Faithful

: Polishing the tarnished silver hands of the four clock faces.

While others huddled by their hearths, Silas was at the tower. The extreme cold had seized the mainspring. With trembling, frostbitten fingers, he applied a tiny drop of specialized oil to each pivot point. He stayed through the night, rubbing the metal with his own body heat to keep the gears from cracking. The Rhythm Returns Faithful

When the sun finally broke through the clouds, the villagers looked up. For the first time in forty years, the clock showed the correct time. They found Silas asleep at the base of the gears, his coat draped over the sensitive escapement wheel to protect it from the draft. : Polishing the tarnished silver hands of the

At exactly midnight, a sound cut through the howling wind—a deep, metallic thrum . Then, the first "Tick." Then, a "Tock." With trembling, frostbitten fingers, he applied a tiny