A chill wind, thick with brine and industrial grit, gnawed at the seams of Kaelen’s coat. It was a constant companion in Veridian Coast, especially here on the forgotten edges of the docks, where skeletal cranes clawed at the perpetually overcast sky. Weariness clung to him, a heavier cloak than the one he wore, but his gaze remained sharp, scanning the shifting mist that swallowed the far-off chimneys. Eight years. The memory still felt fresh, a bruise beneath his skin. He’d been barely ten, small for his age, tending to the choked drainage pipes of their ramshackle pier dwelling. The old pump had seized, its gears grinding, threatening to flood their narrow living space. Panic had flared, hot and sharp, in his chest. He’d pressed his small hands against the cold, barnacle-encrusted stone of the pipe, a silent plea escaping his lips. A tremor, faint yet undeniable, had vibrated through the ancient masonry. A dull groan, not of metal, but of earth, had answered. Then, with a sudden surge, the blockage had fragmented, a rush of brackish water spewing into the harbor. His mother, her face etched with a lifetime of hard labor, hadn't cheered. Her eyes, usually warm despite their hardship, had filled with a familiar despair. Her hands, rough from mending nets and hauling salvaged timber, had gently covered his, as if to smother the tremor still lingering there. “Kaelen, you must promise me,” she’d whispered, her voice a dry rasp. “Never use that. Not in front of anyone. Not for anything.” “Why, Mama?” he’d asked, the thrill of the strange power still buzzing in his veins. It had felt like an extension of his will, a quiet song sung by the very bones of the city. She’d brewed him a mug of bitter kelp tea, the steam curling into the damp air. For the first time, she’d spoken of the world beyond their dilapidated stretch of docks, of the true powers that held Veridian Coast in their grip. “Below the grime, Kaelen, beyond the factories, there are the Aether-Lords,” she’d explained. “They are the descendants of the First Mariners, touched by the city’s deep currents, gifted with its ancient strength. They rule everything.” These Aether-Lords, she’d said, inherited formidable power from their ancestors, governing the city's industries and its hidden pathways alike. Those born from their mingling with ordinary folk were called Bound-Guard. The Bound-Guard, too, possessed certain gifts, but their abilities were lesser, their loyalty pledged, often by force. They served as enforcers, silent watchers, extensions of their masters' will. His mother had revealed that Kaelen's own father, long gone before Kaelen could remember, had been of such a lineage. A shiver had traced Kaelen’s spine as she’d warned him. If his power were ever discovered, the Aether-Lords would claim him, bind him, force him into servitude. “They’re like the engineers of this city,” she’d said, stirring her tea. “And the Bound-Guard are their finest tools. Sometimes, a tool is cherished, kept polished and close. But just as easily, it can be repurposed, broken, or discarded when the blueprints change.” She spoke of the ceaseless rivalries among the Aether-Lords, of the endless struggle for dominance over Veridian Coast’s secrets and resources. And in these silent wars, it was always the Bound-Guard who paid the highest price. Her face, as she spoke, held a desolation Kaelen had never witnessed. It was a despair deeper than any hunger or cold. “You want to stay with Mama, don’t you, Kaelen?” “Yes,” he’d managed, his throat tight. “Then you must hide this gift. Keep it buried. Otherwise, they will come. And you’ll never see me again.” “Okay, Mama. I promise. Never.” Eight years had passed since that solemn vow. Even after a creeping lung-rot had claimed his mother, Kaelen had held to his word. He’d lived his solitary life amidst the derelict piers, salvaging, repairing, blending into the city's forgotten corners. He avoided the Aether-Lords, the Bound-Guard, and anyone who might unravel the quiet truth of his existence. --- “Damn fools.” Kaelen shut the corrugated metal door of his makeshift workshop with a clang. The vibration resonated through the worn planks of the pier. Just before the first smudge of dawn, the dockhands from the nearby processing plant had come, their faces grim and accusatory. Old Labus, a longshoreman who'd worked these very docks for fifty years, had been dragged from the reeking water three days prior, half-eaten by a Deep-Reacher, one of the mutated eels that occasionally surfaced from the harbor’s depths. Despite the clear evidence of a creature attack – the tooth marks, the unmistakable rends – they’d pointed fingers at Kaelen. Whispers of him luring Labus, of offering him as bait, had circulated. Absurd, baseless claims born of superstition and fear, aimed at the solitary figure who knew too much about the shifting stones beneath their feet. Kaelen hadn’t wasted words. He’d met their accusations with a brutal, concise efficiency, sending the loudest among them sprawling into the muck-filled alley. They’d scattered, muttering threats, but the message had been delivered. They would, no doubt, attempt to short-change him on his salvaged metals or overcharge him for rations during his next market run. It was an irritatingly predictable cycle, one he had long grown accustomed to. Lost in the familiar calculations of future annoyance, a sudden, heavy knock rattled his door. *Bang, bang, bang*. He let out a slow, measured breath, the scent of stagnant water and rust filling his lungs. “Who the hell is it now?” he growled, wrenching the door open. “Looking for another lesson?” Surely, their memories couldn’t be so short. The man standing beyond the threshold was not one of the disgruntled dockhands. He was older, perhaps mid-forties, wrapped in a cloak stained with travel-dust and sea-spray. A tentative, awkward smile creased his face. “Ah… my apologies, young man. I’m merely passing through, seeking shelter. It seems I’ve chosen an inopportune moment.” A traveler. Kaelen had lived his entire life in the shadow of