Kaelen and the Pass Without a Shadow

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The path behind the wooden stone led them downhill at first, but after just a few hundred steps, the terrain began to rise again. The ground was dusty, as if it hadn't rained here for centuries, yet silvery stalks sprouted between the cracks, ringing like thin bells with every movement in the wind. Kaelen listened until she realized the sound wasn't coming from outside, but vibrating within her chest. Varaan walked slowly, his pack strapped to his back, his horns glistening with morning dew. The glowing map on his flank was now only faintly visible, as if it had decided to leave the rest of this path uncommented. Kaelen took it as a reminder: not every path is worth narrating while walking it. "There is no shadow here," she said softly. Varaan grumbled in agreement. Indeed, the light was uniform, directionless, as if the sky had forgotten where the sun was. Neither she nor the dragon cast an outline. Her movements seemed alien, floating, as if someone had erased half the world. The pass itself was narrow, barely wider than three paces. To the left, it dropped into a depression of gray stones; to the right, jagged rock walls rose. Some were smooth as mirrors, others bore patterns that reminded Kaelen of writing, but the longer she looked, the less she recognized. The air was still except for a faint scraping—as if stones were breathing against each other beneath the surface. After an hour, she spotted an arch of black basalt spanning the path. No door, no gate, just the sheer sweep of the stone, darkening the sky below. Kaelen stopped. "What is that?" Varaan approached, lowered his head, sniffed. A brief spark ran along the lines of its flank—and disappeared again. Kaelen stepped beneath the arch. For a heartbeat, she heard the silvery bell stems again, but this time they were far away, as if in another season. Beyond the arch, the rock changed. The walls were no longer wildly jagged, but smooth, almost as if they had grown naturally. Here and there, small, flat stones stood embedded in the ground, each marked by a circle of fine indentations. Kaelen counted six, then stopped. Counting made her think of the end of a line, and that thought was misplaced here. "Someone built this pass," she said. "Or he is the structure." The passage narrowed. Varaan edged sideways to get through. The light remained the same, but Kaelen felt her eyes grow tired. Without shadow, there was no anchor. She couldn't tell if she was moving forward or treading water. Even the dust beneath her boots seemed unchanged. Then, without warning, the pass opened onto a small platform. Before them lay a chasm so deep it had no color. No rock, no fog, just a space waiting for something. At the edge stood a single post, set into it a round, bronze wheel with spokes. Kaelen approached. The spokes bore tiny engravings: waves, feathers, spirals.