Dust motes danced in the dim light of the Rusty Flagon, a stale scent of old ale and sweat clinging to the rough-hewn timbers. Levin, nursing a mug of bitter water he’d paid for with a sliver of petrified wood, listened. Nearby, a burly scavenger with a chipped ear argued with the barkeep, his voice a low growl about prices and patrol routes. “Got a beast-head bounty, eh?” The barkeep grunted, wiping a rag across the scarred counter. “Best ask at the Stone Watch, then. Overseer Roric keeps the lists there.” Levin shifted on his stool, the hard wood digging into his back. Stone Watch. Another name for the heart of the outpost, where decisions were made. He had to know what lurked beyond the rough walls. “Stone Watch?” Levin’s voice was a dry rasp, barely audible over the inn’s murmur. He hadn't meant to speak, but the name was foreign. Barkeep, a woman with eyes like polished obsidian, paused. A dry chuckle escaped her lips. “Never heard of the Stone Watch? Lad, you truly crawled out from under a rock, didn’t ya? It’s the highest spire in the Outpost, where the Keepers live. Where they keep the peace… and the records.” Her explanation, slow and deliberate, felt like a prod. Levin nodded, absorbing the details. It was late. He’d visit the Stone Watch come morning. His new, unwanted celebrity from the road-rat skirmish still prickled, even here, away from the direct stares. “You looking for a beast, too?” The obsidian-eyed woman leaned closer, a faint, almost pitying look in her gaze. “Another one hoping to find the ‘heart-stone’?” Levin frowned. “Heart-stone?” “Aye,” she said, her voice dropping. “There’s talk, always has been, that if you slay one of the truly twisted creatures, one touched by the deep earth, you can… well, they say you can wake the old power. Become a Stone Speaker, like the legends.” Some whispered, others scoffed. The notion hung in the air, a persistent ghost in these lands where ancient energies lay dormant and forgotten. People, desperate for a sliver of hope, clung to such tales. Warm hand clapped down on Levin’s shoulder, heavy and calloused. He flinched, a jolt of his nascent power threatening to erupt, then stifled it. Turned his head, slow and deliberate. A man stood there, somewhere in his late thirties. Hair like sun-bleached tumbleweed, a beard caked with dust. But his eyes, under heavy brows, held a startling clarity, sharp as flint. “Lena, thought you’d seen the last of old Kael!” The man, Kael, grinned, a flash of uneven teeth. “And the heart-stone ain’t no superstition, girl. Seen it myself. The way the rock sings when one falls.” Lena, the barkeep, scoffed, but a flicker of respect crossed her face. “Kael, you’re alive? Thought a Dust-Crawler finally got you.” “Not me. Not until I’ve felt the earth sing through my bones!” Kael boomed, his laugh rattling the timbers. Behind him, three men emerged from the shadows, their frames broad, their eyes hardened. Crude spears, heavy hammers, and worn leather armor marked them as scavengers, hunters of the wastes. Levin gently shrugged off Kael’s hand. The man recoiled a step, surprised. “My apologies,” Kael mumbled, losing some of his bluster. “Didn’t mean to startle.” “No offense,” Levin said, his voice flat. “But about this ‘heart-stone’ and the earth singing. Tell me more.” Kael’s grin returned, wider this time. “Ah, another seeker! Good for you, lad. Hear it often enough, the whispers. The old ones, the Stone Speakers, they killed the warped beasts and absorbed their essence. Grew strong. We do the same. Kill a beast, absorb its raw power, and maybe, just maybe, the earth answers.” One of Kael’s companions, a stocky man with a missing tooth, nodded vigorously. “Aye! We’ve taken down two already!” “Close, we are, to the truth!” another added, flexing a thick arm. Levin’s brow furrowed. Two beasts. He thought of the road-rats, the sheer force of his own untamed power. To face even one of the twisted creatures of this land, truly formidable ones, felt like a monumental task for a group of ordinary men. “Two?” Levin asked. “So, one of you has already… woken the power?” The inn erupted in laughter. Harsh, dry cackles that echoed the wind outside. “Wake the power?” Lena snorted, wiping her hands on her apron. “Lad, in this whole outpost, only Elder Roric and his three Watch Captains know the old ways, if anyone does. Those are the only ones who can truly touch the stone.” “Nah,” Kael said, shaking his head. “No one’s ‘woken’ yet. Just closer. And we’ve nearly died for each one, let me tell you.” Only four in an outpost of hundreds, perhaps thousands. The scarcity struck Levin, a sharp realization of how rare true power had become. How few protectors there truly were. Kael’s gaze fell to Levin’s hip, where his waterskin hung, and then to his hands, empty save for the callouses. “You looking for beasts, too, eh? But where’s your gear, lad? No weapon?” Levin reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small, smooth river stone, worn slick from his touch. It was his anchor, a conduit for his will. He offered it, silent. Kael’s men exchanged glances, then a rough laugh rumbled among them. Levin expected mockery. Instead, their eyes sharpened, curiosity replacing scorn. “Just a stone?” the toothless man asked, turning it over in his rough fingers. “But it’s… weighted. Smooth.” “Used it much, have you?” Kael asked, a glint in his eye. “What size do you usually carry? A fist? A thumbnail?” “Egg-sized,” Levin murmured, taking back the stone. “Sometimes larger.” “Egg-sized?” The men whistled. “Enough to crack the shell of a Grit-Runner, if you get it right. Or take the eye out of a Skitter-Rat.” Levin realized. They weren’t hunting the great, ancient evils. They hunted the smaller, corrupted creatures – rodents, desert birds, scavengers twisted by residual energies, still dangerous, but not the monstrous predators he’d envisioned. “Say,” Kael ventured, a calculating glint in his eye. “You look like you can land a stone. We need a marksman. Join us for a hunt?” “No,” Levin said, the word a solid stone in the air. He couldn’t. Couldn’t risk revealing himself, couldn’t waste time on small prey. His path was his own, fraught with greater dangers. Kael’s face fell, but he didn’t press. A shrug. “Too bad. But if you change your mind, find us.” Later, with the inn’s rough key in his hand, Levin climbed the creaking stairs to his room. A thin mattress, a scratchy blanket. Not much, but shelter. As he lay on the cot, trying to coax sleep, voices drifted up through the floorboards, muffled and indistinct, then sharper. *“Kael-hyung, why’d you try to get that scrawny kid to join? He’d just be dead weight.”