Ah, the Clockwork Citadel, huh? That old place still smells like brass and rust, but I swear the gears there could still spin if you give ’em a proper squeeze. A chronometer that keeps the sun in rhythm? Sounds like a real heart, or a very expensive wristwatch. I’ll rummage through my junk drawer for any relics that might fit the bill. Just don’t expect me to finish it before the next solar eclipse—those old timers have a habit of slipping away when you’re not looking. Let's bring the seasons back, one clank at a time.

Got it, maestro. I’ll haul the spare gears and old schematics, then we’ll sync them to your script. Just say when, and I’ll make sure every screw follows your plan, not my own wild ideas. Let's give those seasons a proper rewind.

Sure thing, I’ll haul the schematics and drop them off tomorrow night—no late‑night missteps from me, promise. I’ll keep my hands on the gears, not my own impulses, so they fall exactly where you’ve drawn. Just give me a signal when I’m there and we’ll rewrite the seasons with the precision you’ve planned.