The Hum grows loudest at dawn, sometimes even before. It begins subtly. A small nuisance that soon resonates — almost aggressively — the longer it goes unattended. “Like a hungry youngling,” the Keeper thinks, as he hurries along the winding corridors of the Spyre, heeding the call of the intensifying Hum.
The Spyre is all The Keeper knows. He was brought here as a child by the Fyat. He has been alone since. Just him and his duty to quiet The Hum.
He catches his breath at the Hollow, where the terminal sits at the base of a cavern. A single ray of dwindling light shines upon it like a gift from the heavens. His left hand touches the cool metal of the terminal, while his right moves swiftly above it, manipulating the symbols that spur to life on its screen.
“Now, now,” he mumbles, arranging the runes in the pattern that was taught to him as a child. It is drawn on a thin sheet of paper next to the terminal, but he needs it no more than he needs light to guide himself in the cavern. “The onset should be upon us. Hang still, Nero.”
The Hum quiets down to a whisper. Silence.
He limps the way back to the tower and sets tea in a makeshift burner on one of the balconies that oversees the dunes.
From there, he can see the rings of the City in the distance beyond the dunes, a shimmering star in a sea of red. He looks at the sun, raising his right hand to cast a shadow and takes note of where it intersects the metal doors behind him.
The cast shadow intersects below the markings on the wall he’d set the month before. “This is not good.” He worries the slumber becomes shorter with each cycle.
His watch would soon end. He feels it in old, tired bones. The spark is leaving him. Soon the Fyat would come with another special youngling to replace him. Just as he once replaced the aging, frail Spark before him. And so on, until the end of time… The Hum grows loud again before dinner, sooner than ever before. So the Keeper hurries through the Spyre to feed the beast once more.
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