“Everyone, gather close.” Twilight bled across the jagged peaks of Whisperpeak Crag. Kael stood amidst his herd of crag-goats, a quiet command forming on his lips. Without a barked word or a swinging staff, the beasts, having grazed lazily, began to shift. Their hooves scraped shale, a low rumbling chorus as they converged. It was the earth itself, responding. A subtle vibration Kael sent through the ground, a silent pull only the creatures could feel, a whisper against the soles of their feet. For eight years, since his mother’s frantic warning, Kael had honed this hidden gift. Lithomancy, she had called it. The ability to command the very stone and soil. He understood its nature now, a power as fundamental as bedrock. First, a deep yearning shaped the earth. Want for movement, for solidity, for dissolution. Then, a pulse of raw will, channeled through his hands, through his feet, through the core of his being. This was the raw exchange of his inner strength for the earth’s compliance. Second, articulating that desire, even silently, honed the power. A clearer image, a focused intent, lessened the drain on his reserves. It was like carving a precise groove for a river, rather than letting it wander. Finally, the scale of his command mattered. Simple shifts of pebble and soil were effortless. Moving a mountainside? Impossible. But the definition of 'difficulty' remained a shifting, elusive thing. Sometimes, the earth responded with astonishing grace. Other times, it resisted, stubborn as ancient granite, refusing even a minor adjustment. Days ago, when he faced the Stone-Stalker, a ferocious crag-lynx, a simple command to ‘freeze’ barely slowed its charge. Yet, directing hundreds of crag-goats, a living, breathing flock, was almost trivial. Conversely, imbuing a hurled stone with enough force to shatter the beast’s skull, guiding it unerringly to its mark, felt remarkably easy. He could have repeated that strike a hundred times, he realized, the energy cost so minimal. Guiding the last goat into the rough-hewn pen, Kael’s thoughts drifted. A faint tang of blood drifted on the cold air, pulling him from his reverie. It was familiar, yet distinct. Not goat, not Stone-Stalker. Not human, like the one he’d sensed when his mother passed. ‘Rock-wolf?’ Year ago, he’d taken down a lone Rock-wolf. This scent matched the memory, earthy and wild. A moment later, a figure emerged from the deepening shadows, silhouette against the dying sun. Elder Roric, a limp form draped over his shoulder, moved with a seasoned hunter’s stride. “Good evening, Kael,” Roric’s voice rumbled, rough as worn stone. “Mind if I borrow your hearth tonight? This Rock-wolf’s hide is payment enough.” Indeed. A Rock-wolf was no small feat. Its pelt fetched good coin at the scattered settlements, its meat lean but sustaining. Kael nodded, a silent agreement. “Not many wolves stray this far. How far did you range for this catch?” Years of his hidden patrols had cleared the immediate peaks. Most predatory beasts learned to avoid Whisperpeak Crag. The exposed, desolate terrain itself offered little haven for them. “Found it scouting near the Great Barrier.” The Great Barrier. A colossal wall of rock rising to the west, its peaks piercing the clouds like jagged teeth. Some called it the Spine of the World, for its impossible height and reach. It marked the edge of the known Craglands. “Days of travel to reach its foothills…” Kael murmured, more to himself. “Half a day, for my gait,” Roric stated, his gaze distant. Kael felt no surprise. He, too, could cover such ground, moving through the earth’s hidden pathways. He simply noted the Elder’s quiet confidence, a seasoned Stone-Whisper’s surety. His internal guard, a habit formed from years of secrecy, subtly tightened. --- Later, firelight flickered against the rough stone of Kael’s dwelling. They sat before the open flame, the aroma of roasting wolf meat filling the small space. Roric looked up, his eyes tracing the expanse of the ink-black sky. “The stars burn bright out here.” “My mother said Whisperpeak Crag is one of the highest places,” Kael replied, feeding a chunk of wood to the fire. “Apart from the Great Barrier.” “That colossal wall… no comparison,” Roric mused. “I saw it today. Impressive. Even Core-Speakers would struggle to cross it.” “Core-Speakers, they say, wield god-like power,” Kael said, curiosity pricking him. “Couldn’t they simply… leap over?” Roric chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “Not all, boy. The heads of the grand houses… yes, perhaps. They might touch the divine.” He then recounted a tale, of witnessing the leader of a powerful Core-Speaker house, a mere gesture crushing a small hill into dust. Kael felt a sudden flush of shame. Sometimes, his own command over the earth, so potent in his isolated world, had made him wonder. Could his Lithomancy rival their famed power? But Roric’s story hammered home the chasm. His own abilities, while formidable to him, were but a whisper compared to a Core-Speaker’s thunder. “Tell me, Kael,” Roric shifted, his gaze softening. “Living out here alone, doesn’t it gnaw at you?” “It does,” Kael admitted, staring into the flames. “But it’s become… the way of things.” “No thought of taking a lass from a settlement? Share this quiet existence?” Kael managed a faint, awkward smile. “Who would choose this life? Trapping themselves on a forgotten peak, herding goats?” “Plenty might, for a sturdy, quiet young man such as yourself,” Roric countered, a glint in his eye. Years ago, before his mother’s death and the bitter rift with the nearest settlement, a few girls had indeed sought his company. But the reality of his exiled life had quickly dawned on them. Marrying Kael meant a lifetime of solitude, far from the communal hearths. “Don’t dwell on it so, boy,” Roric said, sensing Kael’s unease. “Who knows what the winding paths of the Craglands