short fiction · 2026-10-11

Echoes Beneath the Cobblestones

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

I slipped through the narrow alley, my lantern casting trembling shadows on the ancient stones. A faint chant rose from the wall, half‑forgotten, as if the city itself were breathing. Beneath a collapsed arch, I brushed away dust to reveal a copper plate etched with names long erased, each one pulsing with a memory that thrummed in my chest. The air grew thick with the scent of rain and old incense, and for a heartbeat I understood: the myths were not dead, they simply waited for someone willing to listen.