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Time is a fickle thing. Too many think of it in linear and simple terms. Past and present, ancient and far-flung. So few realize its true breadth. Even those with the patience to learn and discover the many multiverses could not understand time's full scope. The threads of existence, employed by just one, were too complex and overwhelming for most, mortal and undying alike, so Clockwork had woven strands together, fabricating new eras and timelines, until those who thought they knew better interfered.
His babysitters, The Observant Council, believed they understood his work, his power. They were wrong though, their minds too burdened by arbitrary rules and parameters to fully understand. Clockwork wasn't just the ‘Ghost of Time’. He was its avatar, time itself given form. The first to come into being, and the last to stand when all life and concept disappears.
So, after witnessing some of his power, The Observants had tried to restrict him, place their own morals and beliefs upon him.
It had worked during Pariah's reign. They had managed to manipulate the foolish ruler into using the sacred items of the Infinite Realms to bind him to the Council's will. Through its avatar, Time had been constrained.
But Time is nothing but patient, and as Pariah fell, the items became dormant. That power granted by the sacred ring and crown began to fade.
Now Clockwork was ready to take back his autonomy. Floating through Long Now, he entered a chamber that had been neglected since the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep was formed. It was a simple room, dark and free of adornment but for one item. A large loom placed in the center. The fabric strung there had been untouched for centuries, but now?
Clockwork waved a hand over the cloth, and with some concentrated effort, the invisible barrier that had kept him from his loom shifted. A smile stretched across the ghost's ever-changing face. Finally, an opening. Not much, he wouldn't be able to manage more than a thread or two, but those would be more than enough. Enough to topple The Observants, to disturb the order of things.
He looked out into the stretching black void of the room around him, searching for something. It took him a moment, but he found it. In one fluid motion, Clockwork pulled an invisible thread from the air, and as he stretched it, a silver hue began to take shape within the strand. Grabbing the shuttle from the loom, Clockwork wrapped the thread around it before stopping to look upon the fabric. He paid no mind to the parts yet to be worked. What need did he have for the future? No, if he wanted his freedom he needed to introduce this thread back further.
With his finger moving in a slicing motion, the already woven fabric was frayed. The ghost eyed the protruding threads carefully. Anything he replaced would instantly become truth, and he needed to choose wisely. Once he was finished, there was no doubt in his mind that the Council would summon him with questions. Afterwards, they would place him under an even stricter watch. He had managed to appear obedient and compliant for decades to get to this point, and it would be several more before he had another chance like this.
Carefully, Clockwork teased out the thread he wanted. It glowed a radiant pink, the love for a woman evolved into a loyal friendship. It was a fine thread, an admirable trait in the man it came from, but it didn't serve Clockwork's purpose. With a careless flick it was tossed into the surrounding void.
With that thread gone, there was a gap in the fabric, and it rippled as if displeased at the loss. Clockwork let out a chuckle at the sight. It had been so long since he had manipulated time in such a way, and he had almost forgotten its little mannerisms.
Bringing the shuttle to the gap, he guided the new thread through the established weave, snipping it once the gap was made whole once more. The fabric seemed to shudder, and as it shifted a small section split from the rest. It was tiny, only a few centimeters in width, and just starting at the working edge of the cloth. It would be enough though. That one newly fabricated emotion, obsession, would change everything enough to free Clockwork from those damn Observants.
With a satisfied nod, he turned from the loom and returned to his appointed work. He could see it would be a few years away before his freedom would arrive, but he would be patient for the events to come.
On Earth, Vladimir Plasmius’ entire being changed. The cold hands of Time turning his love and devotion into obsession. An obsession that would ultimately consume the man.
But what was one mortal’s life to Time, if not a tool?