Veridian Coast’s industry, and never once encountered someone who simply ‘passed through’ this desolate corner of the city. For a moment, his mind went blank, processing the unexpected sight. Then, a flicker of an ancient etiquette, instilled by his mother, asserted itself. He stepped back, gesturing inward. “No, not at all. Please, come in. Some unpleasant company merely departed.” The words felt stiff on his tongue, formal, unfamiliar. He hadn’t spoken with such deference since his mother had taught him the niceties, before he’d learned every soul in this section of the docks, including Labus, was mostly an opportunist. “If you’ll excuse me, then.” The man ducked his head, stepping into the dim interior. Logically, to maintain his anonymity, Kaelen should have turned the stranger away. Yet, a silent, desperate part of him yearned for a conversation untainted by hostility. And if the man proved malicious, Kaelen held no doubt he could handle it. “Have you eaten?” Kaelen asked, the question feeling odd after so much silence. “Not yet.” “Nor have I. Join me.” Kaelen motioned the man to the small, salvaged table. He laid out their meager provisions: hardtack biscuits, salted fish jerky, and a mug of bitter, filtered water. Hospitality, his mother had taught him, was a shield. Offer what you have, and a guest would be less inclined to harm you. “It’s little enough, in this forgotten corner.” “Little? This is a feast! My thanks for your generosity.” The man’s words didn’t feel hollow. He ate with genuine hunger, as if he hadn't seen a full meal in days. Even while eating, he observed a quiet decorum Kaelen rarely saw among the rough dock workers. He didn't speak with a mouthful, turned his head when he drank. Small gestures that spoke volumes. Perhaps sensing something similar in Kaelen, the man offered a quiet observation after a long swallow of water. “You possess fine manners. Your parents must have raised you well.” “My mother taught me.” Kaelen kept his voice flat. He didn’t mention his father. The traveler paused, a brief flicker of understanding in his eyes. “And… is your mother in the city? It appears you live alone.” He must have noticed the single, makeshift cot tucked into the corner. Kaelen simply nodded. “She passed from an illness, some years ago.” The traveler’s face clouded for a moment. He bowed his head slightly, placing one hand over his heart in a gesture Kaelen had never witnessed. “My deepest condolences. To have raised such a considerate young man, she must surely dwell now in the quiet halls of the ancients.” “I hope she does.” Once, merely thinking of his mother had been enough to turn his stomach, to bring a hot, stinging ache behind his eyes. To speak of it now, calmly, was it a sign of his own hardening? Or had the relentless march of time simply worn away the sharp edges of his grief? Kaelen, feeling a sudden, unwelcome wave of melancholy, forced himself to change the subject. “What brings you to these remote docks, sir?” “I overheard an old longshoreman in the Lower Market, lamenting about a Deep-Reacher, a particularly aggressive one, taking lives. Said he was looking for someone to deal with it. My travels brought me near, so I decided to offer my aid. I’m quite capable in such matters.” “Alone?” Kaelen’s brow furrowed. The man looked weathered, but not formidable. His back seemed ready to give out any day, and he carried no visible weapons. Facing a Deep-Reacher, a creature of surprising strength and cunning, with bare hands seemed suicidal. The traveler offered another awkward smile. “I am a Stone-Binder. I served House Ashford for sixty years. Most such creatures are no match for me.” At the word ‘Stone-Binder,’ Kaelen’s body went rigid. His mother’s dire warnings, stories of power and servitude, flooded his mind. A being he’d only known through hushed tales, a servant of the Aether-Lords, stood before him. But the man’s eyes held no malice, only a kind curiosity. Kaelen felt the tension slowly seep from his limbs. “Is something amiss?” the Stone-Binder asked. “It’s… my first time meeting one. You don’t look like someone who’s served for sixty years.” “We Stone-Binders, we age differently. Slower. Live longer. I am seventy-five cycles old this year. For a Bound-Guard, I’ve aged gracefully, but the truly powerful Aether-Lords, they say, can live for two or three centuries.” Kaelen felt a surge of astonishment. He studied the man, this kindred spirit, with renewed intensity. Outwardly, he appeared no different from any seasoned dockhand, perhaps a little healthier, more robust. No shimmering aura, no tell-tale mark. Just a man. A quiet, potent realization settled over Kaelen. It meant that even in the teeming heart of Veridian Coast, as long as he kept his own abilities hidden, he could walk unnoticed. A heavy chain, one he hadn't known was weighing him down, seemed to loosen around his chest. “To be a Stone-Binder… it truly is remarkable.” “Remarkable? Hardly! I find folk like you far more so. To live in a place as harsh as this, with creatures from the deep, without any recourse to our gifts? I couldn’t imagine it.” Kaelen almost smiled. The man was mistaken. This was the first time a Deep-Reacher had posed such a threat in his lifetime. Had it not been, his mother, resourceful as she was, could never have raised him alone on these desolate piers without magic. No, his mother, who had navigated this city’s dangers with nothing but her own grit and love, was the truly remarkable one. “Now that I think of it, I’ve been remiss. My name is Malak. Malak of Ashford—though perhaps ‘Malak the Wanderer’ suits me better now. And you, young man?” “Kaelen. Just… Kaelen. Caretaker of these forgotten docks.” “A good, solid name.” Malak paused, sipping his water. “You mentioned serving a house earlier. You no longer do?” “My vassal contract officially ended a month past. House Ashford offered me comfort in my twilight years, but… I felt a pull to see the world beyond their walls. To travel. I’d been tied to that one house since I was hired, barely fifteen.”

Echoes in the Stone