Far from the battlefield, in the shadowed ruins of a once-great city, the echoes of an ancient melody drifted through the air. The ruins were silent save for the occasional whisper of wind, carrying with it the faint strains of a song that had been lost to time.
A lone figure moved through the rubble—a bard, their tattered cloak fluttering as they stepped over broken stones and shattered monuments. They carried a lute strapped to their back, its polished wood a stark contrast to the desolation around them.
The bard knelt by an overgrown fountain, their fingers brushing against the carved stone. The fountain had once been the heart of the city, its waters said to bring peace to those who drank from it. Now it was dry, its surface cracked and worn.
"This place remembers," the bard murmured, their voice soft.
They unslung their lute and began to play, their fingers coaxing a haunting melody from the strings. The song was a lament, its notes heavy with sorrow but tinged with hope.
---
As the bard played, the air around them seemed to change. The ruins shimmered faintly, and for a brief moment, the city appeared as it once was—vibrant and alive. The streets were filled with laughter, the buildings gleaming in the sunlight.
But the vision was fleeting, and the ruins soon returned. The bard lowered their lute, their expression pensive.
"Why do you linger here?" a voice asked, breaking the silence.
The bard turned to see an old man leaning against a broken column. His clothes were simple, his face lined with age. He carried a staff, its gnarled wood etched with runes.
"This city holds secrets," the bard replied. "Songs that have yet to be sung."
The old man chuckled. "And you think your music will bring them back?"
The bard shrugged. "Perhaps not. But music has a way of remembering what we forget."
---
The old man approached the fountain, his gaze distant. "This city fell because its people forgot themselves. They became lost in their greed, their pride. By the time they realized their folly, it was too late."
The bard watched him, their fingers idly plucking at the lute strings. "And what of the song? What does it say?"
The old man smiled faintly. "The song is a reminder—a fragment of what once was and what could be again. But it is incomplete."
The bard frowned. "Incomplete?"
The old man nodded. "The final verse was lost when the city fell. Without it, the song is little more than a shadow."
---
The bard stood, their lute in hand. "Then I'll find it."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think you'll succeed where others have failed?"
The bard smiled. "Because I listen."
With that, they turned and began to walk away, their melody fading into the distance. The old man watched them go, a flicker of something—hope, perhaps—crossing his face.
As the bard disappeared into the ruins, the wind carried their song, weaving it into the fabric of the desolate city.
For a moment, the ruins seemed to breathe, the shadows lifting just slightly.
And in the silence that followed, the city remembered.
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Would you like to expand this side story or proceed to Chapter 14?