The peaks clawed at a bruised sky, broken teeth against the fading light. Dust devils danced across the shale, ghosts of arguments long settled. Old Man Tiber, they called me, though I hadn’t earned the name through age. It was the silence I held, the way I *listened*. Not with ears, but with something deeper, something that vibrated with the mountain’s bones.
I traced a finger across the cracked obsidian of my listening stone. A tremor ran through it, then a voice, faint as moth wings.
“…the metal fell… a tear in the black…”
It wasn’t a voice from *now*. It resonated with the weight of centuries. A fallen king, maybe. Or a warning from a time before records.
“What are you dredging up, Tiber?” Kaelen’s voice, sharp and impatient, cut through the stillness. He materialized from the canyon’s mouth, a silhouette against the dying sun. Leather creaked with his stride.
“Echoes,” I answered, keeping my gaze locked on the stone. “Old ones. Whispers of the Skyfall.”
He scoffed, kicking a loose rock over the precipice. “Skyfall. Another legend to chase? We’ve been over this. The stories are just that—stories.”
“These aren’t just stories, Kaelen.” I shifted, my knuckles white against the stone. “They *sing*.”
“Sing? You and your songs.” He walked closer, the firelight dancing on the hard lines of his face. “What’s this one about, then? Another lost city? Another king with a golden crown?”
“Metal. Falling from the black. A tear in the sky.” The image flickered in my mind, cold and vast. “They speak of a time *before*.”
He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Before what, Tiber? Before dirt? Before breathing?”
“Before *this* world, maybe.”
A flicker of something—interest, maybe, or just annoyance— crossed his face. “You found something different, didn’t you? Something beyond the usual lamentations of lost loves and forgotten battles.”
I didn’t answer. I held up a brittle, parchment fragment, one of four I’d been hoarding for decades. The ink, faded and cracked, sketched a constellation unlike any I’d seen.
“The manuscripts,” Kaelen breathed, tracing the faded lines. “They speak of bridges. Star bridges.”
“They say the songs *are* the bridges.”
He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Songs can’t build anything, Tiber. That’s madness.”
“These songs aren’t built, they *open*.”
A new voice, raspy and close, cut into our exchange. “Looking for something?”
We both whirled around. A woman, cloaked in shadow, stood at the canyon’s edge. Her face was hidden, but I felt the weight of her gaze, cold and assessing.
“Who are you?” Kaelen asked, his hand drifting towards the hilt of his knife.
“Let’s just say I’m a collector,” she replied, her voice like dry leaves skittering across stone. “I understand you have…fragments. Of a certain melody.”
“We found them,” I said, my voice tight. “They’re ours.”
“Everything has a price, old man.” She gestured to Kaelen. “And I suspect your companion understands that better than you.”
Kaelen didn’t meet my gaze. He kept his eyes fixed on the woman, a grim calculation in his expression.
“What do you want with the songs?” I asked, the obsidian stone growing colder in my grip.
She laughed, a brittle sound that echoed off the canyon walls. “What do they mean to *you*?”
“They tell a story.”
“And some stories are best left untold.” She took a step closer, her shadow stretching towards us like grasping fingers. “Give me the fragments, and I’ll ensure those stories remain buried.”
“And if we don’t?” Kaelen asked, his voice low and dangerous.
The woman’s lips curved into a smile. “Then you’ll discover why certain songs attract… unwanted listeners.”
