They reached the obelisk just before the sun vanished beyond the horizon’s edge. The glyphs were pulsing now, slowly, steadily, like a heartbeat relearning its rhythm.
He had seen it in visions: always from a distance, never this close.
She hadn’t. She didn’t need to. The twin blades she carried weren’t weapons. They were keys, wrought for this moment, for this exact light.
She stepped closer, her eyes tracking the starlit geometry etched into the monolith’s surface.
He watched, adjusting his weatherworn hat. “It’s shifting,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Then it’s listening.”
Not a relic nor a dangerous entity. Just a conscious monument, waiting for someone who could read it without trying to claim it.