Songs of Stone

The boy had no name.

Or if he did, it had long since crumbled into dust, buried beneath centuries of silence and stone. As they descended the far side of the Virethorn cliffs—leaving behind the shattered archway and the storm-scorched ruins where sky and sea had once screamed in unison—he followed without protest. The rusted chains around his ankles clinked softly with each careful step, though Selena had freed his wrists earlier with the keen edge of Whisperfang. His eyes—those unblinking silver voids that seemed to hold galaxies—watched the world as if he were rediscovering it, piece by piece, after lifetimes in darkness.