* *“Aye, skinny as a starved dog. One swipe from a Grit-Runner, he’d fold.”* The voices were Kael’s men, their tones edged with derision. Levin had seen this before, back in the small, forgotten hamlets. Kindness for gain, scorn for the weak. A familiar chill settled in his chest, not of hurt, but of weary recognition. He simply sighed, the sound lost in the small room. *People are just people.* Then Kael’s voice, lower, regretful. *“Ah, just reminded me of myself, years ago. Out in the wastes with nothing but hope and a few smooth stones. You don’t make it long like that.”* *“Still too soft, Kael-hyung.”* *“Maybe. But a man’s got to try.”* Levin closed his eyes. The world, indeed, held both shadows and faint, surprising flickers of light. --- Morning dawned in a haze of red dust. After a breakfast of thin, gritty stew and stale flatbread from the inn, Levin headed for the Stone Watch. It dominated the outpost’s center, a craggy spire of dark, volcanic rock, ancient and imposing. Citizens bustled in and out, their faces etched with purpose. He navigated through a cluster of farmers arguing over irrigation rights near the entrance. Found the Keeper’s office, a stark chamber with walls of unpolished stone. A middle-aged man, broad-shouldered and severe, sat behind a heavy stone desk. Overseer Roric, perhaps. The man glanced up, his expression already disdainful. “What do you want, drifter?” “Bounties,” Levin replied, his voice level. “For beasts.” If he revealed his true burgeoning power, the man would grovel. Or worse, try to command him, bind him to the outpost’s petty squabbles. He’d seen enough of that already. He needed to be free. Best to be just another nameless hunter, a ghost passing through. “Don’t touch it. Just read.” The Overseer pushed a heavy slate across the desk. It was marked with a crude map and etched descriptions of creatures: their forms, observed locations, and the reward for their demise. Weaker beasts required live capture, their subtle corruptions making them hard to distinguish from normal animals. The truly dangerous ones, those that stalked the outskirts, could be killed. Their corpses, however, had to be brought back. “Listen well, boy,” the Overseer growled, his gaze sharp. “Even if you bring down a beast, you don’t leave it. The energies, they fester. Turn into Ash-Wights, sometimes. Or worse, animate the very rock. Abandon a carcass, and it’s a death sentence, under outpost law. Understand?” “Understood,” Levin affirmed, the warning echoing the lessons learned on the sun-scorched plains. He’d witnessed the terrifying transformations of forgotten things, the way raw power could twist and corrupt. “Some of these… seem too dangerous for ordinary folk,” Levin observed, pointing to a particularly vicious description. “Don’t the Keepers handle these?” The Overseer snorted, a harsh, dismissive sound. “You think we have the time? The Keepers maintain order. Defend against the Dust-Raiders. Hunting beasts is for wanderers like you, seeking a quick coin.” Levin’s gaze fell back to the slate. One entry caught his eye: *Shard-Wing Ravener* *A large avian, akin to a raptor, with feathers hardened into obsidian blades. Its wings shimmer with a faint, dark aura, deflecting projectiles. It hunts by circling high, then diving, shearing through flesh with its wing-blades. Known to prey on stray dogs and children near the perimeter walls, leaving only scattered bones and ash…* If the Stone Speakers were humanity’s protectors, should they not hunt these vile things? Yet, it seemed, few truly held that ancient pride. A bitter taste filled Levin’s mouth. Stepping out of the Stone Watch, Levin headed for the outpost’s edge. Buildings thinned, giving way to crumbling ruins and then the vast, empty expanse of the Sun-Scoured Lands. He paused, ensuring no one watched. *Time to begin.* He closed his eyes, his will reaching out, sinking into the ground. A familiar current flowed, connecting him to the earth, the stones, the very dust. He sought the *Shard-Wing Ravener*, the beast that preyed on children. His earth-sense unfurled, a net cast into the vibrations of the land. Immediately, a clamor assaulted him. A hundred tremors, a thousand tiny pulses. The skittering of burrowing insects, the rustle of dry weeds, the faint, deep thrum of the outpost’s ancient foundations. He felt the distant beat of a dog’s heart, the shifting of sand, the pressure of a thousand tiny, mundane lives. He pulled back, a low groan escaping his lips. Too much. The sheer cacophony of normal life overwhelmed his senses. It was like trying to hear a single whisper in a raging sandstorm. *This won’t work.* How to filter? How to isolate the *one* that was different? He needed to sense the unique discordance, the deep, dark tremor of a corrupted creature, not just a bird. *A bird that has consumed human flesh?* He tried to focus, to narrow his earth-sense to that specific, gruesome signature. But again, too many signals. The ground around the outpost, littered with battlefields and ancient graves, held too many echoes of death. Scavengers, rats, even carrion birds… many might have touched such remnants. He had to find a different way.

Ash and Echoes