Kaelen and the Valley of Silent Drums

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The valley opened like a bowl, so wide that heaven and earth merged. Kaelen paused as the wind brushed her brow. It brought with it the scent of dry stone, but no sound. No whisper, no echo, not even the rustle of rubble. It was as if time itself had decided to pause here. Beside her, Varaan walked slowly, his slate-colored skin glistening dully in the sunlight. His moss-covered horns cast long shadows across the rock. He barely moved his wings, as if he didn't want to break the silence. The pack on his back rocked lazily with each step. "They called it the Valley of Slaughter," Kaelen said under his breath. She remembered legends she'd heard in villages around fires: that entire armies marched through here, and every footstep made the walls thunder, until the echo made the bravest ones' knees go weak. But the rocks before her were silent, their drums silent. Kaelen walked a little farther, her gaze wandering over the depressions in the rock. They looked like inlaid drumheads, smooth and round, as if formed by invisible hands. But even when she kicked them, the stone remained silent. Only the beating of her own heart thundered within, almost too loud in this vastness. She knelt down, placed her hand on one of these round surfaces. The stone was warm, as if it held a hidden fire within. Hesitantly, she tapped it, barely audible. No sound. But when she put her ear to the surface, she thought she felt a subtle vibration, faint as a secret whisper. Kaelen closed her eyes. Her heart pounded, steady, patient. Each beat a call. And then—almost imperceptibly—the stone answered. Not to the ear, but to the feeling in her chest. It was as if the rock were listening to her and awakening at the same moment. "Memory lives not only in images," she breathed. "It also lives in sound." Varaan lowered his head toward her, and a hum began deep in his throat. Soft at first, then louder, until the sound filled the air. Heavy and full, like distant thunder. The walls picked up the sound. Weak at first, then stronger, and suddenly the entire valley seemed to vibrate. An ancient rhythm spread, as if born from the depths of the earth. Kaelen felt her heart beat faster, as if joining the rhythm. Her breathing adjusted, each breath a part of this invisible melody. The rocks hummed, but not like the drums of a war. They sang of the present, of life, of a memory that knew more than horror. Tears welled in her eyes, and she let them flow. The silence was no longer empty. It was filled with what she had brought with her: her heartbeat, Varaan's hum, their journey together. The drums had waited, not for armies, not for battle—but for two travelers who had the courage to listen to them. As the sun set, the walls turned red and gold.