might bring? You might yet find a kindred spirit.” A slim chance, Kael knew. Roric was the first traveler he’d seen in nearly a decade. Silence settled, comfortable and easy, save for the crackle of the fire. Kael finally broke it. “Why do you do it, Elder?” Roric hummed, a questioning sound. “Do what, Kael?” “Whatever the settlement offered you, it can’t be worth this. Your skill… you could demand more, easier.” Kael thought of the small, isolated settlements he’d sometimes observed from afar. If Roric, a clear Stone-Whisper of subtle power, offered protection, they would give him anything. It seemed a hundred times more appealing than tracking beasts across these desolate peaks, only to sleep in a shepherd’s hut. Roric, who could haul a Rock-wolf from the Great Barrier in half a day, certainly lacked for neither strength nor purpose. Besides, the villagers weren’t particularly deserving. He knew they’d charged Roric an outrageous price for simple lodging, sending him to Kael. If it were Kael, he’d have shattered their flimsy walls and taken what he needed. “They are pitiable folk,” Roric said, his voice soft, almost a lament. “How so?” “They live each day trembling, Kael. Out here, on the frontier of the Craglands, without the guidance of a Stone-Whisper, without protection.” Roric leaned forward, his weathered face earnest, as if teaching a son. While Whisperpeak Crag was barren and thus safer, the wider Craglands pulsed with primal dangers. Beasts of living stone, shadows that devoured light, ancient things that stirred in deep caverns. It was the duty, the pride, of a Stone-Whisper, one who carried the earth’s gift, to shield the common folk. Even without formal allegiance to a Core-Speaker house, he couldn’t simply turn away. This was a stark contrast to Kael’s mother’s teachings. Core-Speakers were tyrants, she’d said. Their Stone-Whispers, mere tools of oppression. Not guardians. Kael’s brow furrowed in confusion. Roric noticed, a small smile creasing his lips. He offered Kael a bowl of rich goat’s milk. “Not all share my path, Kael. For every person, a different way. Ten thousand people, ten thousand truths hidden in the stone.” --- The next morning, Kael moved through his goat pen, his thoughts still heavy with Roric’s words. A gentle ripple of Lithomancy cleared the pen of waste, sending goat droppings and soiled earth flying to the backyard, where the arid air would quickly dry them for fuel. ‘Pride.’ The word echoed in his mind. To think a Stone-Whisper could find purpose, not in serving Core-Speakers, but in protecting the vulnerable? It didn’t make him wish to pledge himself to a Core-Speaker, but it chipped away at the solid, bitter rock of his mother’s warnings. Perhaps… perhaps living under their rule wasn’t entirely bleak, if men like Roric existed. ‘And how do I tell him the beast is already gone?’ Kael wondered. He’d hoped Roric would simply exhaust his search and move on. But now, after last night, he felt a strange protectiveness toward the Elder. He didn’t want Roric to waste his time in this barren place. The problem was the Stone-Stalker’s carcass. Kael had tossed its mangled body deep into a ravine days ago. Retrieving it now, rotting and decaying, would be a repulsive task. More importantly, the tell-tale signs of his Lithomancy, the precise, crushing impact, might still be evident. If anyone were to trace the kill, Kael would be the obvious, dangerous anomaly. Sighing, Kael finished with the pen. A few moments of quiet remained. Roric had said he’d patrol closer to the Crag today, searching for the beast Kael had already dispatched. He might be nearby. Kael focused his will, a familiar hum resonating through his bones. The earth beneath his feet shifted, rising slightly. He floated, light as dust, to the roof of his dwelling, the rough stone cool beneath his bare feet. He closed his eyes, extending his Lithomancy, not outward as a force, but as a subtle perception. “Human… sense.” A ripple expanded from him, not through air, but through the earth itself. His awareness stretched. Individual pebbles, roots, the distant murmur of a subterranean stream, all became distinct. His senses amplified, picking up the faint scuttle of burrowing insects, the subtle shifting of scree kilometers away. Yet, his focused intent filtered the vast input, seeking one specific resonance: the tell-tale pulse of a human heartbeat, the unique tremor of human movement across the stone. ‘Let’s see… Ah!’ His head snapped toward a distant peak. A voice, raw with effort, reached him. His augmented sight found Roric. The Elder was panting, a dark stain blossoming on his forehead, another on his shoulder. Opposite him, a familiar, horrifying form snarled. The half-decayed body of the Stone-Stalker Kael had killed days ago, now lurching, its eyes glowing with a malevolent, unlife. --- ‘Who in the deep earth would unleash such a thing…?’ Roric gritted his teeth, his gaze fixed on the reanimated corpse of the Stone-Stalker. When creatures of magic perished, their latent energies often clung to life. The raw magic, a faint echo of omnipotence, could seize hold of the dying will, forcing a broken body to rise again. These were known as 'stone echoes' or 'flesh revenants'. For this reason, any wise Stone-Whisper absorbed or dispersed the residual magic from a slain beast. But whoever had dispatched this Stone-Stalker had either been ignorant of the truth or, more sinister, had chosen to ignore it. A wizard, most likely. The precise hole in its skull, almost surgical in its destruction, spoke of a focused, projectile-based spell. [—GRIIIIT—SHHHNKK—!!] A deafening roar tore from the Stone-Stalker’s rotting throat, a sound like grinding rock, echoing across the desolate crags. Its current state made the comparison chillingly apt. “Face this!” Roric bellowed, a surge of power gathering in his fist. A

Stone Echoes and Shifting Truths