The space before him defied explanation, a bizarre and otherworldly realm. Clocks hung suspended in the air, their hands moving independently, each showing a different time. Their incessant ticking echoed faintly in the void. Beyond the wrought-iron railing, a torrent of swirling water coursed past, swallowing everything it encountered without mercy.
Wataru shuddered as a thought struck him: what if he were to fall into that churning maelstrom? The notion sent a chill down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, banishing the idea. Some primal instinct told him that succumbing to the current would lead to unimaginable consequences.
A figure emerged from the shadows beyond the railings, its movements slow and deliberate. The man—if he could be called that—appeared to be a beastfolk of some kind, perhaps a turtle. His wizened features and hunched posture radiated an aura of immense age and wisdom. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for Wataru and his companions to follow.
