voice dropping to a whisper that slithered through the grove like cold wind through clockwork. "But why?" The golden cracks around him pulsed in time with each word. "Why do you really want him back?"

Silence ruled the Duchess' lips for a while. And Time felt it for the first time - she's nervous.

"We need him to defeat Gorlois," she said, too quickly.

Time's laugh was a broken gear grinding. "Liar.." He floated closer, his flickering hand passing through her sleeve. She shuddered as temporal ice crusted over the fabric. "Try again."

The Duchess's composure cracked. "I love him! Okay!" The words tore out of her, raw as a fresh wound. The grove fell silent. Even Wilkins froze.

A beat. Two.

"Ah." Time's voice softened dangerously. "I knew there was something going on between you two." His form solidified just enough to tilt her chin up with one translucent finger. "So, you miss him."

The Duchess slapped his hand away, her shadows lashing like whipped serpents. "Don't be absurd. I just—"

Wilkins' optics dimmed in disgust. "You'd risk my master's life for a lover's spat? "

"No." The Duchess straightened, her usual smirk slithering back into place. "I'd risk your master's life to watch the Knave carve Gorlois' heart out with a teaspoon. And I'm confident he can do that."

Time exhaled—a sound like a tomb sealing. "We proceed at dawn. But know this, Duchess: when his soul claws its way back, the first thing he'll remember is who let him fall."

Again, the Duchess fell silent. For once, she had no retort.