Khronos

Khronos lies at the crossroads of forgotten hours. In its winding streets, clockmakers trade time itself for the memories of a bygone era. The city's central square features a vast, open-faced chronometer, its gears turned by a mysterious hand that knows no time but only the whispered secrets of the past. The sound of ticking echoes through the alleys as merchants barter not gold or silver, but moments of forgotten joy and first loves. In the shadows, skilled artisans weave intricate tapestries from threads of forgotten events, each one a reminder that even the most mundane tasks hold within them the essence of a thousand suns.