The Forge of Time
In a realm untouched by the impurity of mortals, beneath layers of celestial stardust and obscured truth, existed a small, secluded workshop known as the 'Forge of Time'. This workshop was not known for producing weapons or jewellery, but rather for its unique craft: time itself. Each passing second, every fleeting moment, was shaped and moulded with utmost precision by the forge's sole artisan, Arturus.
Arturus had been born as time’s sole artisan, inheriting the workshop from the cosmic ether. He was not a God, yet he was not a mortal either - a celestial entity bound by his task, an eternal slave to the tick and tock.
Meticulously, he cast into being each flawless second, and fire-forged the hours into a seamless cycle of day and night, creating the rhythm of existence for those bound by his craft. His timeless existence was repetitive yet peaceful.
One day, or perhaps all days – for time meant little to Arturus - a slip occurred. A tiny, microscopic imperfection in a moment. A task that had been taciturn and automatic had suddenly faltered. Upon discovering this, Arturus was consumed by an emotion he hadn't experienced in an eternity: worry.
Disturbed and in desperation, he did something that hadn't been done since the dawn of time: Arturus stopped time. All around him, the universe was frozen, paused in anticipation of soaring once again striding forward in seconds, minutes, hours, days and nights. Yet, Arturus' world was devoid of the tick and tock, as he quarantined the defective moment.
He examined the flawed moment closer. He traced its contours, felt its rhythm, but couldn’t discern any irregularities. It was identical to every other moment he’d forged. Thus, he realized that the defect was not in the moment itself, but in the universe it was destined for.
This revelation stirred something in him. An urge to journey beyond his cosmic confines and into the realm of mortals, a realm Arturus had only observed from a distance till then. Casting aside his age-old duties, Arturus descended into the mortal realm, bringing with him the flawed moment.
Upon his arrival, he marvelled at the life that his work sustained. The essence of time, shaped by his hands, had allowed civilizations to flourish and dwindle, creatures to grow and perish, stars to kindle and fade. The vast array of experiences confined to momentary existences intrigued him, and it was then he understood the delicate balance of his work.
He observed a child laughing in one moment, and in the next, he wept. A budding flower, reaching for sunlight in its bloom, lay wilted and forgotten in another. This was the rhythm of the mortal world - a rhythm unleashed by time, and thus, by him.
It was then he came upon a mortal, an elderly lady sitting beneath an ancient tree, humming a melancholy tune. In her eyes, Arturus saw a reflection of his flawed moment - flawed, yet beautiful in its imperfection.
He offered her the moment, a gift from a time forgotten. As soon as the old woman took it, her eyes widened. She saw memories of a bygone era, listened to the forgotten laughter of her loved ones, and tasted the sweetness of time long elapsed. In her hands lay not a flawed moment but a moment filled with possibilities, a moment that contained an eternity.
Arturus, seeing this, realized the true nature of his work. He was not an artisan, but a weaver of experiences and emotions. Each moment, no matter how seemingly insignificant or flawed, held within it, an eternity of existence - each one a unique masterpiece.
Reinvigorated, Arturus returned to his forge. His following act was outrageous by his standards - he purposely crafted another flawed moment. This time, however, he did not quarantine it. Instead, he endowed it with a portion of his essence and released it into the universe.
Now, there were flawless moments and flawed ones. Fragments of time that were perfect and others that were imperfectly beautiful. In his wisdom, Arturus had infused the universe with a depth it had never known before.
And so, the forge continued to tick and tock, the Forge of Time continued to spawn moments, and Arturus, the transcendent artisan, continued to weave the fabric of existence one moment at a time.