The Resonance of Temporal Echoes

Deep within the lightless sub-levels of the Arcanport Archives, the air feels unnaturally still and carries a faint scent of ozone and drying ink. The stone floor is engraved with a large, brass-inlaid clock face that has no hands, only hollow grooves where clockwork components might have once sat. Four massive, empty stone alcoves are carved into the northern wall, each sized perfectly for a heavy tome. Tiny, glowing motes of blue light drift like slow-moving snow around a central pedestal that bears a strange, crystalline lens pointed at a blank section of the wall.