The Heart of the Dreamer’s Echo

A silver haze clung to the horizon as dawn’s first light crept across the thatched rooftops of Glenmere. The narrow cobblestone lanes, usually alive with the bustle of farmers and merchants setting out for the day, lay hushed in anticipation of the sun’s arrival. Aeliana stood at the edge of the village square, wrapped in a woolen cloak the color of storm clouds, and listened.She had heard it again—just before the birdsong began—a faint, melodic whisper curling through the air like smoke. It was not the hoot of an owl or the twitter of sparrows. It was something else, something ancient and fragile, as if a thread of music had been torn loose from the fabric of some grand tapestry and was calling only to her.She closed her eyes, letting the pale breeze brush her dark curls aside. The echo came again, softer this time, like the distant chime of a long-forgotten bell. Aeliana’s heart fluttered—equal parts wonder and unease. Who else could hear it? She glanced back toward her small cottage at the edge of the green, where her mother and younger brother, Darion, still slept. If Aeliana woke them now, they would assume a passing dream had unsettled her. Better to keep the secret for herself, at least for a little longer.She took a measured step forward, drawn toward the sound as if by invisible hands. The whisper tugged her through the stone archway and past the wet well, around a battered wooden cart stained with last night’s fruit. Every few paces, it would fade, only to return stronger, weaving through the bright lanterns strung between buildings.At the far end of the square stood the old oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching skyward like arthritic arms. Beneath its broad canopy, generations of villagers had left simple wooden benches, worn smooth by time. Aeliana paused there. The echo was clearest now—an otherworldly hum that resonated at the base of her skull, like the distant heartbeat of something vast and alive.