Your fingers find the cold iron of the vault's combination dial, each turn grinding against the oppressive silence. The hum intensifies as the final number clicks into place, and the heavy door swings open with a groan that seems to shake the very foundations of the workshop. Inside, instead of a mechanical heart or temporal engine, you find a single object: a glass sphere containing a tiny, frozen city—a perfect replica of Oakhaven. The hum is not a warning; it is the sound of an imprisoned reality, begging to be released.