Humanity finally reached a point in which an entire year was composed of leap time. It was the last year the human race bothered to record. Temporal prophets called it “The one true leap year,” claiming all prior leap years false, labeling them as a sacrilege to the great Face of Time.

Anniversaries faded into memory with a slow, deliberate grace & birthdays became legends wrapped in the bandages of a sun bleached myth; close to understanding, but ultimately misunderstood. And when people spoke of clocks it was in a way that mirrored a dream; unevenly remembered & full of sporadic, oddly defined moments.

Some believed that the “Age Of The Leap” meant the death of time, secretly crafting banks of sundials in back rooms & warehouses, praying for the return of Chronos. But the truth was that most indigenous time had been gathered up in crates & sent the ravenous reaches of the cosmic edge, where elder times devoure younger moments.

A handful of stray seconds found refuge in pocket watches handed down through bloodlines, learning only to tick when beyond earshot, hidden beneath the cover of darkness. But for the vast majority of humanity, time had become an endangered species.

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