Elias lived in a town where time had stopped—or so it felt. The great clock tower in the square had been silent for years. Its hands never moved, and the bell hadn't rung since before Elias was born.
He lived above the bakery with his grandmother, who always said, "The clock stopped when your grandfather disappeared." She never spoke more of it.
One windy evening, curiosity pulled Elias to the tower. The door creaked open easily, as if it had been waiting. Inside, it was dusty, filled with gears and ropes and the smell of oil. But in the center, on a stone pedestal, was something strange: a key, large and golden, shaped like a winding gear.
It had his name carved on it.